Page 109 of Billionaire’s Heartbreak

Kai sat perfectly still, his back to me as I stitched the long gash stretching across his shoulder blade, one stitch at a time.

The room had gone quiet around us. There was only the soft clink of the medical instruments beside me and the steady rhythm of Kai’s breathing.

The curved needle pierced one side of the torn skin, disappeared beneath the surface, then emerged on the other. I pulled the thread through until the edges met, tying each knot with careful fingers before moving to the next.

His skin was warm beneath my fingertips. Too warm in some places. I kept checking him without meaning to, brushing the back of my fingers across his shoulder whenever I paused.

He never complained. Only now and then, a quiet hiss escaped between his teeth, barely audible, barely there. But I heard every one of them, and every sound twisted something inside my chest.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered.

“For what?”

“For hurting you.”

A soft chuckle rumbled through his chest. “You weren’t the one holding the machete.”

The needle hovering above his skin. I swallowed around the lump in my throat. Even now—bleeding and covered in stitches—he was trying to comfort me.

I dipped another piece of gauze into antiseptic and gently cleaned away the blood that had seeped around the wound. He flinched.

“Sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

It clearly wasn't. The muscles across his broad back tightened beneath my fingertips before slowly relaxing again. Angry red lines crossed his sun-bronzed skin, disappearing beneath the white bandage that already covered the upper part of the wound. There were bruises along his ribs too, darkening beneath his skin, and a faint scrape ran across the back of his shoulder.

I hated seeing them. Every mark was another reminder of how close I'd come to losing him.

I threaded the needle again.

In. Out. Pull. Tie.

The repetitive rhythm should have calmed me. But it didn’t.

“I’ve got…” I counted under my breath. “…three more.”

“Thanks. You’re doing great.”

The corner of his mouth lifted into a faint smile.

I looked at his reflection in the dark window for a moment. Even injured, he somehow managed to look composed, like pain was something that happened to other people.

“Don't smile,” I murmured.

“Why?”

“It makes you move.”

“I wasn't aware smiling was dangerous.”

“It is when I'm holding a needle.”

He gave a quiet laugh, and I immediately placed my palm against his shoulder.

“Stop.”

“Yes, doctor.”