The room filled before Hilary was ready.
Footsteps crossed the threshold one after another.
Shoes too polished for a hospital floor.
Fabric brushing fabric.
Low voices layered with authority.
She sat upright in the bed, Jessica's red ribbon still tied around her wrist, her fingers looping around it like a lifeline she couldn't afford to lose. The air smelled wrong—too many expensive perfumes clashing together, sharp and artificial, leaving no room to breathe.
She didn't recognize a single face.
Her pulse spiked so suddenly it made her dizzy.
Gerard stood on her right, exactly where he promised he would be. Close enough that she could feel the heat of his body through the thin hospital blanket. Close enough that the familiar cedar-and-amber scent reached her every time she inhaled.
It was the only thing keeping her anchored.
"Don't speak unless I cue you," he murmured softly, lips barely moving. "If you panic, squeeze my hand once."
She nodded.
Her fingers trembled—but she kept them still.
A throat cleared.
"Hillary."
She flinched.
The voice was smooth. Calm. Used to being obeyed without question.
"We're relieved you survived the incident," the voice continued. "Yesterday could have been catastrophic."
Hilary swallowed. "Yes."
"But relief doesn't erase responsibility," the voice went on. "The board needs clarity."
Her chest tightened.
"About…?" she asked.
"Your condition."
The word landed like a blade.
Gerard's hand tightened around hers—one squeeze, firm and steady, reminding her she wasn't alone.
"I'm fine," Hilary said quickly. Too quickly. "I'll be back in the kitchen as soon as the doctors clear me."
Silence followed.
Then a soft chuckle.
"That's not what we're asking."
Another voice joined in, lower, sharper. "We've been informed you suffered neurological trauma."
The room tilted.
Hilary fixed her gaze on the blank wall ahead, counting breaths. In. Out. In. Out. The hum of machines. Gerard's scent. Jessica's ribbon pressed warm against her skin.
"I had a concussion," she said. "Nothing more."
A pause.
"Then you won't mind answering a few questions."
Her stomach dropped.
Gerard spoke before she could stop him. "This is a hospital room. Not a board meeting."
"And yet," the first voice replied calmly, "our flagship hotel lost millions during yesterday's evacuation. Investors are nervous."
Hilary's chest tightened painfully.
"Hillary," the voice continued, "do you recognize us?"
Her breath caught in her throat.
Gerard's thumb brushed the inside of her palm—a warning.
"Of course," she said.
"Then tell us who we are."
Silence fell like a guillotine.
She couldn't.
She could see them—perfectly. Tailored suits. Expensive watches. Posture honed by decades of power.
But names?
Nothing.
Her fingers trembled.
Gerard leaned closer, his mouth near her ear. "Chairman Laurent," he whispered. "Vice Director Chen. Legal Counsel Morris."
She repeated the names like a prayer.
"Chairman Laurent," she said. "Vice Director Chen. Mr. Morris."
A flicker of satisfaction passed through the room.
But it didn't last.
Vice Director Chen leaned forward. "You hesitated."
"I was tired," Hilary said. "I just woke up."
Legal Counsel Morris folded his hands. "Mrs. Laurent, our concern is not your fatigue. It's liability."
The word echoed.
"Hillary is not a liability," Gerard said sharply.
"A head chef who cannot perform under pressure—"
"I can perform," Hilary cut in, heat flaring despite the fear. "I built that kitchen. I earned every star."
"And now," Morris replied calmly, "you cannot even recognize your husband."
The words hit harder than the earthquake.
Jessica shifted beside her, small fingers gripping Hilary's sleeve.
"Mama?"
Hilary wrapped an arm around her instinctively. "I'm okay, baby."
Chairman Laurent sighed. "We're not monsters, Hillary. We're asking for transparency."
"You're asking for control," Gerard said.
"We're asking for assurance," Laurent corrected. "Can you guarantee this condition won't affect your judgment?"
Hilary laughed softly—a brittle sound. "My judgment saved my daughter yesterday."
A murmur rippled through the room.
"And yet," Chen said quietly, "if this worsens…"
Hilary froze.
Gerard turned slowly. "You accessed her medical file."
Morris didn't deny it. "We had to."
The scent of cedar intensified as Gerard leaned forward. "You crossed a line."
"And you," Laurent said coolly, "are letting emotion cloud your leadership."
Hilary felt something crack inside her.
She was ruining him.
She looked up at Gerard—at the face she couldn't recognize but felt everywhere. In her chest. In the way safety existed only beside him.
"I can step back," she said quietly.
Gerard stiffened. "No."
"I can take a leave," she continued. "Until I'm better."
The room exhaled.
"That would be wise," Laurent said.
"No," Gerard said again.
"It's temporary," she whispered. "They're right. I can't—"
"You can," he said. "And you will."
"Gerard," she said softly. "Please."
He stared at her like she'd struck him.
Then he straightened.
"Everyone out," he said calmly.
Morris blinked. "Excuse me?"
"This conversation is over," Gerard said. "Now."
"You don't have—"
"I do," Gerard interrupted. "As CEO."
Silence followed.
One by one, they stood.
"We'll revisit this," Laurent said. "Soon."
The door closed.
The room collapsed into quiet.
"I'm sorry," Hilary whispered.
"For what?"
"For being broken."
His expression shattered.
"Don't," he said hoarsely. "Ever say that."
She laughed weakly. "You heard them."
"I don't care."
"I married you," he said. "Not their approval."
Tears slid down her cheeks.
She didn't see him wipe them away.
But she felt it.
"I don't recognize you," she whispered. "And yet you're the only thing that feels real."
He closed his eyes.
Later, when the room darkened and Jessica slept, Hilary stared at the ceiling.
"I scared you," she said softly.
"Yes," Gerard admitted.
"I'm scared too."
"Of what?"
"That one day," she whispered, "your scent won't be enough."
"I'll give you more," he said. "My voice. My hands. My presence."
"And if I lose those too?"
"I'll stay anyway."
The door opened.
High heels clicked softly.
A woman stepped inside.
Crisp white coat.
Perfect posture.
A perfume that didn't belong.
"I'm Bianca Russo," she said smoothly. "I'll be assisting you while you recover."
Hilary inhaled.
Too familiar.
Too close to Gerard's.
Her instincts screamed.
The hunt had begun.