A Poor Woman Was Forced to Marry a Sleeping Billionaire — Then the Man Everyone Thought Was Unconscious Revealed He Had Heard Every Word.

PART 3

Weston’s return did not resemble a miracle. It resembled a battle fought one breath at a time.

Doctors flooded the room. His first attempt to sit ended with his blood pressure collapsing and Wren catching his shoulder as nurses lowered him back to the pillows.

Yet his mind was clear. He knew the year. He recognized his mother. He remembered the crash and the rain and a truck crossing the median where no truck should have been.

He remembered voices from the months after. Including Wren’s.

At dawn, when the specialists finally left, Genevieve sat beside him and held his face between shaking hands. “How long have you been aware?”

“Pieces for months. Clear for nine days.” His voice was rough from disuse. “Couldn’t move. Couldn’t open my eyes when people watched.”

“Why didn’t you tell us as soon as you could?”

His gaze shifted to Dr. Reyes, who stood near the medical cart. “Because someone changed my medication whenever I improved.”

Silence filled the room.

“Get out,” Weston said.

“Your condition requires—”

“Get out of my house.”

Genevieve signaled security. Only after the door closed did Weston look at Wren.

“You saw the bag.”

“You heard that?”

“I heard everything.” A trace of embarrassment softened his expression. “The newspapers. The ocean. Your plan for an art classroom. Your opinion that my portrait in the west hall makes me look like an arrogant undertaker.”

Wren covered her mouth. “I thought I was talking to myself.”

“You were talking to me.”

Genevieve laughed and cried at once. Then her joy faded. “Marcus knows you’re awake.”

“Good. Fear makes careless men move quickly.”

Weston asked for Owen Petrucci, the head of Kade security. When Owen arrived, Weston ordered independent doctors, a forensic test of every medication, and discreet protection for Wren.

“Also find Delphine Ashcombe,” he said.

Wren stepped forward. “Your recovery comes first.”

“Your mother is the reason you are here.”

“That does not make her your responsibility.”

“No.” His gaze held hers. “But finding her is the first promise I am choosing to make.”

The word *choosing* passed between them.

Later, after Genevieve went to rest, Wren sat beside the bed.

“I owe you an apology,” Weston said. “For remaining silent after I could respond. I was afraid the wrong person would see. That fear put you at risk.”

“You saved me from Marcus.”

“After you saved me first.” He shifted painfully against the pillows. “Stay as a guest until we find your mother. Accept security. Beyond that, you owe me nothing.”

Wren studied him. He had awakened to discover that his company was being stolen, his body had been drugged, and a stranger had been placed beside him wearing his family name. Yet his first clear decision was to give her a door.

“I want to stay,” she said. “Because I know what it is to have someone take control of your life while calling it care.”

For the first time, Weston smiled.