Naomi Brooks had cleaned thousands of hospital rooms, but she had never stood in one trembling as if trapped inside someone else’s life. Yet here she was—facing a man she’d never met, lying motionless in a million-dollar bed, while two lawyers waited behind her like shadows.
She wasn’t supposed to be here.
She wasn’t supposed to be part of a billionaire family’s crisis.
She wasn’t supposed to marry a man in a coma.
But life never cared much about what Naomi was supposed to be.
“Miss Brooks,” Clara Evans murmured, her voice smooth as polished steel, “we need you to sign the marriage contract now. Mr. Thornton’s condition is deteriorating, and without your cooperation, the board will take control by morning.”
Naomi’s stomach twisted. She stared at Ethan Thornton—handsome even in stillness, a faint bruise along his jaw, thick lashes resting against skin too pale. He didn’t look dangerous. He looked…lost.
“If I do this,” Naomi whispered, swallowing the knot in her throat, “my mother’s surgery is guaranteed? No tricks?”
Clara didn’t blink. “Every cent. We keep our word.”
Naomi knew she shouldn’t trust them. Gregory Thornton didn’t build an empire on kindness. But what choice did she have? Her mother’s lungs were failing, and the hospital had already warned her about the next unpaid bill.
Her hands shook as she signed her name—Naomi Brooks-Thornton—a name that didn’t feel real even as it bled across the page.
“Now the kiss,” Clara said, nodding toward Ethan. “For legal authenticity. It must be witnessed.”
Naomi felt her breath catch. She approached the bed slowly, terrified she was crossing a line she could never step back from. But she leaned down anyway, whispering softly to the unconscious man, “I’m sorry. I don’t want this either.”
Her lips brushed his lightly—barely a breath, barely a touch.
And then the heart monitor spiked.
Beep.
Beep-beep.
Beep-beep-beep.
The lawyers froze. Clara stepped forward sharply. Naomi jerked back, her pulse thundering in her ears.
“What’s happening?” she gasped.
Ethan’s fingers twitched. His eyelids fluttered—just once, like someone fighting through thick darkness.
“Impossible,” Clara muttered. “He hasn’t moved in two months.”
The monitor climbed higher. Naomi stared in horror and disbelief as the slightest breath—deeper than before—lifted Ethan’s chest.
Did he…react to her?
A nurse burst into the room, shouting for backup.
Naomi stepped away, her heart stuttering.
Had her kiss triggered something?
And if Ethan Thornton was waking up…
What would he do when he discovered he had a wife he never chose?
Naomi wasn’t allowed back into Ethan Thornton’s room for the next twelve hours. Doctors rushed in and out, nurses whispered urgently, and Clara Evans avoided her gaze as if Naomi were a problem she didn’t know how to fix.
She sat alone in a hallway chair, hands knotted in her lap, replaying the moment over and over.
The kiss.
The monitor spike.
Ethan’s fingers moving.
It couldn’t have been her…could it?
When the door finally opened, Dr. Rayner approached her with a clipboard and an expression she couldn’t read.
“Mrs. Thornton,” he said.
The title hit her like a slap.
“Ethan showed neurological activity we haven’t seen since the accident. He’s not awake yet, but his responsiveness increased significantly.”
Naomi swallowed. “Because of…what I did?”
“We can’t say that.” His tone was cautious. “But something changed.”
Something.
A word too big and too vague at the same time.
Before she could ask more, Gregory Thornton himself stormed down the hall—a tall, severe man with cold eyes and the presence of someone used to absolute obedience. His gaze sliced across Naomi.
“You,” he snapped, “come with me.”
He led her into a private conference room, slammed the door shut, and faced her with a fury she’d never seen.
“What did you do to my son?”
Naomi stiffened. “I didn’t do anything. You asked for a kiss for the contract. That’s all.”
Gregory paced like a caged animal. “His vitals changed right after you touched him. That wasn’t part of the plan.”
“What plan?” Naomi demanded, heat rising in her voice. “You forced me into a marriage I didn’t want! I only did it to save my mother!”
“And you were compensated,” Gregory shot back. “But now you’re interfering.”
“Interfering with what? Ethan getting better?”
Gregory froze.
For the first time, Naomi saw something crack in his expression—not anger. Fear.
Before either could speak again, Clara burst into the room, breathless.
“Gregory—you need to come. Now.”
They hurried to Ethan’s room.
Ethan’s eyes were open.
Barely. Flickering. Confused. But open.
Naomi’s breath caught. Ethan shifted weakly, trying to speak, but only a rasping whisper came out.
Clara rushed forward. “Ethan, it’s Clara. You’re in the hospital. You were in an accident—don’t try to move.”
But Ethan’s gaze slid past everyone until it landed on Naomi.
And held.
Confusion. Recognition? Something deeper? She couldn’t tell.
Gregory immediately blocked Naomi with his arm. “Don’t get near him.”
Dr. Rayner interrupted sharply. “Everyone needs to step back. He needs calm, not chaos.”
As the room swarmed with medical staff, Naomi backed into the hallway—shaken, breathless, overwhelmed.
She had done what she came to do. Her mother’s surgery was scheduled and paid for. The contract was fulfilled. She could walk away now.
But then the door opened.
Clara stepped out, shutting it behind her. Her expression was tight.
“Naomi…Ethan is asking for you.”
Naomi’s heart lurched. “Why?”
Clara exhaled slowly. “Because the first word he spoke was your name.”
Naomi stepped into Ethan’s room with trembling hands. Machines hummed softly, sunlight filtered through half-drawn blinds, and Ethan—the man she was legally married to yet had never truly met—watched her with weary but focused eyes.
He looked less like an heir and more like someone fighting his way back from the edge.
Naomi stopped at the foot of the bed. “You…asked for me?”
Ethan’s voice was hoarse, barely audible. “You were here. Before.”
“Yes,” she whispered. “But you were unconscious.”
He studied her, confusion flickering. “Why…were you here? Who are you?”
The question felt like a knife.
She opened her mouth, but Gregory stepped inside before she could answer.
“That’s enough,” he barked. “She doesn’t need to be here.”
But Ethan surprised them both.
“Leave.”
Gregory blinked. “Ethan—”
“I said leave.” Ethan’s voice cracked, but his eyes were sharp.
Gregory reluctantly exited, jaw clenched. Naomi remained frozen.
Once they were alone, Ethan gestured weakly to the chair beside him. She sat.
He took a shaky breath.
“Everyone keeps dodging my questions. I want the truth. Why does the chart list you as my wife?”
Her heart pounded.
“You were in a coma. Your father needed someone to marry you to keep your shares inside the family so the trustees wouldn’t take over. I—” She faltered. “I needed the money for my mother’s surgery. They offered to pay everything if I signed.”
Shock rippled across Ethan’s face. “So he…used both of us.”
Naomi nodded.
Ethan closed his eyes briefly. “And the kiss?”
She flushed. “It was required. A formality. I didn’t want to—”
“I remember it.”
Naomi froze.
“What do you mean…remember?”
Ethan opened his eyes again—clearer now, the fog lifting. “I remember warmth. Pressure. Like something pulling me back. I don’t know how to explain it.”
Her pulse stuttered.
He wasn’t accusing her.
He wasn’t angry.
He was…grateful?
Before she could respond, Gregory burst back in, unable to restrain himself any longer.
“This conversation is over. Ethan needs rest.”
But Ethan’s voice cut clean through the air.
“No. What I need is to get out from under your control.”
Gregory’s face hardened.
Ethan continued, “Cancel the contract. Naomi shouldn’t be tied to this family. She did what she had to do. Release her.”
A strange ache tightened Naomi’s chest. Why did the thought of leaving suddenly hurt?
Gregory stormed out, slamming the door.
Ethan turned back to her.
“If you want to go…you can.”
Naomi looked at him—the vulnerability, the sincerity, the quiet strength beneath the exhaustion.
“I should go,” she whispered. “But I…don’t want to.”
Ethan’s breath caught.
Over the next week, Ethan grew stronger. Naomi visited daily—not because Clara ordered it, not because Gregory watched, but because Ethan asked her to stay.
They talked.
They laughed softly.
They learned each other’s scars.
By the second week, Ethan could sit up on his own.
One evening, he reached for her hand. “When I wake up, I want to start a real life. Not a contract. Not a lie. If you’d ever want…”
Naomi smiled through tears. “Ask me again when you’re standing.”
Two months later, under a spring sky outside the hospital, Ethan stood on unsteady but determined legs, took her face gently in his hands, and kissed her—the kind of kiss that wasn’t a contract, wasn’t a requirement, wasn’t survival.
It was choice.
Both of theirs.
“I love you,” he whispered.
And for the first time in her life, Naomi felt chosen—not for money, not for desperation, not as a last resort.
Chosen because she mattered.
