Page 121 of Billionaire’s Heartbreak

He pulled back, his hands framing my face as though he needed to make sure I was real. His thumbs brushed beneath my eyes.

“Please. Don’t ever scare me like that again. I don’t think I can take it.” He shook his head. “I don’t want to live without you.”

The words came out almost frantic, as though he’d been holding them inside for days and had finally lost the ability to keep them there.

I tried to hold back the tears, but after two days of monitoring his breathing, checking his pulse, adjusting his medication, and pretending I wasn’t terrified every time his heart rate changed, something inside me finally gave way. Tears spilled down my cheeks.

Kai gently brushed one away.

That earned me the faintest smile.

For another moment, I stayed there, feeling the warmth of his body and the steady beat beneath my cheek, just long enough to convince myself this wasn’t another dream.

Then instinct took over. Not as the woman who had spent every waking hour praying he would survive, but as his doctor.

I gently pushed him back against the pillows.

“Lie down.”

He frowned. “June⁠—”

“Lie down.”

He obeyed.

“Look at me.”

His eyes met mine. I lifted my index finger in front of his face. “Follow my finger.”

Slowly, I moved it from left to right, then upward and down again. His eyes followed.

I checked his pupils, eye movements, responses, speech, ability to focus, breathing and skin colour. Every normal reaction chipped away another layer of the terror that had been suffocating me since the shooting.

I touched his wrist. His pulse was fast, but strong.

I closed my eyes for half a second. Only then did I realise I was still crying.

“I think…” His voice was rough, barely more than a whisper. “…I'm okay.”

A laugh escaped through my tears. “No. You don't get to tell me you're okay. I'm the doctor. Until I say you're okay, you're not okay.” His mouth twitched. “And you're not allowed to scare me like that ever again.”

I heard it that time. We sounded like some broken record, repeating the same fear of losing each other.

“I'll try.”

“You'll do it.”

“Yes, doctor.”

“Good.”

I reached for his hand. His fingers closed around mine, warm and reassuring despite his weakness. Then he looked at me properly.

“I couldn't believe you just showed up like that.” His voice was weak, but the concern underneath it was unmistakable. “You promised to stay at the apartment.”

There was no anger in the question. Just fear.

“I had to.” I looked down at our joined hands. “I couldn't just sit there and do nothing.”