Chapter 5

Isolde's POV

"Graham."

I held onto the door frame and forced out the words with every bit of strength I had left.

The arguing outside the hospital room stopped instantly.

Graham turned around, the anger on his hard face not yet faded.

The moment he saw me, the sharpness in his eyes softened.

"Isolde, why are you out of bed?" He crossed the room in a few quick strides and hovered close to my side. "Get back in bed. You still have a fever."

"Graham, let him in." I tilted my chin toward Louis. "I need to talk to him."

Graham looked at me for a moment, then stepped aside.

Louis rushed into the room with red-rimmed eyes. Maybe it was just me, but something about the way he walked seemed off.

I slowly turned and made my way back to the bed.

Louis reached out to help me. I moved away.

I got back into bed and pulled the blanket over my shivering body.

Louis crouched down beside the bed, his eyes red. "Isolde, I'm sorry. I didn't know you had a fever..."

I looked at his face — the face I'd been in love with since I was sixteen.

Right now, he felt like a stranger.

"Louis." My voice came out hoarse.

"I'm here, I'm right here!" He leaned in closer.

"Let's break up."

Louis froze, his face full of shock. "Isolde, I know I was wrong. You can hit me, yell at me, anything — just don't say that..."

I closed my eyes. I didn't want to look at him anymore.

This wasn't said out of anger.

This was something I'd already decided the moment I collapsed in the snow.

"Please leave." I turned my head and buried my face in the pillow. "I'm tired."

"Isolde."

"Get out."

I heard Louis stand up. I heard him stumble toward the door, then the sound of it closing.

Then everything went quiet.

I thought I'd cry. But my eyes were so dry they ached, and not a single tear came.

I don't know how much time passed before the door was gently pushed open.

I opened my eyes.

Graham stood there, shoulders straight, like a silent pine tree.

Graham — the eldest son and heir of the Cox family, and an active-duty Special Forces major.

Nobody understood why someone born into that kind of wealth would suddenly enlist, let alone in the most dangerous branch of the military.

His parents were strongly against it, but they couldn't change his mind.

And he proved himself. In just a few years, he earned commendation after commendation, becoming the youngest major at just 29 years old.

The Cox Group's day-to-day operations were handled entirely by professional managers he'd hired himself. He only came back during leave or emergencies — always calm, almost to the point of seeming cold.

So it was that time again. He was back on leave.

"Drink some water." He set a cup on the nightstand, his voice low and steady.

"Thank you, Graham." I looked down and took a small sip, trying to hide my red eyes.

There was another knock at the door.

I quickly wiped the tears from my face and looked toward the door.

Lily's eyes were swollen from crying. "Can I come in?"

I didn't say anything. I just gave a small nod.

She walked in and spoke quietly. "When we got back to camp and realized you were gone, Louis finally saw all the missed calls on his phone. He jumped on a snowmobile and came straight down the mountain. The roads were too icy and he..."

She choked up.

"He went flying — him and the snowmobile — for several dozen feet. Lucky he didn't hit his head."

I gripped the edge of the blanket, my face going pale.

"He didn't want to tell you. Didn't want you to worry. He just grabbed whatever clothes he could find, changed, and came straight here..."

I threw back the blanket, my voice rough. "Where is he?"

"The treatment room... end of the hallway, third door on the left..."

I stepped out of bed barefoot. My knees buckled and I nearly went down, but a hand reached out from beside me and caught my arm.

Graham.

He didn't say anything. He just draped a jacket over my shoulders, then let go.

I didn't have time to thank him. I rushed toward the treatment room.

Graham said nothing and followed quietly behind me.

The door was slightly open. Inside, I could hear a nurse's voice: "This bad, and you waited this long to come in? Do you have any idea the wound is already infected?"

I pushed the door open.

Louis's right elbow was a mess of torn skin and dried blood. A nurse was cleaning the wound with iodine-soaked cotton swabs and tweezers.

His pants had been cut open at the knee. The skin underneath was bruised black and purple, badly swollen.

His head was down. His lips were pale. Fine beads of sweat covered his forehead.

When the nurse touched the wound, he just clenched his jaw. Not a sound.

"Louis." I said.

He looked up. The moment he saw me, something lit up in his eyes — then he quickly panicked and tried to pull his rolled-up sleeve back down over the wound.

"Don't move!" The nurse held his hand still.

He looked at me, stumbling over his words. "Isolde? What are you doing here? Go back to bed — you still have a fever——"

I walked over, crouched down, and wrapped my arms around his waist.

"Isolde?" His whole body went stiff. "You're... not angry anymore?"

I didn't say anything. Tears fell silently down my face.

"Hey, don't cry..." His hand came to rest gently on my hair. "It's all my fault. Please don't cry. You still have a fever..."

I cried harder.

He got flustered, kept saying "I'm sorry," "I was wrong," and "please go back to your room" — like a kid who'd messed up and was desperately trying to make it right but didn't know where to start.

I held Louis, but somewhere in the back of my mind, a voice was talking.

Isolde, you're so pathetic.

While he had his arms around another girl in the snow, you were walking alone on a road in below-freezing temperatures.

He was out until past three in the morning. You called him over and over. He didn't pick up once.

You passed out on the side of the road. You almost froze to death.

And now you see he got a few scrapes, and you're just going to forgive him?

I knew I shouldn't.

I was still sick. He was still the same boy who never really grew up.

The crack between us was still there — just blurred by tears for now, too hard to see clearly.

But I couldn't help it.

I had loved him for so many years. From sixteen to twenty-two. Six whole years.

Even knowing I might get hurt again, I still chose to forgive him.

"Isolde." His voice came from above my head. "I swear, I will never leave you alone again. Please don't leave me..."

I didn't answer.

I just closed my eyes and held him tighter.

The nurse cleared her throat beside us. "Um... you two... I still haven't finished treating the wound..."

Once I was a little better, Graham and Louis drove me home that same night. Graham had even arranged for a private doctor in advance.

The car door opened. Snow-laced wind rushed in.

Louis unclipped his seatbelt, leaned in, and lifted me out of the car.

"Isolde!" My mother, Abigail Rodriguez, ran up, red-eyed, and pressed her hand to my forehead. "How did your fever get this bad?"

My dad, Andrew Porter, had a dark look on his face. He shot Louis a hard glare, clearly holding himself back.

"Mr. Porter, Mrs. Porter." The other car door closed. Graham came around the front of the car and walked over.

"Graham, we really can't thank you enough for tonight." Andrew's tone softened when he turned to Graham, the edge in his voice pulling back.

Graham wasn't just a younger family friend. He wasn't just a soldier. He was the man who ran the Cox Group.

"Not at all, Mr. Porter." Graham gave a slight nod. "It's cold out here. Let's get the doctor inside to check on Isolde."

Louis carried me all the way in and up to my bedroom on the second floor.

Leo Smith got straight to work — took my temperature, set up the IV, and prepared the medication.

Louis pulled a chair right up next to the bed and sat down.

He held my hand — the one without the IV — in both of his and pressed it against his cheek.

"Isolde, I'm not leaving." He looked at me, stubborn and certain. "I'm staying with you tonight. Until your fever breaks."

I was about to ask if his injuries still hurt when I heard footsteps at the door.

I turned my head.

Graham was standing just outside the bedroom door.

The dim hallway light came from behind him, leaving his face in shadow, his expression unreadable.

There was something about him — a quiet, contained loneliness that was hard to name.

He just stood there in silence. His gaze moved past the gap in the door and settled on my hand, held tight in Louis's.

His eyes were deep. Holding back something I couldn't quite read.