When Rose opened her eyes, she was not in the sterile, chaotic ward of a county hospital.

There were no flickering fluorescent tubes, no distant wailing of sirens, no smell of industrial bleach masking human misery. Instead, she was looking up at a soaring ceiling adorned with intricate plaster rosettes and delicate gold leaf. A massive crystal chandelier hung above her, dimmed to a warm, amber glow.

She moved slightly, and the rustle of pure silk against her skin made her freeze.

She was lying in an antique four-poster bed large enough to sleep four people. The duvet was down-filled and encased in heavy cream linen. Her hands, resting atop the coverlet, were neatly wrapped in sterile white bandages, throbbing with a dull, manageable ache rather than the fiery agony of the night before.

“You’re awake.”

Rose gasped, jerking her head to the right.

Sitting in a wingback armchair beside the marble fireplace was Eleanor Callaway.

The matriarch was wrapped in a plush cashmere robe of deep navy. A small bruise blossomed along the right side of her jaw, and her right arm rested in a soft sling, but her posture was as regal and commanding as an empress holding court. In her lap sat a cup of steaming porcelain tea.

“Mrs. Callaway,” Rose gasped, instantly attempting to scramble upright. “I… where am I? What time is it? I have to call my manager at Elite Staffing, if I miss my shift—”

“Lie still, child,” Eleanor said, her voice gravelly but infinitely gentle. She raised her uninjured hand, gesturing for Rose to relax. “Elite Staffing has already been informed that your services are no longer available to them. In fact, Nathaniel bought the entire agency at approximately three o’clock this morning, primarily so he could fire your former supervisor for attempting to deduct the cost of the broken champagne flutes from your final paycheck.”

Rose blinked, her brain struggling to process the words. “He… he bought the company?”

“My son has a rather heavy-handed way of expressing his displeasure,” Eleanor said, the ghost of a smile playing on her lips. “And an even more aggressive way of protecting what he considers his debts.”

The heavy mahogany door to the bedroom swung open before Rose could reply.

Nathaniel entered.

He had changed out of his ruined wedding attire. He wore a charcoal-grey tailored suit, the collar of his white shirt unbuttoned, his dark hair slightly rumpled as if he had spent the night running his hands through it. The exhaustion etched around his eyes only seemed to enhance the severe, striking angles of his face. He carried a leather-bound folder under one arm.

His eyes immediately found Rose in the bed. A subtle, almost imperceptible tension drained from his broad shoulders the moment he saw her sitting up.

“Mother,” Nathaniel said, nodding toward Eleanor. “Vance said you were supposed to be resting in your own quarters.”

“Dr. Vance is ninety years old and worries too much,” Eleanor countered sharply. “I wanted to be here when our savior woke up. She saved my life, Nathaniel. If she hadn’t held on, I would be a smear on the pavement of Fifth Avenue right now.”

Nathaniel walked over to the side of the bed. He looked down at Rose, his gaze lingering on the bandages covering her hands. “How is the pain?”

“It’s… it’s fine, Mr. Callaway,” Rose said softly, pulling the duvet a little higher out of sheer instinct. She felt overwhelmingly out of place, an intruder in a world of staggering wealth. “The bandages are very neat. Thank you for… for having someone look at me.”

“Dr. Vance is the chief of reconstructive surgery at Presbyterian,” Nathaniel said plainly. “He spent three hours cleaning the glass out of your dermis. There will be minimal scarring, but you won’t have full grip strength for at least three weeks.”

“Three weeks?” Rose’s heart plummeted. Panic flared hot in her chest. “No, no, I can’t be out of work for three weeks! I have rent, and my brother—Leo has physical therapy bills due on the first, I can’t just—”

“Miss Jenkins,” Nathaniel interrupted, his voice low and steady.

Rose stopped, stunned that he even knew her last name.

“Your rent for the next five years has been settled,” Nathaniel stated, opening the leather folder and pulling out a document. “Your brother Leo’s medical debt at St. Jude’s has been cleared in full. Furthermore, I have arranged for him to be transferred to the Kessler Institute for comprehensive neurological rehabilitation at my personal expense.”

Rose stared at him, her lips parting, completely paralyzed. “Why… why would you do that? You don’t even know me.”