The Mistress Is Reborn As The Fiancée

The sterile white walls of the hospital room had become a familiar, if unwelcome, backdrop to Noelle's recovery. Days bled into nights, marked by the rhythmic beeping of monitors, the hushed whispers of nurses, and the constant, unwavering presence of Flynn.

He was a constant, a comforting anchor in the swirling chaos of her thoughts. He tended to her wounds, adjusted her pillows, and brought her books and magazines to distract her from the lingering pain. He was attentive, gentle, and surprisingly patient. Noelle saw a side of him she would never have thought existed, a side that was undeniably sweet and kind. Apparently, there was more than a cocky asshole in a hot body.

Yet, beneath the surface of her gratitude, a restless anticipation simmered. She was waiting, anxiously, for her rescuer to come. Because surely, they would want to see how she was doing. The figure from the wreckage, the angel she had glimpsed in her delirium was constantly in her dreams. She felt a strange, almost inexplicable connection to this unknown person, a sense of profound gratitude mixed with a burning curiosity about him.

She replayed the scene in her mind, the glowing silhouette, the gentle touch, the whispered words. She had felt safe, protected, as if an angel had descended to save her from the brink of death. She wanted to see him, to thank him, to understand the connection she felt, if it was one sided a mutual.

But he never came. Days turned into nights, and still, he remained absent. His silence was a mystery, a puzzle she could not solve. Was he shy? Was he afraid? Or was he simply indifferent?

The conflicting feelings gnawed at her. She felt grateful, indebted, but also strangely rejected. His absence felt like a silent dismissal, a subtle message that he did not care about her or how she was.

Flynn, sensing her unease, had become a constant source of reassurance. He would take her to the hospital garden daily, a small oasis of green amidst the sterile environment. They would sit in comfortable silence, the gentle breeze rustling the leaves, the sunlight warming their faces.

Today, however, Noelle's mood was particularly sour. She stared at the vibrant flowers, her mind miles away, her thoughts consumed by the mystery of her rescuer.

Flynn, noticing her distant gaze, placed a comforting hand on her arm. "You are going to be discharged in a couple of days," he said, his voice gentle. "You will be back to your old self in no time."

Noelle's expression did not change. She turned to Flynn, her eyes filled with a quiet desperation. "Has he come?" she asked, her voice barely audible.

Flynn's brow furrowed. "Who?" he asked, his voice laced with feigned confusion.

"My rescuer," Noelle said, her voice laced with a hint of impatience. "The person who pulled me from the car."

Flynn's expression softened. "No," he said, his voice gentle. "He hasn't come."

Noelle sighed, her shoulders slumping. "I don't understand," she said, her voice laced with frustration. "Why wouldn't he come? Doesn't he want to know if I survived?"

Flynn's eyes twinkled with a hint of amusement. "Perhaps he is shy," he teased. "Or perhaps he has fallen in love with you and is too afraid to face you."

Noelle's cheeks flushed crimson. "Don't be ridiculous," she said, her voice laced with a mixture of embarrassment and annoyance. "I just want to thank him. He saved my life."

"And you don't even know what he looks like?" Flynn asked, his voice laced with playful skepticism.

Noelle's blush deepened. "No," she admitted, her voice barely audible. "But I feel… connected to him. Like I owe him something."

Flynn's smile faded, replaced by a look of thoughtful contemplation. He stared at Noelle, his eyes filled with a mixture of affection and an emotion that only presented itself when she was concerned. Jealousy.

He felt a pang of ridiculous jealousy, a childish resentment that Noelle was so fixated on another man, a man she had never even seen. He, who had been by her side every moment, who had cared for her, protected her, was being overshadowed by a phantom, a ghost.

He wanted to tell her, to reveal his secret, to claim her gratitude, her affection. But he hesitated. He was not sure how she would react. He wasn't sure if she would believe him.

He had lied to her, had concealed his identity, had allowed her to believe that her rescuer was a stranger. He had done it to protect her, to shield her from the truth, but now, he was not sure if it was the right decision for him or her even.

He looked at Noelle, her eyes filled with a mixture of longing and confusion. He wanted to tell her everything, to confess his deception, to claim her as his own.

But he couldn't. Not yet. He wasn't ready. He wasn't sure if she was ready.

He sighed, his gaze shifting away from hers. "He will come," he said, his voice laced with a false sense of reassurance. "I'm sure he will."

"And what if he comes when I am gone?" Noelle challenged, her voice sulky like a child who had been deprived of sweets.

"Then the hospital staff will tell him where to find you." Flynn answered patiently.

Noelle nodded, her eyes filled with a lingering doubt. She was not convinced. She had a feeling that her rescuer was never going to come.

Flynn watched her, his heart aching with a mixture of love and guilt. He wanted to take her pain away, to erase her doubts, to make her happy. But he couldn't. Not yet.

He knew that he had to tell her the truth. He knew that he couldn't keep his secret forever. But he wasn't sure how. He wasn't sure when.

He was trapped, caught between his desire to protect her and his longing to be with her. He knew that he had to make a choice. And he knew that he had to make it soon.