“I’m Joyce from Memorial Hospital.A woman by the name of Natalie Gibbons was just brought into the emergency department.She’s asking for you.”
“Where?”The word was more command than question, his voice tightening as he was already striding toward the door.He pressed the discreet button on his watch to summon Tom and the rest of his security team.
“She’s being evaluated right now,” Joyce continued, calm but brisk.“She’s conscious, but—”
“What happened?”he snapped, cutting her off just as Tom appeared, eyes scanning the hall for threats.
“I don’t have the full details.The doctor will explain when you get here.”
“I’m her husband,” Rylan lied without hesitation, knowing it was the fastest way to get information.
Tom’s brow ticked up, but he didn’t comment.He was already speaking into his hidden microphone, mobilizing the team toward the garage.
Within seconds, Rylan was in the back of the SUV, phone still pressed to his ear.“Is she hurt?”
“She’s being examined now.That’s all I can tell you,” Joyce replied.
The thirty-minute drive felt like an eternity.Rush-hour traffic turned the SUV into a moving prison cell.Rylan’s knee bounced, his jaw locked so tightly it ached.Normally, he was composed—controlled.Now, the thought of Natalie hurt and alone had that composure fraying, thread by thread.
She’d asked for him.And he wasn’t there.
When the SUV finally screeched to a halt outside the emergency entrance, he was out before it fully stopped, the door slamming shut behind him.Tom was on his heels, barking into his mic.
“Where’s Natalie Gibbons?”Rylan demanded at the reception desk, his voice a whipcrack of authority.
The startled receptionist opened her mouth, but a man in a suit appeared from the side.“Your Highness, Ms.Gibbons is this way.I’ll take you to her.”
Rylan barely registered the title, barely noticed Tom coordinating behind him.All his focus tunneled forward—toward her.
The administrator pulled back the curtain.
Rylan froze.
Natalie lay on a narrow hospital bed, pale as the sheets beneath her.Her lips had lost their usual color, and her arm—damn—her arm was mottled with bruises, a harsh contrast to her fragile skin.The thin gown dwarfed her, making her look small, breakable.
“I’m fine,” she whispered, but the faint tremor in her voice told him otherwise.
“Are you in pain?”he asked, moving to her side, his hand finding hers—the one uninjured—wrapping around it like an anchor.
“Who are you?”a nurse demanded, suspicion sharpening her tone.
“He’s her husband,” the administrator replied before Rylan could speak.
Natalie’s lips parted—he could see the protest forming—but he leaned down, his thumb brushing her knuckles.“They only let family back,” he murmured, low enough that only she could hear.
Her gaze searched his for a beat before softening.She gave the smallest nod, letting it go.
“She was unconscious when the paramedics arrived,” the doctor said, stepping forward.“We weren’t sure who to call, but she kept saying your name.”
Rylan’s chest constricted at the thought of Natalie calling for him when she was hurt and alone.The image dug into him like a blade.He turned to the doctor, his voice edged with steel.“Is she in pain?Is she being treated?”
The doctor hesitated, glancing at her chart.“Her arm isn’t broken, but it’s badly bruised and the cuts from glass and scrapes have stopped bleeding.We’ve ordered scans to rule out internal injuries.She’s stable, but—”
“She’s in pain,” Rylan cut in, his frown deepening.“Do something about it.”
“I don’t need anything,” Natalie said quickly, her voice soft but stubborn.Her fingers flexed in his grip.“No pain meds.I can handle it.”
The doctor’s lips pressed into a thin line, but she nodded.“I’ll prescribe something milder, just in case.”
