Adeline's POV
The faint golden light of early morning filtered through the hospital window, painting soft stripes across the room. I blinked my eyes open slowly, the sterile scent of antiseptic gently reminding me where I was.
And then I felt him.
His arm was still draped around my waist, warm and firm, as if even in sleep, he refused to let me go.
I slowly turned my head to look at him.
Lukas.
His breathing was steady, lips parted just slightly, lashes resting gently against his cheeks. The worry lines on his forehead had finally eased. He looked so... young. Not the terrifying mafia heir. Not the ruthless bodyguard. Not the man who had taken a bullet and still stood up to fight.
Just a boy—no, my boy—sleeping like the world hadn't nearly fallen apart just hours ago.
Something about seeing him like this made my chest ache.
How many times had he pretended to be strong? How many nights had he slept with one eye open, protecting me, defending others, burying pain too deep to name?
And yet here he was. Peaceful. Vulnerable. Safe.
I brushed a strand of hair from his forehead and smiled softly. "You look adorable when you're not threatening to kill people."
He stirred slightly, mumbling something incoherent, pulling me just a little closer. I froze for a second, afraid to wake him, but he calmed again, his grip loosening just a little.
I lay back down beside him and stared at the ceiling, my heart full.
Who would've thought… the same man who scared enemies just by stepping into a room… was the same man who now clung to me in his sleep like I was the only thing keeping him grounded.
And maybe… I was.
Just like he was, for me.
I gently pulled my hand away from his and stood up quietly, not wanting to disturb his sleep.
But as if on cue, the door creaked open and the doctor stepped in with a soft knock. His white coat swayed slightly as he walked in, clipboard in hand and a calm but serious expression on his face.
I straightened myself quickly.
"Good morning," the doctor greeted with a small smile, giving a glance toward Lukas, who was still asleep.
I nodded politely. "Good morning, doctor."
He approached the bed, checking the monitors and IV line before lifting the blanket slightly to inspect the wound beneath his bandages.
As he carefully unwrapped a portion of the dressing, his expression darkened just slightly.
"He's healing… but not as smoothly as we hoped," he said in a low voice, trying not to wake Lukas. "The stitches are delicate, and he's been under immense physical stress. Any sudden movement, strain, or emotional outburst could cause tearing."
My heart clenched.
The image of him last night—blood dripping, fists clenched, refusing to stop—flashed through my mind. He had pushed his body far beyond its limits… for me.
"You need to make sure he stays calm," the doctor added firmly. "No fights. No running around. And no stress. His body can't afford another hit."
I nodded quickly, guilt washing over me. "I'll make sure of it."
The doctor paused, then looked at me with a softer expression. "You care for him a lot, don't you?"
I smiled faintly. "More than I've ever cared for anyone."
He offered a gentle nod and finished the checkup, leaving quietly after a final warning to notify him immediately if Lukas showed any signs of fever or unusual pain.
As the door closed behind him, I stood frozen for a second, staring at Lukas.
The man who had faced death with fire in his eyes.
The man who now needed me to protect him—not from bullets, not from enemies—but from himself.
I walked back to the bed slowly, my heart heavy, and sat beside him again. I placed my hand softly over his.
"You don't get to be reckless anymore," I whispered, voice shaking. "Not when I just started loving you out loud."
It had been a week.
A painfully slow, sleepless, anxious week.
But today… finally, he was getting discharged.
I should've been exhausted, but the excitement bubbling inside me made me feel like a child waiting for her favorite festival. He sat on the edge of the hospital bed, fully dressed in black cargo pants and a loose hoodie, his movements careful but impatient.
He acted like he couldn't wait to get out of here.
But I knew better—he just didn't want to admit he was still sore.
"You're smiling too much," he muttered, raising a brow at me as he adjusted the sling on his shoulder.
"Because someone is finally leaving this place and going home," I said, barely able to contain the joy in my voice.
He smirked. "I'm going to pretend that smile is for me and not just because you hate hospitals."
I rolled my eyes. "It is for you. Mostly."
Truth was… I was more happy than he was. I had watched him in pain, seen him unconscious, bleeding and lifeless. That haunting image had refused to leave my mind no matter how many times I told myself he would be okay.
But now?
Now he was walking out of this room—injured, yes, but alive.
And mine.
I reached for his arm to help steady him, and he looked at me like I was being overly dramatic.
"I'm not made of glass, doll."
"No, you're made of sheer recklessness and stitched-up stupidity," I mumbled, but I held his arm anyway.
He chuckled softly.
As we walked down the hospital hallway together, every step he took made me feel lighter. I didn't realize until then just how heavy the past week had been on my heart.
Outside, the car waited, and as I opened the door for him, he turned to look at me.
"You gonna babysit me 24/7 now?"
I smirked. "You bet."
He stared at me for a long second. "I'm not used to someone being this happy just because I exist."
I leaned closer, my hand brushing his cheek. "Well, get used to it."
Because I wasn't planning on going anywhere.
Not now.
Not ever.
Once we reached the mansion, I was practically jumping with joy.
I tried to hold it in—tried to act like the mature, composed Adeline everyone thought I was.
But I couldn't.
He was back.
Not just as a bodyguard standing silently behind me at events…Not just as the shield I hid behind when chaos surrounded us.
He was back as the man I loved.
Lukas stepped out of the car slowly, eyes scanning the driveway, then the front door, and finally… me. He looked so calm, so guarded, like he wasn't sure if he was allowed to smile yet.
But I didn't wait.
I grabbed his hand, lacing my fingers with his.
"You're not just my bodyguard anymore," I whispered, "You're mine. That's all."
His lips twitched. "Finally accepting I'm yours, huh?"
I rolled my eyes, but my cheeks warmed. "You've always been mine. I was just too stubborn to say it."
He chuckled softly, squeezing my hand. "That's the most romantic insult I've ever received."
We entered the house, and my heart danced when I saw how the staff lit up seeing him. A few gasped softly—he was well-known here, the silent shadow behind me.
Now… he was the reason I breathed.
The mansion felt warmer with him inside. Brighter. Like something lost had finally returned to where it belonged.
He dropped onto the living room couch with a wince and muttered, "I'm never getting shot again. That couch? Worth it."
I laughed, the sound echoing louder than it had in days.
I sat beside him, tucking my feet under myself, just watching him. He looked around like he was taking it all in—the paintings, the bookshelves, the soft light filtering in through the curtains.
Then his eyes met mine again.
"Home feels different now," he said.
"It is," I whispered. "Because this time… you're not just protecting me from danger. You're healing me from everything else."
He leaned forward, brushing his lips gently against my forehead.
"I didn't think I'd make it back to you, doll," he said softly. "But now that I have… I'm not going anywhere."