“Grandpa!”
Christian’s desperate voice cut through the air like a blade. He was at the doorway, his face drained of color, horror written across his features as his eyes locked onto his grandfather’s collapsed figure. In an instant, he crossed the room, dropping to his knees in front of Joseph.
“What happened?” he asked, his voice shaking in a way I had never heard before.
“My chest…” Joseph gasped, weaker by the second. “I can’t…”
Panic swept across Christian’s face. For the first time since I’d met him, I saw every one of his defenses fall away. He wasn’t the confident CEO, the calculating heir, or the smooth charmer. He was just a man terrified of losing the person he loved most in the world.
“I’ve already called an ambulance,” the maid announced, appearing in the doorway. “They’re on their way.”
Christian gave a brief nod, never taking his eyes off his grandfather.
“You’ve been through this before,” I whispered-it was a statement, not a question.
“Many times,” he admitted, his voice low. “But never this bad.”
Joseph tried to speak, his lips moving soundlessly, his breaths shallower with each passing moment.
“Please, Grandpa,” Christian pleaded, holding the old man’s hand tightly between his own. “Hold on. Please.”
The desperation in his voice, the raw vulnerability in his eyes as he clung to his grandfather’s hand… In that moment, I understood. Christian wasn’t just worried about inheritance or the legacy of the vineyard. His grandfather was the most important person in his life-the only one who had stayed when everyone else had left.
“The paramedics!” the maid called, rushing to lead them in.
I stepped aside, watching silently as they worked quickly, assessing Joseph, connecting him to portable equipment, administering IV medication.
Christian stayed at his grandfather’s side, refusing to let go of his hand even as the paramedics began transferring him onto the stretcher. His face was carved with anguish, every trace of his usual mask completely gone.
“I’m riding with him,” Christian said, already following the team toward the door.
Only then did he seem to remember me. He turned briefly, his eyes finding mine amid the chaos.
“Zoey…” he began, but the words faltered.
“Go,” I said firmly. “He needs you now.”
He nodded, gratitude shining in his eyes, before disappearing through the doorway, following the stretcher carrying his grandfather.
I remained there, alone in the living room, the tea forgotten and cooling on the table, while the sound of the ambulance siren faded down the long road from the estate.
In that moment, the harsh words I had overheard earlier that morning felt distant, as though they belonged to another world. The image of Christian kneeling before his grandfather, stripped of all defenses, had shifted something deep inside me.
Maybe there was more to Christian Kensington than I had ever imagined. And maybe the story behind our so- called arrangement was far more complicated than I had ever dared to believe.
The hospital lighting was merciless, that bluish-white glare that seemed to drain all life and color from people. I walked down the sterile corridor carrying a small thermal bag with a carefully wrapped sandwich and a thermos that felt heavy in my hand.
The hours since the ambulance had left were a blur. After the initial shock, my mind had gone into autopilot. I’d called the hospital reception, confirmed that Joseph had been admitted, and decided that staying alone at the mansion, spiraling in my thoughts, wouldn’t help anyone.
I found Christian exactly where the receptionist had said-in the waiting room of the cardiology ward. Sitting alone on one of the plastic chairs, elbows on his knees, his hands buried in his now completely disheveled hair. His once impeccable suit was wrinkled, his tie gone, the first buttons of his shirt undone.
He looked so… human.
I approached quietly, sitting down beside him without announcing myself. Christian lifted his head slowly, red, tired eyes widening in surprise when he saw me.
“Zoey,” he murmured, his voice hoarse as if he hadn’t spoken in hours. “What are you doing here?”
I set the bag down in the space between us.
“I brought you something to eat.” I pulled out the wrapped sandwich. “Figured you wouldn’t leave this place, not even to get food.”
A fragile smile, barely there, ghosted across his lips.
“Thank you, but I’m not hungry.”
“You need to eat,” I insisted gently, unwrapping it for him. “You won’t help your grandfather if you faint from hunger.”
Christian took the sandwich, staring at it without really seeing it.
“How is he?” I asked, keeping my voice low.
“I don’t know exactly.” He drew in a deep breath, dragging a hand down his face. “They’re running more tests. Apparently it was a severe angina episode.”
I pulled the thermos from the bag.
“I brought this too. Thought you might need it.”
He glanced at it, but shook his head.
“Not even coffee will go down right now. But… thank you.”
A small smile tugged at my lips as I unscrewed the lid.
“Who said it’s coffee?”
The look of surprise Christian shot me was worth every second it had taken to track down that thermos in the mansion’s kitchen.
He accepted it, and the subtle aroma of good whisky drifted into the air as he lifted it to his lips. A long sip, the burn sliding down his throat, exactly what he seemed to need at that moment.
“It’s against hospital rules,” he said, but he took another sip anyway.
“Good thing I disguised it well, then.”
We sat in silence for a few minutes, Christian alternating between small bites of the sandwich and sips of whisky. The tension in his shoulders eased little by little, though the worry still etched deep lines across his face.
“Your grandfather mentioned something about Valentia,” I said finally, breaking the silence. “About doctors. That’s why he went there, isn’t it? Not for business.”
Christian closed his eyes briefly, as if weighing how much he could reveal.
“Yes,” he admitted at last. “He went to see a specialist in Ravona. One of the best cardiologists in the world.” He raked a hand through his hair. “We’ve been dealing with this for almost a year. At first it was just mild episodes, manageable with medication. But they’re getting worse.”
“Why keep it a secret?” I asked softly.
“It was his choice.” Christian took another sip of the drink. “He doesn’t want to seem weak in front of the family, the competitors, the investors. The old Kensington pride.” A bitter smile crossed his face. “Only I and his personal doctor know the full extent of the problem.”
The realization hit me like a wave.
“That’s why you still haven’t told him about… us.” The words slipped out almost as a statement, not a question.
Christian looked straight at me, his mask completely gone.
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.