FEW DAYS LATER
Arnold adjusted his navy suit in front of the tall mirror, fitting him like a second skin. Sunlight poured into the penthouse through the windows, and it casted a soft sheen over the floor.
A classical piece hummed quietly through the speakers — something by Chopin he barely listened to but always played when he needed to feel like things were under control.
He was almost out the door when his phone rang.
He glanced at the screen. It was the nurse in charge of Freya.
He picked up. "Yes?"
"She says she's fine now," The nurse's voice came quick and exasperated.
Arnold exhaled through his nose.
"Is she really perfectly fine, or is she pretending again?"
"Of course she's pretending. But the doctor is okay with discharging her."
He pressed his lips into a line.
"She's packing her things like she's storming out of a prison. I tried to stall her," she continued, "but she's determined. You might want to get here before she climbs out the window just to prove she's strong."
Arnold didn't respond immediately.
"I'm on my way," he said finally, grabbing his keys and shutting the door behind him.
_____
By the time Arnold stepped into the hospital room, Freya was already halfway through an argument with the nurse.
"I am fine," she was saying, tugging at the zipper of a duffel bag with one hand and trying to shoo the nurse with the other. "You guys act like I got hit by a missile."
The nurse gave her a weary look. "You were unconscious for five hours and had a mild concussion. We're just being thorough."
"I hit my head, not my personality. Unfortunately for all of you, that's still intact."
Arnold leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, watching the chaos like he was tuning into his favorite reality show.
She turned, and her eyes flashed.
The corner of her mouth lifted. "You,"
"Me," he replied smoothly.
She raised a brow. "What? Here to do more charity?"
"If you're referring to carrying you into an ambulance while being swarmed by paparazzi, yes. My greatest philanthropic act yet."
The nurse stepped away with a sigh, muttering something about "difficult patients" under her breath.
As the door shut behind her, Freya tossed a sweater into her bag and eyed Arnold warily.
"Shouldn't you be somewhere... richer?" she asked. "Boardroom? Helicopter pad? Buying a country?"
Arnold walked further in and stopped beside her bed. "I was informed a certain stubborn journalist was about to flee the hospital without clearance. I couldn't let you tarnish your reputation and the hospital's in the same morning."
Freya snorted. "Please. My reputation is bulletproof. I've survived sleazy politicians, drunk editors, and expired vending machine tuna. A little drama's just seasoning."
"You weren't supposed to be leaving today."
"I wasn't supposed to get hit by a car either, but we're breaking all kinds of rules now, aren't we?"
"Are you always this dramatic when you're injured, or am I just lucky?"
He picked up her duffel and slung it over his shoulder without asking.
It was heavier than it looked.
"You don't have to play savior today," she said. "I can manage."
"I'm not here to save you. I just don't trust you to cross the street anymore."
Freya rolled her eyes. "Wow. I feel so safe."
But her gaze softened just slightly. She looked… tired. Not just physically. Bone-tired. Like the weight of the last few days had finally settled into her shoulders.
He noticed. Of course.
"You sure you want to go home alone?" he asked, quieter now.
"I've been alone longer than you think, Mr. Connor."
Arnold hated how formal that sounded.
"Freya," he muttered.
She tilted her head. "What?"
"I meant—" He paused, searching for language he wasn't used to using. "If you needed time. Or quiet. I have a place."
She blinked. "Are you inviting me to your house?"
"It's not a trap," he said. "You've already seen me at my worst, remember?"
She gave a half-laugh. "You think that was your worst?"
He smirked. "So that's a no?"
Freya hesitated. She looked at her phone. Then at him.
"I'll think about it. For now, I want to go home," she said. "Thanks… for staying. And for everything."
Arnold glanced at her with a faint smile. "You're welcome. But let's keep pretending I'm heartless. It's better for business."
She laughed, then winced and held her ribs. "Ow. God. Even my lungs are mad at me."
_____
They walked down the hallway together, her steps slower than usual. A few nurses and hospital staff glanced at them — some whispering, others pretending not to notice.
The elevator dinged and opened onto the ground floor. Arnold guided her gently out through the lobby toward his waiting car.
And for the first time in days, the street didn't feel like a battlefield.
But from a black car parked at the far corner, a long-range lens clicked silently, capturing every step.
The man in the vehicle lowered the camera and tapped a message into his phone.
SHE'S OUT. ARNOLD CAME FOR HER.
He attached the latest pictures.
Seconds later, Greg received the ping on his encrypted line.
He opened the images one by one, then leaned back, his fingers drumming once against his desk.
"Let's see how long it lasts," he murmured, and pulled open a drawer.
Inside was a thumb drive.
Labeled: SAWYER / INSURANCE