Maya woke up that morning slowly, her consciousness rising in fragments rather than all at once.
At first, it was the scent.
Soft.
Rich.
Unmistakably floral.
It lingered in the air, not overwhelming, but present enough to feel intentional—like something had changed while she slept.
Her brows furrowed faintly before her eyes even opened.
Then she inhaled again.
Deeper this time.
Roses.
Her lashes fluttered open.
And then—
She stilled.
For a moment, she didn't move at all.
Her gaze drifted across the room, unfocused at first, still caught between sleep and awareness… until the color registered.
Red.
Everywhere.
Not scattered carelessly.
Placed.
Arranged.
Deliberate.
Roses lined the edges of her window, catching the morning light as it filtered through the curtains. Bouquets rested on her desk, her bedside table, even the floor—each one positioned like it belonged exactly where it was. Some were loosely gathered, others full and structured, their petals deep and velvety, breathing quiet life into every corner of the room.
It didn't feel excessive.
It felt… intentional.
Thought through.
Her breath caught—not sharply this time, not painfully—but in quiet disbelief.
She pushed herself up slowly, her movements careful, her eyes still moving from one arrangement to another as if trying to confirm they were real.
Her fingers brushed the nearest bloom.
Soft.
Cool.
Real.
Her lips curved before she could stop them.
Without thinking, she reached for her phone.
The screen lit up almost instantly.
A single message.
Good Morning Krasota.
That was it.
No punctuation.
No excess.
Just him.
Her smile deepened—this time without resistance.
It spread slowly, naturally, like warmth unfolding somewhere deep in her chest.
She let out a quiet breath, almost a laugh, shaking her head faintly as she stared at the message again.
"Of course," she murmured under her breath, though there was no real complaint in it.
Just… something softer.
Something she wasn't entirely ready to name.
A knock sounded at the door.
Then it opened without waiting.
Adela stepped in—and stopped.
Even though she had clearly already seen the room earlier, the sight still pulled a reaction out of her. Her eyes moved across the roses again, her lips curving with quiet amusement before settling on Maya.
"You're awake," she said, her tone light, but her expression knowing.
Maya looked up at her, still holding her phone.
"These are…?"
"Rege sent them," Adela said simply, walking further into the room before sitting beside her on the bed.
Maya nodded slowly, her gaze drifting back to the roses.
Every single one?
The thought lingered.
She tried—genuinely tried—to keep her expression neutral.
To act like this didn't affect her.
Like this wasn't… a lot.
But the effort barely lasted a second.
"Just smile," Adela said, nudging her lightly with her shoulder. "You are evidently failing at hiding it."
Maya let out a laugh, the sound slipping out of her before she could contain it. It wasn't forced. It wasn't careful.
It was real.
"He's so proactive," she said, shaking her head slightly as she leaned back against the headboard, her eyes still flickering around the room.
Adela watched her for a moment, her smile softening—not teasing now, but thoughtful.
"I think that's a good thing," she said quietly. "After everything."
Maya's smile lingered.
But it shifted.
Just slightly.
"He just confuses me," she admitted, her voice lowering, her fingers absentmindedly tracing the edge of a rose petal.
Adela exhaled softly, leaning back on her hands.
"I haven't had the chance to speak to you properly about him," she said. "And I'm certain mum might have already given you the speech."
Maya snorted lightly.
"She did. At the hospital."
That earned a small, knowing laugh from Adela.
"That's quite like her," she said, shaking her head. Then her tone steadied. "I just wanted you to be sure before you get involved too deeply."
Maya didn't interrupt.
Didn't deflect.
She just listened.
"Rege seems like a nice person," Adela continued. "And I am not saying that based on what he has shown me—but the way he looks at you."
Maya's gaze lifted slowly.
Adela held it.
"I missed the point with Calvin," she added, quieter now. "I should have watched how he looked at you, not just what he did."
The weight of that sat between them for a second.
"But Rege…" Adela exhaled, a faint smile returning. "He looks at you like you've hung the entire universe on your head."
Maya blinked, caught off guard by that.
Adela gestured around the room.
"Hell, he brought an entire flower shop for you—with instructions that no one should wake you up if you were still asleep when they arrived."
Maya's brows lifted immediately.
"What?"
"Yes," Adela said, amused again now. "The delivery guy repeated it twice. 'Mr. Rege said if she is asleep, do not wake her.' Very serious. Very specific."
Maya looked around again.
This time, differently.
Not just at the roses—
But at the intention behind them.
"I don't know what you're thinking," Adela continued, softer now, "but I think that was… thoughtful. And considerate. You have my full support, whatever you choose."
Maya smiled faintly.
And then Adela smirked.
"Though," she added, "you also look at Rege like he's a walking god with his head made of cake."
Maya burst into laughter.
"You must admit," she said between breaths, "the man looks like a Greek god."
They both laughed—fully this time, the sound filling the room, warm and unguarded.
And for a moment—
Everything felt light.
Easy.
Uncomplicated.
But then—
There it was.
A dull ache.
Subtle.
Deep in her chest.
Maya's hand moved instinctively, resting lightly against it for just a second.
Then she dropped it.
Ignored it.
She wasn't going to ruin this.
Not today.
Not when she felt like this.
Adela didn't notice.
Or if she did—she didn't call it out.
And the moment continued.
—
The morning unfolded gently after that.
Maya moved through her routine with Adela nearby, the conversation flowing easily between them—light topics, small jokes, quiet pauses that didn't need filling.
The roses remained.
Everywhere.
A quiet presence.
A reminder.
By the time they stepped into the dining area, the atmosphere in the penthouse had shifted into its usual calm rhythm.
Cassie greeted them with a warm smile, already placing dishes on the table.
Tatiana sat composed, her posture straight, her gaze lifting briefly as Maya entered.
She noticed.
Not just the roses.
But the difference.
Subtle.
But there.
Maya sat down, her phone placed beside her plate.
Too close.
She picked it up once.
Unlocked it.
Locked it again.
Then finally—
She typed.
Good morning to you too. Thank you for the flowers, they are lovely.
She stared at the message for a second.
Then sent it.
Her heart didn't race.
But something… waited.
Miles away, Rege wasn't anywhere near his phone.
The morning had pulled him elsewhere—out of the office and into a construction site where the air was thick with dust and noise, the steady grind of machinery drowning out anything softer than command and instruction.
His phone wasn't in his hand.
It rested with James.
A few steps behind him.
Silent.
Unnoticed.
Back at the table, Maya checked her phone once.
Nothing.
She tried again a minute later.
Still nothing.
And then again.
Her fingers lingered on the screen a second longer each time before she set it down, picking at her food absentmindedly.
It wasn't unusual.
Not yet.
But it wasn't… like him either.
She checked her phone again after a minute.
Nothing.
Again.
Still nothing.
Her appetite faded without her noticing.
The conversation at the table blurred slightly at the edges.
Her breathing shifted.
Small at first.
Barely noticeable.
Then tighter.
More deliberate.
Tatiana's gaze sharpened almost immediately.
"Maya."
It wasn't loud.
But it was enough.
Maya exhaled slowly, trying to steady herself.
"I'm fine," she said softly.
But she wasn't.
The air felt thinner.
Her chest tightened—not sharply, but steadily, like something pressing inward.
Adela was already beside her.
"We're going upstairs," she said firmly.
Tatiana stood without hesitation.
Cassie stepped back, concern written clearly across her face.
Maya didn't argue.
Didn't resist.
They helped her back to her room—the roses still there, still bright, still beautiful—
But now, the air felt heavier.
Different.
They settled her into bed, adjusting pillows, guiding her breathing.
"Slow," Adela murmured, holding her hand. "Just slow."
Tatiana moved with quiet efficiency, bringing her medication without panic, without delay.
Maya took it, her fingers trembling slightly as she tried to regulate her breathing.
In.
Out.
In—
Not enough.
Her chest tightened again.
The room, moments ago warm and soft—
Now held something else.
Something quieter.
Tenser.
Time stretched.
And this time—
It didn't feel gentle.
Forty-five minutes passed.
Not quickly. Not gently.
Time stretched thin across the room, each second marked not by a clock, but by the quiet strain in Maya's breathing.
The roses still filled the space—deep red, vivid, alive—but the warmth they had carried earlier had shifted. Their scent lingered more heavily now, mingling with the faint medicinal sharpness from the tablets on the bedside table. The curtains stirred slightly from the breeze slipping through the window, but even that felt distant—unnoticed.
Adela sat close beside Maya, not speaking, her hand wrapped firmly around hers. Her thumb moved slowly, unconsciously, brushing over Maya's knuckles in a steady rhythm—grounding, even if she didn't realise she needed it.
Across the room, Tatiana remained seated.
Straight-backed. Composed. Watching.
But her fingers pressed harder into the armrest with every uneven breath Maya took—the only visible sign that she was not as unaffected as she appeared.
Maya's breathing came shallow.
Measured.
Not enough.
The knock, when it came, was soft.
Controlled.
But it cut cleanly through the silence.
"Come in," Tatiana said, her tone even, as if the room were not holding its breath.
The door opened.
Dr. Jenkins stepped in, briefcase in hand, his presence carrying that same composed warmth he always brought with him. Not overwhelming. Not intrusive. Just… steady.
His eyes moved immediately—not obviously—but nothing escaped him.
The tension in Maya's shoulders.
The way Adela leaned in closer than usual.
The stillness in Tatiana's posture.
He set his briefcase down carefully.
"How is your breathing?" he asked, already moving closer, already working.
Maya tried to smile.
"Okay," she said.
But it came out breathless.
Thin.
It didn't convince anyone.
Dr. Jenkins glanced at her briefly as he prepared the injection.
"You don't sound well," he said softly. "And I don't want my dear nephew to have my head for not taking care of you properly."
A small pause.
"So tell me what's actually happening."
There was a trace of warmth.
But no room to deflect.
Maya exhaled slowly, her chest rising with effort.
"The air… doesn't seem enough," she admitted quietly.
Her fingers tightened around Adela's.
"My chest hurts," she continued, her voice softer now. "So bad. Like there's a brick sitting on it."
Adela's grip tightened immediately.
"My heart hurts too," Maya added. "And my airways… they feel blocked. Like something is stuck there and won't move."
Her breathing hitched briefly.
"And my head…" she murmured, closing her eyes for a second. "It won't stop hurting."
Silence settled again.
Heavier this time.
Dr. Jenkins nodded once, absorbing everything without interruption.
No rush.
No panic.
Just understanding.
He lifted her right hand gently.
The injection was quick.
Precise.
Maya flinched slightly at the prick, her fingers tightening before slowly relaxing again.
"Good," he murmured. "Stay still."
He released the medication into her system, then followed with additional drugs, adjusting her position slightly against the pillows before stepping back to observe her again.
His movements remained unhurried.
Controlled.
But focused.
After a moment, he exhaled quietly.
"Your condition is not particularly encouraging," he said.
Tatiana's fingers pressed harder into the armrest.
Adela didn't move.
"But it's hopeful," he continued calmly.
A small shift in the air.
"You're not deteriorating rapidly. That's important."
He looked at Maya briefly.
"But you're not stable either," he added. "Which means we don't get careless."
His gaze lifted slightly.
"You need to take your medicines regularly," he said. "Eat. Sleep well. Rest."
Then—
"Relax."
A pause.
"This goes to everyone in this room."
His eyes moved, briefly but deliberately.
"Do not upset her. Try—" he added, softer now, "to keep things as cheerful as you look now. It helps her more than you think."
The room stilled around that.
"She needs peace," he finished.
Not silence.
Not avoidance.
Peace.
He began packing his things, the soft clicks of his briefcase breaking the stillness just enough.
"I would take my leave."
Tatiana stood immediately.
"Follow me," she said calmly.
He nodded once, casting Maya one last assessing look before stepping out with her.
The door closed.
Silence returned.
But it wasn't the same.
It wasn't heavy.
It was fragile.
Maya turned her head slightly toward Adela.
A small smile formed.
Soft.
Tired.
But there.
"I am okay," she said gently. "Don't worry… it's not that serious."
It wasn't entirely convincing.
But it wasn't entirely false either.
Adela looked at her for a second longer than necessary.
Then smiled.
Because she had to.
"I know," she said softly.
Her thumb resumed its slow movement over Maya's hand.
Steady.
Grounding.
And neither of them said what they were really thinking.
Because for now—
This was enough.