Chapter 5

“Third Person's POV”

The steady beeping of the heart monitor filled the sterile hospital room, accompanied by the faint scent of antiseptic. Adaline lay motionless on the hospital bed, her pale face contrasting against the stark white sheets. An IV drip was attached to her arm, feeding her body the fluids it desperately needed.

Justin stood near the window, arms crossed, his eyes sharply fixated on the city lights beyond. He had found her just in time, barely managing to pull her away from the edge of the bridge before she did something irreversible. It had been years since he last saw her, but he recognized her instantly. The moment she collapsed in his arms, he had acted on instinct, rushing her to the hospital without a second thought.

A knock on the door pulled him from his thoughts. The doctor stepped in, checking Adaline’s vitals. “She’s stable now,” the doctor informed him. “Physically, she’s fine, but she’s severely exhausted and emotionally distressed. She’ll need rest and support.”

Justin gave a short nod, his expression unreadable. He turned his gaze to the woman on the bed. She looked so fragile, so different from the stubborn girl he once knew.

Minutes passed before Adaline stirred, her eyelashes fluttering weakly. A groggy breath left her lips as she slowly opened her eyes, disoriented. She blinked against the bright hospital lights before her vision focused on the figure standing beside her bed.

"Justin?" Her voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper.

"You're awake," he said, his tone neutral. "The doctor said you're fine now."

Adaline tried to push herself up, but a sharp pain in her body made her wince. Everything hurt—her head, her arms, even breathing felt like a chore. She took a moment before speaking again. "Why... why are you here?"

"I saw you about to jump," he answered simply. "You fainted after I pulled you back, so I brought you here."

Her throat tightened as memories of the bridge came flooding back. The pain, the hopelessness, the overwhelming urge to end everything. And now she was here—still alive when she didn’t want to be.

Justin took out his phone. “I should call Michael.”

At his words, fear jolted through her veins. Her fingers clutched the sheets, panic setting in.

"No," she croaked, her voice raw with desperation. "Please, Justin, don't."

He paused, his brows furrowing slightly. "He’s your husband. He should know you're here."

Adaline shook her head rapidly, tears forming in her eyes. "If you call him… you should’ve just let me die." Her voice cracked, her expression pleading.

Justin’s grip tightened around his phone as he studied her. His expression remained unreadable, but she could see the hesitation in his eyes.

"Adaline," he said, his tone more controlled now, "whatever happened between you two, he's still your husband. He has a right to know—"

"He doesn’t care!" she interrupted, her voice breaking. "Justin, he won’t come here to take me home. He’ll come here to drag me back into hell. And I can’t—" Her voice trembled, and she clenched her fists. "I can’t go back."

For the first time, Justin seemed to really look at her. Not just as a woman in distress, but as someone truly broken. Someone who had nowhere to go.

Justin’s fingers hovered over his phone screen, his jaw tightening at her words. He studied her carefully, seeing the raw pain in her eyes. Something wasn’t right. Something more than just a simple marital dispute.

He slowly lowered his phone, his eyes still locked on her face. "What the hell is going on, Adaline?"

Adaline gripped the hospital blanket tightly, her fingers trembling as she tried to gather the courage to speak. Justin was still watching her, waiting for an explanation. His eyes were sharp, unreadable, but something in his stance told her he wasn’t just going to let this go.

She took a shaky breath, forcing herself to look at him. “Justin… I have nothing left,” she whispered, her voice barely holding steady. “My husband cheated on me with my best friend. She set me up, framed me, and now… she’s pregnant. He—he forced me to go through a surgery to save her. He hit me, told me she was moving in, and when I tried to leave, my mother… she threatened to sell me off to a man twice my age.”

Justin’s face darkened slightly, but he said nothing, letting her continue.

“I went to my mother for help, but she doesn’t care. She never did. She only sees me as something to trade for money. She told me I had two choices—stay with Michael and be humiliated every day or be sold to a disgusting old man for wealth.” Her breath hitched as fresh tears welled in her eyes. “Justin, I can’t go back. I can’t.”

She looked up at him desperately. “Please, help me,” she begged. “I’ll do anything—just don’t let them find me. I need to disappear. I need to run away.”

Silence filled the room for a long moment. Justin didn’t respond right away. Instead, he studied her closely, his sharp eyes scanning every bruise on her arms, every sign of exhaustion on her face.

Finally, he sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “And if I let you go?” he asked. “Where will you run to?”

Adaline swallowed. She hadn’t thought that far. She had nowhere to go, no money, no connections—nothing.

Justin exhaled heavily, rubbing his temples before looking at her again. “I can’t let you leave like this,” he finally said. “You might try to hurt yourself again.”

She flinched at his words, but he wasn’t wrong. If she had nowhere to run, then what? Would she end up back at that bridge?

After a long pause, he sighed. “Fine. I’ll help you. But you’re not leaving alone.”

Her eyes widened slightly. “What… what do you mean?”

“I’ll take you to my place,” Justin said. “You need a cover, so you’ll work for me. As a cook.”

Adaline blinked. “A cook?”

“You need somewhere safe, and I need someone to manage my meals,” he said simply. “You stay in my house, you work, and you stay out of trouble. That’s the deal.”