A young nurse bathed a millionaire in a coma, but when he suddenly woke up, something miraculous happened. The fluorescent lights in Westbridge Private Heart Hospital hummed softly as Anna Munro walked through the pristine white halls. She had been a nurse here for almost two years, but today felt different.
The moment she received the unexpected summons to Dr. Harris’s office, the head of neurology, a strange feeling settled in her chest. Had she done something wrong? Was she being transferred? She took a deep breath before knocking on the polished mahogany door. Come in.
Stepping inside, she found Dr. Harris standing near the window, his hands clasped behind his back, his usual sharp eyes fixed on the city skyline. His office smelled of sterile antiseptic and expensive leather, and the atmosphere was heavier than usual. Anna, he said, finally turning to her.
His voice was measured serious. We have a patient who requires special care, but this job is not for the weak-hearted. Anna’s brows furrowed.
Not for the weak-hearted? What kind of patient, she asked cautiously. Dr. Harris studied her for a moment before gesturing toward a thick medical file on his desk. Grant Carter, he said.
He said. Anna’s breath caught in her throat. Grant Carter.
The Grant Carter. Even if she hadn’t recognized the name immediately, the cover of the file said it all. A black and white newspaper clipping of a horrific car crash.
A year ago, the youngest billionaire in the city had been in a devastating accident. His sports car had veered off a bridge in the middle of the night, leaving him in a coma ever since. His name had once dominated headlines.
Grant Carter, the ruthless, untouchable CEO of Carter Enterprises. The man who built an empire at just 32. Now? He was nothing more than a ghost trapped in his own body.
His family rarely visits, Dr. Harris continued. And most of the medical staff simply do their rounds out of obligation. But Grant Carter needs someone, dedicated.
Someone who will actually care. Anna bit her lip. She could hear the hesitation in his voice.
And you think that someone is me? Dr. Harris nodded. I do. Anna took a slow breath.
It was a daunting task, taking care of a man who might never wake up. A man whose wealth and power once dictated the lives of thousands. But deep down, she knew her answer before she even spoke.
I’ll do it. Dr. Harris’s lips pressed into a thin line, but there was a glint of approval in his eyes. Good.
Your shift starts tonight? The private suite on the top floor of the hospital felt eerily quiet as Anna stepped inside. Unlike the cold sterility of the other patient rooms, this one was designed for luxury. A spacious layout, dimmed chandeliers, dark oak furniture.
And in the center of it all lay Grant Carter. Her breath hitched as she took him in. Despite the tubes, the machines keeping him alive, and the stillness of his body, he was beautiful.
Strong jawline, dark lashes against his pale skin, broad shoulders visible under the hospital gown. If not for the lifeless stillness, he could have easily passed for a man simply sleeping. But this was no ordinary sleep…
This was a man trapped in a never-ending silence. Anna swallowed hard and stepped closer, adjusting his IV drip before reaching for the warm cloth prepared for him. She hesitated for just a second before gently pressing it against his skin.
The moment she touched him, a strange chill ran through her spine, a sensation she couldn’t explain. Like he could feel her there. Like somewhere in the depths of his unconsciousness, he knew.
A soft beep from the heart monitor filled the silence, steady and rhythmic. Anna shook off the odd feeling and continued her work, carefully wiping his arms, his chest, making sure his body remained clean and cared for. I guess you don’t get a say in this, huh? She murmured, almost to herself.
Silence. I’ll take that as a no. A small smile tugged at her lips to spite herself.
The days turned into a routine. Every morning and evening, Anna would bathe him, change his sheets, monitor his vitals. But soon it wasn’t just about medical care.
She found herself talking to him, telling him stories about her day, about the world outside his window. You should see the cafeteria food, Grant. It’s tragic.
Even for a billionaire, I doubt you’d survive it. Silence. I don’t even know why I’m talking to you.
Maybe I just like the sound of my own voice. Silence. Silence.
Or maybe you’re actually listening. The heart monitor beeped steadily, as if answering her. And maybe, just maybe he was.
Anna hummed softly as she dipped a clean washcloth into the warm water. The sterile quiet of Grant’s private hospital suite was something she had grown used to over the weeks. The steady beep of the heart monitor, the faint hum of the IV drip, it was all part of the background now.
She leaned over the bed, carefully wiping Grant’s face, her fingers gentle but precise. You know, she said, her voice light. I read somewhere that people in commas can still hear things.
So, technically, you’re the worst listener I’ve ever met. No response, of course. She sighed, shaking her head.
It’s okay. I’m used to talking to myself now. She moved to clean the curve of his jaw when, a slight movement, her breath caught.
Had she imagined it? She froze, staring at his hand. Nothing. The fingers lay motionless against the crisp white sheets.
Anna let out a small laugh, shaking her head. Great, now I’m hallucinating. Maybe I’m the one who needs a hospital bed.
But the unease lingered. And over the next few days, it happened again. The second time, she was adjusting his pillow.
She wasn’t looking when she felt it. The faintest pressure against her wrist. Her head snapped down.
Grant’s hand had shifted. Only by a fraction of an inch, but enough to make her stomach flip. Grant, she whispered, hardly realizing she had said his name.
Silence. The same rhythmic beep, beep, beep of the monitor. She placed her hand over his, feeling his warmth, his stillness, his potential movement.
Nothing. Was she imagining things? Or was something changing? Anna couldn’t shake the feeling, so she reported it to Dr. Harris. He moved? The doctor arched a skeptical brow…
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