Ian’s POV

“So, um... do you mind me asking about your parents?” His voice was gentle, laced with something I hadn’t expected from him, genuine concern. Masimo wasn’t the type to ask permission, let alone delve into personal matters with such care. Yet here he was, treading softly, not barging into the most vulnerable part of my life, but asking if he could enter.

For a moment, I hesitated. My throat tightened at the thought of going down that road again. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to talk about my parents—it was just that every time I did, it felt like reopening a wound that had never truly healed. The wound was old, but the pain was fresh, sharp, as if the memories themselves carried blades that sliced through the protective layer I’d built around myself. I sighed. Maybe... maybe this time it wouldn’t be so bad.

“No,” I began, my voice wavering slightly before I steadied myself. “It’s not like I don’t want to talk about them... It’s just... remembering them makes me sad.” I bit the inside of my cheek, trying to suppress the sudden rush of emotion. “Their death was... sudden, unexpected. An accident.”

Masimo nodded, his face still soft with concern, a look I wasn’t used to from him. I knew he wouldn’t push if I decided not to share, but something about the way he was looking at me made me feel like I could trust him. For once, I wasn’t being forced into anything.

“What happened to them?” he asked, his voice low, as though he didn’t want to disturb the fragile space we were navigating.

I closed my eyes for a second, drawing in a deep breath. “It was just a regular day,” I began, memories flooding back in vivid colors and sounds. “My dad was the Chief of Police, highest rank in the department. He was always busy. My mom... she was a music instructor at a high school. She could play anything, piano, violin, guitar. She loved music, and she loved teaching.”

As I spoke, I could almost see them, like ghosts from another time. My dad in his crisp uniform, always looking so sharp and authoritative, and my mom, her laughter filling the house as she taught my brother and me little tunes on the piano.

“They met at a church event,” I continued. “It was one of those love at first sight things, I guess. They started dating, and a few months later, they were married.”

I paused, my throat tightening again. The memories were bittersweet. “Dad was always respected everyone loved him. But he was so busy, always working, that he rarely had time for us. My brother and I understood, though. For him, the country always came first.”

Masimo listened silently, his expression unreadable. I wondered what he was thinking. Did he relate to this at all? Did he understand the sacrifice my father had made, or was it foreign to him, a man who seemed to take what he wanted, when he wanted?

“We had this family tradition,” I said, a faint smile tugging at the corners of my mouth despite the heaviness of the subject. “Once a month, we’d go out for dinner, just the three of us. It was something we all looked forward to, especially since it was rare for my dad to have time for that.”

I could almost feel the warmth of that last night, the excitement bubbling in my chest as we prepared for dinner after two long months of missed family time. My brother had been on an educational trip, so it was just me and my parents. I could still remember the way the air smelled like freshly fallen rain and damp earth.

“We went to this restaurant,” I continued, my voice quieter now, as if speaking louder would somehow disturb the memory. “It had these beautiful outdoor dining spaces with white tablecloths and lights strung up along the pathways. I thought it was magical.” I smiled faintly, recalling the way the restaurant had shimmered under the pinkish-violet sky, the streetlights glowing more brightly than usual after the rain.

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“We talked about everything that night my dad telling us stories from his youth, my mom laughing at our antics. She always had this way of listening, really listening, you know? It made you feel important.”

The warmth of that night faded as I recalled what came next. “After dinner, I fell asleep in the car. My mom covered me with her shawl, the one I always loved because it was so soft. I woke up later, yawning, and asked my dad how much longer until we got home. He told me, ‘We’re almost there, buddy,’ and then...”

I swallowed hard, my voice catching. “A truck came out of nowhere. It slammed into the side of our car. Everything was a blur after that. The car rolled... over and over again. When it finally stopped... I was the only one awake. I tried to wake them up, my mom, my dad but they wouldn’t respond. I screamed their names, shook them... but nothing. That’s when I blacked out.”

Masimo’s expression was unreadable now, though I could see a flicker of something in his eyes, pity, perhaps, or understanding. I wasn’t sure, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to know. I’d told him everything. The entire tragic story. I’d laid it bare in front of him, the rawness of my loss, the loneliness that followed.

“My brother took care of everything after that,” I added quietly. “He was only seventeen, but he arranged the funerals, made sure we were okay. We had money enough to live on for a while. And when we were old enough, we both started working. My brother joined the police force. It’s what he always wanted, just like my dad.”

Silence stretched between us, thick and heavy. I didn’t mind it. I needed it. I wasn’t used to telling people about my parents. I wasn’t used to opening up like this. But for some reason, it felt... okay with Masimo.

Finally, he spoke, his voice soft but curious. “Do you know who the truck driver was? Was it intentional?”

I shook my head. “No, it wasn’t. The driver was drunk, lost control of the truck. He’s in jail now.” My voice was flat, emotionless. I’d told this part of the story too many times, and it didn’t hold the same weight anymore. The driver didn’t matter. What mattered was that my parents were gone.

Masimo nodded, the concern still etched on his face. He didn’t say anything, and I was grateful for that. There was nothing more to say.

We drove back to the mansion in silence. The night had taken a toll on me, and I could feel the exhaustion settling into my bones. As soon as we entered the bedroom, I collapsed onto the bed, too tired to care about anything else.

“I’ll be busy this week,” Masimo said suddenly, breaking the silence. “Maybe even the whole month. I might not have time to check on you or eat with you. So, for now, you can work at the hospital three days a week.”

My eyes snapped open, and I sat up, blinking in confusion. “Three days a week? Are you kidding? The hospital’s not going to let me work on my own schedule. I’m a surgeon in the ER—they’ll fire me!”

He gave me a knowing smile. “The hospital is owned by me. You can work there whenever you want. As for your phone, Mika will give it to you tomorrow. My number will be saved on it, and Mika’s too. If you need anything, call us.”

My mouth dropped open, but no words came out. He owned the hospital? Of course he did. He probably owned half of South Carolina. Still, it was hard to wrap my head around it.

After that, Masimo went to take a shower, leaving me to sit on the bed, stunned. When he came back, dressed in one of his silk robes, black, as usual, I couldn’t help but notice how relaxed he seemed, as if all of this was completely normal.

We dined in our room that night, the food brought up to us. We talked in between bites, making small talk as if we weren’t trapped in this strange, forced relationship. But Masimo seemed distracted, his mind elsewhere. After dinner, he stood up, walked over to me, and kissed me on the forehead.

“I’ll be in my office or out of town for a while,” he said softly. “See you soon.”

Before I could respond, he left, and I was left sitting there, stunned. What the hell just happened?

The next morning, I woke up feeling strangely excited. For the first time in what felt like forever, I was going back to the hospital. My job, my sanctuary, the one place where I felt like I truly belonged.

As I arrived at the hospital, a bodyguard trailing behind me, my heart leapt when I saw her, Oli, the one person I’d been dying to see. She was standing by the reception desk, her face lighting up when she saw me.

“Ian! Long time no see,” she called out, her voice as warm and sweet as ever. “Are you alright?”

I smiled, feeling a rush of warmth in my chest. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just... had some business to take care of.”

But then I noticed something that stopped my heart. A ring. A diamond ring on her finger. I stared at it, unable to blink, unable to process what I was seeing.