Inessa

9

INESSA

My eyes fluttered open, heavy with exhaustion. My entire body ached, a dull throb spreading through my limbs. The warmth of another presence made me turn my head slightly.

Mr. Rossi.

He was sitting beside me, his head resting against the edge of the bed, his fingers loosely wrapped around my hand. The sight startled me. This was a man of precision, control—someone who never let his guard down. Yet here he was, holding my hand as if anchoring me to reality.

I tried to retract my hand slowly, but the movement stirred him awake. His eyes, heavy with sleep yet sharp as ever, flickered open. He sat up, straightening his posture, his gaze settling on mine.

"You're awake," he said, his voice deep and husky from sleep.

I nodded, my throat dry. "Yes… I—I'm sorry for everything," I whispered, guilt gnawing at me. I hated that he had seen me so vulnerable, so broken. I was supposed to be stronger than this.

"Shh…" he cut me off gently. "You don’t need to apologize for anything." His expression softened, a rare tenderness reflecting in his eyes. "How are you feeling?"

"Better," I murmured, though the ache in my leg said otherwise. I hesitated before speaking again. "Last night—"

"Don't," he interrupted firmly. "You don’t have to explain anything if you're not ready. I respect that. Just promise me one thing—if you ever feel like that again, if you're ever in that situation… call me. No matter the time, I’ll be there."

His words made my heart stutter.

I searched his face, expecting mockery or impatience. But there was none. Just sincerity. No one had ever said anything like that to me before. No one had ever respected my silence, my boundaries. He knew nothing about my past, yet he was offering comfort in a way that made me feel safe.

The air between us grew thick with unspoken words, with emotions neither of us could name.

I swallowed. "What time is it?" I asked, needing to break the moment.

"Five in the morning," he replied. "You should sleep more. I'll take you to the hospital later."

Before I could protest, he stood up and left the room.

Sleep refused to come, and after an hour of tossing and turning, I decided to get up. Slowly, I stood, wincing as my injured foot throbbed. My gaze dropped to the bandage wrapped around it. It was clumsy, uneven, but the care behind it made me smile faintly.

Carefully, I made my way downstairs.

He was lying on the couch, his face relaxed in sleep. He looked different like this—peaceful, almost vulnerable. He wasn't the intimidating businessman people whispered about. Right now, he was just Leonardo.

"What are you doing up?" His voice made me jump.

I placed a hand over my chest. "You scared me! I thought you were asleep."

He sat up, rubbing his face before narrowing his eyes at me. "You shouldn’t be walking."

"I was going to make breakfast."

His brows furrowed. "Are you crazy, Inessa? You’re hurt. Walking will only make it worse."

"But—"

"Sit down." His voice left no room for argument. "I’ll take care of breakfast."

I watched in stunned silence as he grabbed an apron and started preparing breakfast. Seeing him like this, sleeves rolled up, moving with effortless skill in the kitchen, was something I never expected.

When he placed a plate of warm pancakes in front of me, I hesitated before taking a bite. My eyes closed as the taste melted on my tongue. "This is… really good."

He smirked. "Surprised?"

"A little. I didn’t know you could cook."

He chuckled. "There are a lot of things you don’t know about me, Miss Inessa."

Before I could respond, the doorbell rang. Mr. Rossi stood and returned moments later with a man I didn’t recognize.

"Inessa, this is Dr. John. He’s here to check on your wound."

I blinked. "You called a doctor?"

He crossed his arms. "Of course. You think I’d let you walk around with an untreated wound?"

My heart clenched. His concern was overwhelming, almost suffocating. I wasn't used to it. Wasn't used to someone caring this much.

Dr. John examined my foot, nodding in approval. "No infection. You did a good job removing the glass pieces," he told Mr. Rossi. "I’ve changed the dressing and prescribed some pain medication. Try not to put too much pressure on it for a few days."

"She won’t be walking around," Mr. Rossi said firmly, earning a knowing smile from the doctor.

After the doctor left, he turned to me. "I’m taking you home. You need to rest."

I pushed myself up and instantly stumbled. Before I could fall, his strong arms caught me.

"Careful," he murmured, his face inches from mine.

For a moment, I couldn't breathe. His eyes—dark, intense—searched mine. My heart hammered in my chest.

"I can walk," I whispered.

He exhaled sharply. "I saw how well you were ‘walking’ just now."

Then, without another word, he lifted me into his arms.

"Mr. Rossi—!"

"Be quiet and let me help you," he said, amusement flickering in his gaze.

The drive to my apartment was silent, but my thoughts were loud. I kept replaying the concern in his eyes, the gentleness in his touch. Who was this man?

When we arrived, he carried me up to my apartment and set me down gently on the couch.

"I have a meeting," he said. "But I’ll be back this evening to check on you."

"You don’t have to, Mr. Rossi. You’ve already done more than enough."

He smirked. "You’re stubborn, Miss Inessa. But you can’t stop me. Just focus on resting."

Then he was gone, leaving me with nothing but the warmth of his presence lingering in the air and the unfamiliar feeling of being… cared for.