"She stood in the storm, and when the wind did not blow her way, she adjusted her sails."
— Elizabeth Edwards
Later that evening, her therapist arrived. She was a young brown-skinned woman, probably not older than twenty-five. Her long dreadlocks were tied in an elegant updo, and her warm presence filled the penthouse's quiet office space.
"Hello, Maeve. I'm Dr. Elira," she said gently, her voice calm. "Thank you for being here. I know this might feel strange or nerve-wracking, but I want you to know—this is your space too. You're free to speak, to feel… or even to sit in silence. There's no pressure."
Maeve gave a small nod.
"How are you feeling right now?" Dr. Elira asked.
"A little nervous. But okay," Maeve replied softly.
"That's perfectly okay. Everything you say here stays here."
Maeve nodded again.
"Do you feel safe right now—with me, in this space?"
Maeve hesitated. "Yes, I guess. You don't look like someone who'd want to hurt me."
Dr. Elira chuckled gently. "That's good to hear. I'm here to help. Can you tell me one thing you used to love before… everything?"
"I loved reading. And being outside, especially in nature," Maeve replied, her voice steadier.
"Then do more of that," Elira said with a smile. "Let yourself feel joy again, even in small ways. Have you had any flashbacks or nightmares since you got back?"
Maeve looked down. "Yes. A panic attack too. It felt like… falling. Like being pulled back into something dark." She said, not knowing exactly how to explain.
"I understand," Dr. Elira said gently. "Your mind is trying to protect you. It's not betraying you—it's just confused. But we'll teach it that you're not in danger anymore. You're safe now, Maeve."
---
Maeve felt a little lighter after the session. Talking about it—actually saying the things out loud—helped more than she'd expected. Tomorrow, physical therapy would begin. She hoped she'd get stronger soon. Needing help for everything made her feel so low.
She was still on her bed when Levi knocked and entered, as if sensing her boredom. He was wearing a long black coat and his glasses. He looked really good in them, though Maeve secretly preferred him without them. His lazy brown eyes was the most pretty thing about his face.
"You must be tired of being stuck in here," he said.
"Mhm," she nodded, sighing.
"I want to show you the garden lounge," he said, already moving closer to lift her. She wasn't strong enough yet to stand on her own.
As he held her, she caught his scent again—warm, clean, and spicy. Her cheeks warmed.
"Don't you get tired of carrying me everywhere?" she asked shyly.
"No," he replied easily. "You don't weigh much."
Maeve blinked. That made her quiet. She was aware of how slender she was, but was she that slim that he could be her stroller without stressing.
He looked down at her. "It suits you."
"Huh? What suits me?"
"Your smallness. It's… adorable."
Maeve's face flamed. Why does he say things like that so casually?
They took the elevator to the first floor. Maeve gasped—for what felt like the hundredth time. The view was even more breathtaking from here. Tall trees stretched out around them. A glass safety rail ran around the perimeter, making it feel open yet protected.
The garden lounge was beautiful. Shrubs and small trees surrounded a circular seating area with a firepit at the center. It looked like the kind of place you'd share secrets under starlight or read your favorite book in peace.
Levi carried her to one of the couches and sat her down gently.
"I asked Noelle what your favorite book was," he said, pulling a familiar cover from his coat pocket.
It was the same book she'd been reading before the kidnapping.
"I'll read it to you," he said, settling beside her, reading to her.
Maeve didn't say anything. She just looked at him. Really looked at him. Memorizing his features—the curve of his brow, the way his hair fell over his face and was always slightly tousled.
He had done so much for her. More than she expected. More than she thought she deserved.
And he kept doing more—without question.
Still promising to do more.
It was something unfamiliar to her.
---
Dr. Rowe had told Levi not to bring up anything that could potentially worsen Maeve's health. Honestly, Levi hadn't planned to anyway. If she ever found out the full truth now, it would crush her. And he couldn't let that happen—not after how far she'd come. Not when he was finally starting to see glimpses of light in her again.
She had begun to smile more. Laugh a little. Seem freer. That was progress.
But he still noticed the moments when her eyes drifted off, growing darker. When her mind traveled somewhere he couldn't follow. Dr. Rowe said her smiles and chatter were sometimes her brain's way of trying to stay away from those places—those memories.
Levi had dropped everything for her. Left Mikhail and Anton to manage things while he stayed close, watching over Maeve like his own fragile treasure. Each day, he learned just how deep the damage ran—especially from the people who were supposed to protect her. That uncle. That aunt. Monsters.
He remembered how her whole face had lit up the first time he cooked for her—just a simple meal. Her eyes, soft and wide with surprise, like no one had ever done that for her before.
And the way her smile widened only when he was around? How she got flustered so easily just by his presence?
It did something to him.
She intrigued him. This Woman—so small—had survived what would've broken most men. And yet, here she was. Still sweet. Still kind. Still trying.
He stood quietly by the doorway, watching her.
Her physiotherapist had arrived earlier and was guiding her through wrist exercises. He could see her hands tremble as she tried to rotate them. Slow, careful movements. But she didn't stop.
She was determined.
The wounds on her wrists had healed. All that remained was the journey of strength—rebuilding her nerves, her muscles, her trust in her own body.
And she would heal.
With the fight she had inside her, Levi had no doubt she'd recover.
Faster than anyone expected.