Chapter 3 3

A Hidden Flame

Sophia's POV

There's something tender about watching someone find their strength again, like witnessing the sunrise after a storm. That was how I felt each time I walked into Williams' ward.

His once motionless figure now held the smallest signs of life-a twitch of the fingers, a flicker of the eyes and the ghost of a smile that he never shared with anyone but me.

He didn't know who I really was. He didn't know the weight I carried behind every word or the truth I kept buried under the name I borrowed-Sophie, the volunteer.

To him, I was just the quiet woman who brought books he didn't read and food he didn't eat. But he let me sit beside him and let me talk about the weather, politics or how the world outside was still moving even if he wasn't.

Sometimes he answered with silence, sometimes he'd mutter a sarcastic comment under his breath.

And sometimes... he looked at me as if I was the only light in his world.

I had no idea when I started falling in love with him. Maybe it was the day I caught him staring at the open window and a tear silently slipping down his cheek.

Or maybe it was the first time he laughed-a dry and reluctant sound, like his soul forgot how to do it and remembered just for a moment.

He was broken, and still, he was beautiful.

The press no longer covered his story. The world had moved on from the fallen heir, the once-favored CEO who now couldn't walk or run companies.

His family abandoned him, his friends vanished and his fiancée left him before his wounds could even scab.

But I didn't leave.

I couldn't.

I stayed because something inside me knew-he was worth saving, even if he didn't believe it anymore.

One afternoon, I arrived to find him sitting upright, his eyes watching the door like he was waiting for me.

"You're late today," he murmured.

It was the first time he ever acknowledged the routine.

I blinked, surprised. "There was traffic."

His lips twitched into what almost resembled a smirk. "There's always traffic in this city."

I laughed nervously, setting down the thermos I brought. "So you missed me?"

He didn't respond, just looked away, pretending to be uninterested.

But his ears had turned red.

I started talking about something silly, about the grumpy old man downstairs who argued with the vending machine again.

He listened, and when I finally offered him a spoonful of soup, he took it without complaint.

It was our routine now-quiet companionship, gentle healing, and even unspoken truths.

Still, each day made it harder to keep my secret.

I was Sophia Castillo.

Daughter of Gregory Castillo, the man who once rivaled Williams' own father in the business world.

Now, my father lay two doors down from Williams, hooked to machines, slowly losing his battle with time. I had traded my power suits and signatures for a nurse's uniform, trying to avoid media attention and greedy board members who were ready to strike the moment my father passed.

I couldn't let them know I was here. I couldn't let Williams know I was the heiress to one of the country's largest pharmaceutical empires. Not yet, not while he was so fragile and so unsure of who he could trust.

If he knew who I was, would he push me away?

Would he think I pitied him?

Or worse-would he believe I was trying to spy on him or manipulate him?

No.

So I kept my truth buried. Every day I walked past my father's door, heart pounding, praying no one from the press or hospital board recognized me.

And every evening, I sat beside Williams, pretending I was just Sophia, the volunteer with warm smiles and gentle words.

But I wasn't gentle inside. I was a storm.

I loved him, and love I realized was no gentle thing. It was fierce and demanding, a fire that burned me from within each time he looked at me and didn't really see me.

One evening, I found him looking out the window again.

"You ever wonder why people leave when you need them most?" he asked suddenly.

I stopped, surprised by the rawness in his voice.

"Sometimes," I whispered.

"My mother came once. Sat there for ten minutes. Then left. Said she couldn't handle seeing me like this."

"I'm sorry," I said, moving to sit beside him.

"My fiancée didn't even come," he continued, voice low and bitter. "She called once. She was glad she didn't marry a cripple."

My throat tightened. I reached for his hand, gently placing mine over it. He didn't pull away.

"They were fools," I whispered. "You're still you, Williams. You still matter."

He turned slowly toward me, eyes open. "Why do you come here, Sophia?" He asked again.

The question pierced through the walls I'd built as always.

I hesitated, carefully choosing my words. "Because I believe in second chances. And... because you remind me that even broken things can shine again."

"You always say things like that."

"Like what?"

"Like you know what it means to lose everything."

I smiled, but it didn't reach my eyes. "Maybe I do."

He didn't press further. But I saw something flickering in his eyes-understanding or maybe curiosity or something...

Weeks later, his recovery was slow but noticeable. He was trying now-doing his therapy without protest, eating better, even shaving.

He never admitted it, but I saw the change.

One afternoon, I brought him a new book-one I wrote under a pseudonym. I left it by his bed, pretending it was just something I'd picked up.

That night, I returned to see him flipping through the pages.

"You read this?" he asked, holding it up.

"Yes."

He glanced at me. "It's... good."

"Thank you."

"I mean it. It's like the author understands how it feels to be trapped in your own mind."

My heart skipped. "Maybe they do."

He tilted his head. "Did you write it?"

I panicked. "No! I just... like the style."

He smirked, but you have the same sad eyes as the author."

I laughed softly, but inside, I was unraveling.

He was getting closer, very closer to the truth and closer to me.

And I didn't know how much longer I could keep lying.

That night, I sat by my father's bed, holding his limp hand.

"Dad," I whispered, "I think I'm falling for someone, someone who doesn't even know who I am. Someone who might hate me when he finds out."

The machines beeped in response.

Tears gathered in my eyes.

"I don't know what to do. But I know this... loving him is changing me. It's healing me too."

I closed my eyes, pressing his hand to my forehead.

"I just hope he sees me before it's too late."

I walked into Williams' room to find him sitting, a blanket around his legs.

"You look like a king," I teased.

He looked at me, serious. "If I am, you're the reason I still have a kingdom left."

The words struck me like lightning.

I opened my mouth to respond, but a nurse walked in, announcing his next therapy session.

He sighed. "Come back later?"

I nodded with my heart pounding.

As I walked out, I knew the line between duty and desire had vanished.

I was no longer just helping him recover.

I was falling for him completely-and it terrified me the more.

Because soon, the truth would come out.

And I didn't know if love alone would be enough.