The first thing I saw was white. A white ceiling. A white wall. Even the light was too white, too sharp. It wasn't my house.
I tried to sit up, but pain shot through my side and a soft hand pressed me gently back down.
"No, no. Hold on. Let me call the nurse," a woman's voice said.
I blinked, trying to place her face. She was unfamiliar beautiful, polished, and calm. I lay back and let the room blur for a second. My head felt heavy, and my mouth tasted like metal.
Two nurses walked in, speaking in hushed tones as they hovered around me, checking wires and machines. One of them nodded toward the woman.
"She's stable. Good recovery signs."
The woman let out a breath and pulled out her phone. She dialed quickly and said just three words: "She's awake." That was it. Short. Sharp. Final.
The silence that followed felt like it was waiting for someone to speak first. So I did.
"Who are you?" I asked, voice barely above a whisper.
She smiled slightly. "I'm Alex's—"
But I'd started talking at the same time, and our words collided. We both paused, looked at each other, and laughed a little awkwardly.
Before she could finish her sentence, the door opened with a thud. Alexandra strode in, shirt sleeves rolled up, hair slightly messy, eyes full of worry.
"Thank God," he muttered. I couldn't remember the last time I saw him look that vulnerable.
The woman stood. "I'm Kate. I'm Alex's—"
Alex didn't let her finish. He gently ushered her out. "Thanks, Kate. You can go now."
And just like that, she was gone.
He turned to me, brows furrowed. "How do you feel? Do you remember anything?"
His voice was soft too soft for someone like him.
I nodded slowly. "I remember Efe. And the pain."
His jaw tightened, but he said nothing. Instead, he shifted back into work mode like flipping a switch.
"Well, I'm glad you're awake. We were worried we'd have to go on with the Lagos Fashion Week showcase without our designer and ambassador."
I just stared. He was so quick to hide his concern under sarcasm and business talk. I didn't know whether to be irritated or amused.
"You still remember the designs, right? Think you can pull out a few more magic tricks for us?"
"I just woke up in a hospital bed, and you're asking about sketches?" I raised a brow.
He smirked, but only a little. "The show's in a month. You'll have one more week to rest. I've already spoken with the doctors. You're not coming back to work until then."
He paused and looked at me more seriously this time. "I tried calling your family. The emergency contacts on your CV. No one came."
That was when the ache hit. Deep, quiet, and sharp. "There's no one else," I said softly.
He didn't respond immediately. I could tell he didn't know what to say to that.
Then he straightened. "Look… you can't go back to that house. Not alone. It's not safe. What happened could've been worse."
I stared at him.
"You can stay at my place for now. You'll have peace of mind. And it'll be easier for us to coordinate work."
"Is this some kind of pity invitation?" I asked.
"No. It's a responsible decision," he replied. Then added after a beat, "And I'd rather not have to worry about you losing my lead designer now."
I could tell that underneath his hard shell and blunt talk, he genuinely cared. And that scared me a little.
I looked away. "I will be moving out of the house so you don't have to worry"
"Stop being stubborn Bernice! At least you need a place to stay before getting another apartment"
I nodded in defeat "Okay. But only for the sake of work."
He nodded. But the slight softness in his expression told me he wasn't being completely honest with himself either.
Out in the hallway, I caught a glimpse of Kate walking away. Her heels echoed against the tiles as she disappeared around the corner.
And for the first time since the stabbing, I felt something more than pain. I felt... like things were changing. Again.