E L A R A

The moment I open my eyes, I know something’s wrong.

The clinic is too quiet. Asha’s humming is gone. The blinds are drawn halfway, sunlight slashing across the wall in sterile lines. My mouth is dry. I’m still in the cotton scrubs someone must’ve changed me into after rescue.

And my phone,
Buzzing. Over and over.

I fumble for it on the tray beside the cot, still bleary from exhaustion and everything that happened. My fingers tremble as I swipe open the screen.

Headline: “Isla Seraphine’s Heir and His Secret Lover: Meet the Doctor Behind the Disaster.”

No.

My breath catches in my throat as I stare at the image.

It’s me. And Adrian. Leaving the cave.

His jacket is wrapped around my shoulders. My hair is matted, clinging to my cheeks. I look half-conscious, leaning into him. He has one arm around my waist, the other blocking the cameras.

But they’ve cropped it. Tilted it. Made it look like I’m clinging to him like some desperate conquest instead of nearly collapsing from hypothermia.

“The ‘Doctor’ Who Rode More Than the Waves?”
“Sources say she was ‘inappropriately close’ before the incident.”
“Valcrosse heir tangled in survival-sex scandal?”

I drop the phone like it burns.

Around me, the silence is deafening. But I can feel it, just outside these walls, staff whispering. Phones lighting up. Eyes watching.

My name is trending.

And not for saving lives.

The door opens hard.

Adrian steps inside, phone in one hand, jacket unbuttoned, storm in his eyes. His tie is gone. His hair’s still wet from a shower, or from pacing the beach while this went viral, I don’t know.

He doesn’t speak at first.

Just sets his phone beside mine on the tray. The same headline glares back at me from both screens. The same photo. The same violation.

“Marina’s spinning as fast as she can,” he says finally, voice low. “She’s pushing a story that it was a routine rescue. That you collapsed from exhaustion and I helped you out.”

I stare at him.

“Is that what it was?” I ask. “Routine?”

He exhales through his nose. “No.”

The clinic’s intercom crackles. Marina’s voice floats in, crisp, polished, and thin with panic. “Adrian. Need an official statement in thirty. Legal wants you upstairs. Someone’s leaking timestamps. TMZ has the rescue call logs.”

He reaches over and turns it off.

The silence is worse.

My heart is still hammering from the image. From the thought that everyone saw. That they’re still seeing.

“How did they get the photo?” I whisper. “Was someone already there? Waiting?”

Adrian’s jaw tightens. “A drone. Probably parked on the cliff before the storm even hit. They were tracking the search boats.”

I feel cold again. Not cave-cold, but sick. Exposed.

“They were waiting for us to come out.”

“Like vultures,” he says.

And we gave them a feast.

“You didn’t tell anyone?” I ask, softer now, like I want him to lie.

His brows pull tight. “Of course not.”

“Not even your brothers?”

“No one, Elara.”

The way he says my name, low, steady, hurt just beneath the surface makes something tremble in my chest.

I wrap my arms around myself, not for warmth but to hold everything in. “Then how the hell did this get out so fast? That photo was taken hours ago. Now it’s everywhere.”

Adrian’s voice drops. “Because someone was waiting. And someone on the inside sold it.”

I flinch.

Of course.

Someone saw us come ashore. Someone leaked it. Maybe someone I work with. Someone who smiled at me while pocketing a payout.

“They think I seduced you in a cave,” I say bitterly.

He steps closer, slow. Controlled. “They don’t know what happened in that cave.”

“No,” I snap, “but now the entire world gets to rewrite it.”

I’m shaking. From fury, from fear, from the sense that I’ve lost control all over again. First in New York, now here. Like my life is a PR crisis waiting to happen.

Adrian stops a foot away. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Doesn’t matter,” I whisper. “You’re a Valcrosse. I’m an outsider. The headlines already chose sides.”

His throat works. He reaches out, just barely, fingertips grazing the sleeve of my scrubs like he’s asking permission.

I don’t pull away.

But I don’t lean in either.

“I told you I wouldn’t hurt you,” he says quietly, hand still hovering near mine.

“You didn’t,” I murmured. “But the world did. And now it’s got teeth.”

Adrian lowers himself onto the edge of the cot, not touching me, but close enough that I feel his warmth. His voice is low. “We survived something that should’ve killed us. And they made it look like a scandal.”

I nod, swallowing the lump rising in my throat. “And I’m the scandal.”

“Elara..”

“No.” I shake my head. “They’ll dig through my certifications. My past. They’ll twist every second I spent in that cave with you. Make it sound like I exploited the situation.”

He reaches out again, fingertips brushing my knuckles. “You saved a man’s life down there. You kept me warm. You gave everything, even when you had nothing left.”

His touch is feather-light, but I feel it everywhere.

“I gave too much,” I whisper. “Again.”

“No,” he says. “You gave what we needed to survive.”

I meet his eyes finally, and it floors me. There’s no arrogance, no CEO mask, no PR spin. Just him. Just Adrian.

“I don’t want to be your mistake,” I whisper.

His eyes go hard. “You were never that.”

Silence blooms between us, heavy and unspoken.

Then, barely his hand cups the side of my face, fingers warm against my cheek. I don’t move. Can’t.

And still, he doesn’t kiss me.

“I want to protect you,” he says. “But not by hiding you.”

I look down at his hand on my cheek.

It’s steady. Unlike me.

“You think you can protect me from this?” I ask, barely a whisper.

His thumb brushes under my eye, light and reverent. “I can try.”

Asha passes by outside. The shadows shift. I flinch and pull back.

Adrian stands instantly, crossing to the windows. He twists the blinds shut, one sharp tug at a time. Light disappears in narrow slats until only slivers remain.

Now it’s just us. The air between us thickens.

He turns, and for a second we just stare.

“You were inside me twelve hours ago,” I say quietly. “Now the world thinks I climbed on top of a Valcrosse to climb a ladder.”

Adrian’s eyes darken. “You think that’s what I see when I look at you?”

I laugh, bitter and small. “What you see doesn’t matter. What they believe could end my license. End everything I built to get here.”

He closes the distance. Not touching, but so close I can feel the heat of him.

“What if we don’t let them write the story?” he says. “What if we take the pen back?”

My breath stutters. “You mean go public?”

“I mean fight,” he says. “Together.”

My heart stumbles over that word. Together.

His fingers brush mine again, just enough to spark.

But I don’t reach back.

Not yet.

My phone buzzes again.

I glance at the screen, and freeze.

“Homewrecker Doctor?”
A new photo. A tighter crop. Adrian’s hand gripping my waist. My head on his shoulder, eyes half-closed. The rescue context stripped away.

A headline scrolls beneath it:
“Medical Ethics Scandal: Was the Valcrosse Heir Sleeping With His Staff?”

The comment section is already vile.

“No wonder the safety drills failed.”
“Is this who treats my family at a luxury resort?”
“She looks like she planned it.”

I can’t breathe.

I sink back onto the cot like someone cut my strings.

“They’re going to ruin me,” I whisper.

Adrian doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t pace. Doesn’t explode.

He kneels in front of me instead, grounding us both.

“I won’t let that happen.”

My throat burns. “You can’t stop the internet.”

“No,” he says. “But I can stop the people feeding it.”

His hand covers mine, strong and sure.

“If someone thinks they can destroy you to protect themselves,” he says, voice like steel, “then let them know they’ve declared war on the wrong Valcrosse.”