Mark's hand rose slowly, with a steadiness that caught Lilly off guard. His fingers brushed against her temple, then threaded through the strands of her hair. The gesture was not hurried. It carried a weight, as though he wanted her to feel every inch of his presence in that simple stroke. Her breath caught, the back of her throat tightening, though she forced herself not to lean into his hand. She sat frozen, the faintest tremor betraying her unease, her exhaustion, and the strange comfort she hated to admit was there.
"You shouldn't be here all day pretending you're fine," Mark said, his voice low, coaxing, "Let me take you to the hospital. You need to check on your brother."
Lilly shook her head quickly, her hair slipping from his touch, "It's not necessary. I can go later, on my own."
He didn't move away. His gaze, unwavering, settled on her with the kind of intensity that stripped excuses bare, "No, Levine, you'll go today. I'll take you myself."
Something about the firmness in his tone left little room for protest. Still, Lilly pressed her lips together, unwilling to surrender too easily. She slipped out of his office and returned to the finance room, to her own desk, the one place where she could keep her balance.
The day stretched itself thin. She buried her hands in work, moving papers from one side of the desk to the other, answering calls, signing forms, doing everything she could to anchor herself in routine. Yet even there, with walls and colleagues between them, she could still feel the weight of him. Mark had made his decision clear: he would wait. And somehow, his presence lingered, a quiet pressure that shadowed her no matter how hard she tried to lose herself in numbers and files.
By the time the clock finally released her from the obligations of the office, Lilly's body ached from the tension she carried in her shoulders. Mark came to her table without needing to say a word, already guiding the way. Outside, the evening air felt heavy, pressing down on her chest as they stepped toward his car.
He didn't take her straight to the hospital. Instead, they pulled into the wide stone front of a bank. Mark handed her a check, firm between his fingers, his eyes searching hers as though daring her to argue.
"Deposit it," he said, "It's yours."
Her throat tightened, but she obeyed. Inside, she signed her name with a hand that trembled more than she cared to admit. When the check cleared and the amount settled into her account, she felt a strange mixture of relief and shame twist inside her. By the time she returned to the car, Mark was already waiting, as though he knew she would not refuse him.
The hospital smelled faintly of disinfectant and something heavier. An air thick with waiting and worry. Lilly's steps slowed as they approached Nathan's room. Through the glass panel in the door, she saw him, still as she had left him. Machines clicked and whispered beside the bed, a fragile rhythm of life.
Mark entered behind her and took a seat by the corner, his posture deliberate, his expression unreadable. He did not speak. He only watched, a figure both reassuring and unsettling.
Lilly forced herself to move, to do something useful. She turned from the sight of Nathan's still body and walked to the administration wing. The process was painstaking, from signatures, receipts, and verification of payment in full. Each step drained her, yet when the clerk finally looked up with a smile and handed her the final slip, something eased in her chest.
Back in the room, Lilly tucked the paper into her bag. She leaned against the edge of Nathan's bed, her fingers brushing against the blanket near his hand. "It's paid," she said softly, though her eyes stayed on Nathan, "Everything is taken care of. Thank you again..."
Mark rose then, his figure looming gently over her, "Go home, Lilly."
She turned her head toward him, startled, "What?"
"You've done enough. You need rest." His voice was calm, decisive, "I'll have my driver wait here. If Nathan wakes, he'll call you immediately."
Lilly hesitated, "Are you sure?"
"Yes." The word was final. His eyes softened only slightly as he repeated, "I'll take you home."
Her body wanted to resist, but her exhaustion betrayed her. Slowly, she nodded.
As they stepped out of the hospital, Mark asked, almost casually, "Your address?"
She glanced at him, uncertain. For a moment, she thought of lying, of throwing a wall between them, but the weight of the day was too much. Her defenses slipped. She told him.
The ride was quiet, filled only with the muted hum of the city outside the windows. Lilly pressed her head back against the seat, staring out at the blur of lights. When the car finally rolled to a stop in front of her building, the night air felt heavier than before.
Mark stepped out first and came around to open her door. He didn't leave it at that. He walked her all the way to the entrance of the apartment, his hand lightly at her back as though to remind her he was still there, still in control.
"Thank you so much for everything, Mr.Bergen," she said, turning to him, her voice soft but steady.
He tilted his head, studying her with that gaze that always seemed to cut deeper than she wanted. His lips curved, not into a smile, but something far sharper, "Is that how you say thank you?" he murmured, "Not even asking me to come inside?"