Rejected: A love story-Chapter 73: Saved

Nathan pushed the door open with his shoulder, holding Fiona tightly in his arms. Her body was limp against him, her head resting weakly on his chest. The house lights were still on—dim but alive—because everyone had refused to sleep until she returned.

Anne was the first to react. She stood up from the couch the second she heard the door open, her hands flying to her mouth, a loud gasp escaping her. "Nathan—oh God—Fiona!" Her voice trembled as she rushed toward him.

Gabriel stood quickly too, his posture stiffening, his eyes widening as he took in the sight: pale Fiona, trembling, and barely conscious. Natasha rose slowly, staring at the Fiona in Nathan’s arms as if she couldn’t make sense of what she was seeing.

"Nathan," Anne breathed, panic spilling from her eyes, "is she okay? Is she hurt? My God—what happened to her?"

"She’s fine," Nathan managed, though his voice was rough, strained. "She will be. I already called the doctor. He’s on his way."

He didn’t stop walking. He moved past them, up the stairs, holding Fiona like she would vanish if he loosened his grip even slightly.

Anne followed a few steps behind. "But Nathan—your face—your hands—they’re shaking. Is she—"

"She’s fine," he repeated, quieter this time, as if saying it enough times would force it to be true.

Before Anne could ask anything else, Gabriel spoke from the bottom of the stairs. "Nathan," he said firmly, "where is Caleb? You came alone."

Nathan paused only for a second, glancing down the staircase. "He took the driver to the hospital. The man was in a bad state—whatever they gave him knocked him out completely." His jaw clenched. "Caleb will update me once a doctor checks him."

Anne pressed a hand to her chest. "Oh God... those poor people..."

Nathan didn’t respond. His entire world was the fragile girl in his arms.

He carried her into his room and pushed the door open with his foot, moving straight to the bed. He lowered her onto it slowly, carefully, as if she were made of glass and the slightest wrong movement might shatter her. Her eyelids fluttered weakly, but she didn’t wake.

He crouched beside the bed, brushing her hair out of her face. Her skin felt too warm beneath his fingertips, and the closer he looked, the more he realized her breathing wasn’t just shallow—it was uneven, almost strained.

Fear punched him in the chest. His hand shook slightly as he touched her forehead again, confirming it—her temperature was rising, and it was....fast.

"Damn it..." he whispered.

Then his eyes landed on something else. He saw a thin, shallow cut at the corner of her mouth. It was swelling and had form a bruise indicating someone had hit her.

He froze for a sec. Anne made it to the doorway and saw him staring at Fiona’s face. "Nathan? What—"

"They hit her," he said, his voice low, so low it almost wasn’t a sound. "Someone hit her."

Anne’s stepped closer, her heart twisting painfully as she saw the small wound for herself. "Oh sweetheart... who would do this?"

Gabriel walked into the room behind her, expression darkening at the sight of Fiona. "Those men won’t get far," he said under his breath. "The police are already searching."

Nathan didn’t answer. Rage was crawling beneath his skin, crawling like something alive. But he stayed where he was, kneeling by Fiona, gently brushing her cheek with trembling fingers.

Minutes passed with everyone standing in tense silence until the doorbell echoed faintly through the house.

"That must be the doctor," Anne said quickly and hurried off.

Gabriel remained where he was, his gaze shifting between Nathan and the unconscious girl on the bed.

Soon the doctor entered Nathan’s room carrying a small medical bag. He paused when he saw Fiona, taking in her condition instantly with a practiced eye.

"Let me have a look," he said, approaching the bedside.

Nathan moved back but didn’t go far. His eyes never left Fiona.

The doctor checked her temperature, inspected the cut on her lip, examined her pupils, listened to her breathing, and pressed lightly along her wrists and arms for any signs of fractures or deeper injuries. His movements were steady, calm, but focused.

After several long minutes he let out a soft exhale.

"She’s not in immediate danger," he said, looking up at Nathan. "Her fever is likely stress-induced. She’s dehydrated and exhausted, and her body is shutting down from shock."

Anne nodded vigorously, as if absorbing every word. Gabriel stood beside her, arms crossed tensely.

"She’ll need rest," the doctor continued. " lot’s of fluid. Something light to eat once she wakes fully. I’ll prescribe medication to bring down her fever. She may experience nightmares or heightened fear for a while—it’s normal after an ordeal like this."

Nathan swallowed hard. "Is she going to be fine?"

"Yes," the doctor said firmly. "She will be. Her vitals are stable. This will pass with rest and care."

Nathan’s shoulders dropped for the first time since he’d found her. Relief hit him so sharply it almost hurt.

The doctor scribbled down prescriptions, handed them to Gabriel, and gathered his equipment.

"If anything changes—or if her fever spikes further—call me immediately."

"We will," Gabriel assured.

The doctor nodded once, then left the room quietly.

Anne stepped closer and placed a gentle hand on Nathan’s back. "She’ll be okay," she whispered softly, voice thick with emotion. "You saved her, Nathan. Don’t torture yourself."

He didn’t answer. His jaw clenched tightly, his eyes fixed on Fiona as if he couldn’t risk looking anywhere else.

Gabriel approached and rested his large hand on Nathan’s arm—a rare gesture from him. "Son," he said quietly, "you did everything right. Now get some rest. We’ll be in our room if you need us."

Nathan didn’t look up, but he nodded once.

Gabriel gave Anne a small nudge and the two stepped out, closing the door almost silently behind them.

Natasha remained, she stood still near the dresser, staring at Fiona with a strange, conflicted expression—worry tangled with something else. She didn’t speak immediately, as if searching for words.

Finally, she whispered, "Nathan..." she called but he didn’t turn.

She took a step forward. "Nathan, do you... do you need anything? Should I bring—"

"Get out," he said softly.

Natasha blinked. "But I—"

"Get out," he repeated, voice sharper now, though still quiet. Controlled.

She swallowed, hurt flickering visibly across her face. She looked once more at Fiona—at how Nathan hovered over her, at how his entire world seemed centered on her unconscious body—and then she backed away.

She slipped out of the room and shut the door behind her.

Nathan stared at Fiona’s sleeping face—at the bruise, the cut, the fevered flush beneath her skin. His vision blurred slightly, and he blinked hard.

Then he sniffed, a sharp, shaky breath. His hand lifted to his face, brushing away tears he didn’t want to acknowledge.

He climbed onto the bed beside her slowly, carefully, as if afraid the mattress might disturb her. He slid close enough that he could feel her warmth—but not enough to suffocate her.

He reached out and touched her cheek softly, his thumb gliding over her skin with a tenderness he didn’t show to anyone else.

His fingers traced the line of her jaw, then brushed a stray strand of hair behind her ear. He rested his hand on the side of her face, caressing gently, like she was something sacred. Every breath he exhaled was full of love—terrified, broken, furious love. He held her gaze even though her eyes were closed, as if willing her to open them, to see him, to know he was there.

He leaned down slightly, his forehead resting against the crown of her head.

"I’ve got you," he whispered, barely audible. "I’m right here."

"I’m sorry for letting you down today, It’s my fault cupcake. I couldn’t protect you"

He paused still staring at her face. "I would make sure those who did this to you pay!!"