A strong smell of disinfectant filled the air as Lana slowly opened her eyes. The bright hospital lights were harsh against her vision, making it difficult to focus. The steady beeping of machines surrounded her, an unfamiliar yet oddly rhythmic sound. Her body felt weak, as if she had been asleep for days. Her arms were heavy, her head throbbed, and her throat was painfully dry.
But none of that mattered.
Because the first thing she saw was him.
A man stood beside her bed, looking down at her with piercing, unreadable eyes. He was tall—easily over six feet—with broad shoulders and a powerful build. His dark brown hair was slightly tousled, but instead of looking unkempt, it only added to his undeniable allure. His almond-shaped eyes were sharp and full of mystery, giving nothing away. He was, without a doubt, the most strikingly handsome man she had ever seen.
Lana swallowed, her throat burning as she struggled to find her voice.
"Where… where am I? What happened?" she whispered, her words weak but laced with confusion.
The man's lips curled into a small, confident smile. Then, without hesitation, he leaned down and wrapped his arms around her. His touch was firm, warm, and impossibly steady, sending a rush of heat through her body.
"Don't worry. I'm here."
His voice was deep, rich, and intoxicating, sending a shiver down her spine.
His presence alone was enough to soothe her, as if nothing bad could happen while he was near. His gaze never wavered, locked onto hers with an intensity that made her forget everything—the fear, the pain, even the reason she was in the hospital.
But then, the door swung open.
Two people walked in—Jeff and Camilla.
The second Jeff laid eyes on the man beside Lana, his entire body went rigid. His eyes widened, shock flickering across his features. He recognized this man.
There was something strange in the air, an unspoken tension that seemed to weigh heavily between them. It was clear that Jeff hadn't expected to see him here.
But Lana didn't care.
"Get out," she snapped, her voice sharper now, stronger. She was done being polite. "I don't want to see your pathetic face ever again, Jeff."
Jeff hesitated, his mouth opening as if to argue, but before he could say a word, the man beside Lana straightened his posture. His sharp eyes darkened just slightly, his entire demeanor shifting.
He didn't need to speak. The message was clear.
Leave.
Without another word, Jeff clenched his jaw, turned on his heel, and left. Camilla followed quickly behind him.
The man beside Lana let out a quiet sigh, as if their presence had been nothing more than an annoying distraction. Then, when he turned back to her, his expression softened.
"Do you want to stay at my place tonight?" he asked, his voice smooth, effortless, yet carrying an undeniable weight.
Lana's breath caught in her throat.
There was something about him—something powerful, something magnetic.
"Yes," she found herself saying without hesitation.
A ghost of a smirk crossed his lips, but before anything else could be said, the door opened again. A nurse entered, clipboard in hand.
"You'll be discharged in an hour," she informed as she carefully removed the IV from Lana's arm.
But Lana barely acknowledged her. Her mind was already elsewhere.
By the time she was ready to leave, the man had already taken care of everything. As they stepped outside, he gave a small nod to a driver waiting nearby.
"Bring the car around," he instructed, his voice calm yet commanding.
A sleek black luxury car pulled up in front of the hospital entrance. Without a word, he opened the door for Lana, his hand gently resting on her back as he guided her inside.
For the first few minutes, the ride was silent. Lana stole quick glances at him, taking in the sharp angles of his jawline, the way the city lights reflected in his deep, unreadable eyes.
Finally, she found her voice.
"How did you find me? What happened to me?"
His gaze remained fixed on the road, his fingers tapping lightly against the steering wheel.
"I was out that night," he said simply. "I saw the accident—a white Porsche 918, completely destroyed. People just kept driving past, ignoring it."
A cold shiver ran down Lana's spine.
"I called an ambulance and made sure you got to the best hospital. I wasn't going to let you die like that."
There was something in his tone—something dangerously intense, something that sent warmth coursing through her veins. She didn't know what to say. She could only watch him, trying to understand this man who had quite literally saved her life.
The car slowed as they approached a massive glass building, one so luxurious that only billionaires could live there.
Lana stared. "This is your home?" she asked, unable to hide her shock.
A small chuckle left his lips. "It is."
The moment they stepped inside, she was speechless.
The penthouse was enormous—twelve bedrooms, six bathrooms, every inch of it designed with absolute luxury. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a breathtaking view of the city. Every detail was sleek, modern, and unbelievably expensive.
Staff moved around the space—four housekeepers, two security guards, and two massive German Shepherds watching them with trained precision.
And then—Lana froze.
Her eyes widened in disbelief.
There was a crocodile in the indoor pool.
Just lazily floating there.
She turned to him, utterly speechless. "You have a crocodile in your penthouse?"
His lips twitched in amusement. "Yes. His name is Caesar."
Lana shook her head, unable to process just how surreal this was. This man was beyond anything she had ever imagined.
They walked further inside, and as he removed his suit jacket, her gaze involuntarily flickered downward—the top few buttons of his shirt were undone, revealing just enough of his toned, muscular chest.
Heat crept up her face, and she quickly looked away.
"You live here alone?" she asked, trying to focus on something—anything—else.
He met her gaze, his expression unreadable. "For now."
For now.
Something about those words made her stomach flip.
As she continued taking in the grand penthouse, he made his way toward the kitchen.
"Are you hungry?" he asked.
Lana hesitated, then nodded. "A little."
Without another word, he began preparing something. His movements were precise, confident—effortless. Within moments, he placed a perfectly arranged dish in front of her.
Lana sat at the barstool, watching him as she ate.
After a moment, she spoke.
"I still don't know your name."
He turned to her, his dark eyes locking onto hers.
"Elon."
The name sent a strange shiver through her.
It suited him. Strong. Powerful. Unforgettable.
"Thank you for saving my life, Elon," she said softly.
He leaned against the counter, watching her carefully. "You don't have to thank me."
There was something unspoken between them, something undeniable growing in the quiet moments between their words.
For the first time in a long time, Lana felt safe.
And as she sat there, in his penthouse, eating food he had prepared for her, she knew one thing for certain.
Her life would never be the same again.