Emaline woke to the sound of fists hammering against a door.

She bolted upright in the hard plastic chair. The harsh fluorescent light of the hospital corridor buzzed overhead. She had fallen asleep in the waiting area outside her father's room, exhausted from the long night.

The pounding continued.

She threw off the thin hospital blanket someone had draped over her and stumbled toward the door of her father's private room. She yanked it open.

Leo stood there. His face was the color of chalk. His eyes were wide with pure terror.

He raised his hands and signed frantically.

Dad. Blood. So much blood. He will not wake up.

Emaline's blood turned to ice. She shoved past Leo and sprinted into the room.

Walter was lying on his side in the hospital bed. A dark, wet stain covered his pillow. Thick, bright red blood was dripping from the corner of his mouth, pooling on the white sheets. His eyes were rolled back in his head.

"Dad!" Emaline screamed.

She threw herself onto the bed, grabbing his shoulders. His skin was freezing. His body was limp.

"Get the nurse! Call the emergency station!" she yelled at Leo, forgetting he could not hear her. Leo was already holding his phone up, showing her that he had pressed the bedside call button. The alarm light above the door was flashing red.

Emaline grabbed her own phone from her pocket. Her fingers were shaking so violently she dropped it twice before she managed to unlock it.

She did not call the nurse. She called Cullen.

He answered on the first ring.

"Cullen," Emaline sobbed, her voice a hysterical shriek. "He is bleeding. He is coughing up blood and he will not wake up. I do not know what to do!"

"Where are you? Is he still in his room?" Cullen's voice was a sharp crack of thunder. "Do not move him. Keep his airway clear. I am two floors down. I am coming."

Emaline dropped the phone. She grabbed a towel from the bedside rail and pressed it to Walter's mouth, trying to stop the bleeding. Her hands were covered in his blood.

Leo knelt beside her, crying silently, gripping Walter's ankle.

Every second felt like an hour. Emaline's chest burned. She could not breathe. She watched her father's chest struggle to rise, the rattling sound in his throat growing weaker.

Footsteps pounded down the corridor.

The door flew open.

Cullen filled the doorway. Behind him, a team of nurses and a doctor in a white coat rushed in, pushing past him with a crash cart. The doctor was shouting orders, and two nurses immediately began strapping an oxygen mask over Walter's face while another inserted an IV line into his arm.

Cullen stepped back against the wall, his jaw locked. He stayed out of the way, watching the medical team work with efficient precision.

Emaline stumbled backward, hitting the wall behind her. She slid down to the floor, pulling her blood-stained hands to her chest.

Cullen walked over to her. He did not care about the blood. He crouched down, grabbed her under the arms, and hauled her up against his chest.

"I have got you," Cullen murmured into her hair, wrapping his arms tightly around her shaking body. "They are going to stabilize him. He is in the right place."

Emaline buried her face in his neck, sobbing uncontrollably. The smell of cedarwood and his solid heartbeat were the only things keeping her from passing out.

"We need to move him to the ICU now," the doctor shouted.

The team unlocked the bed wheels and rushed Walter out the door. The corridor swallowed the sound of their urgent footsteps.

Cullen kept his arm wrapped tight around Emaline's waist, half-carrying her out into the hallway. Leo followed closely behind.

They followed as far as the heavy double doors of the intensive care unit. A nurse held up her hand, telling them to wait outside.

Cullen guided Emaline to a row of chairs against the wall. He eased her down into one and sat beside her. Leo dropped into the chair on her other side.

Emaline sat rigid, staring at her bloody hands. "If he dies... if he dies, I have nothing."

Cullen reached over and grabbed her hands. He did not flinch at the blood. He held them tightly between his own.

"He is not going to die," Cullen said, his voice vibrating with absolute authority. "The best doctors in the city are in this building. I will not let him die."

Emaline looked at him. Through her tears, his face looked like it was carved from stone. He looked like a man who could fight death itself and win.

She squeezed his hands back, clinging to him like a lifeline.

The red light above the emergency room doors glared like a warning.

Emaline sat on the hard plastic chair in the waiting room. She was staring blankly at the dried blood flaking off her fingers.

Leo was asleep, his head resting heavily on her shoulder.

Cullen was pacing near the vending machines. He had his phone pressed to his ear. His voice was low, but the tone was sharp and commanding. He did not sound like a project manager. He sounded like a king giving orders to his generals.

Emaline watched him. The fear in her chest was slowly making room for confusion.

Cullen hung up the phone and walked over to her. He crouched down so he was eye-level with her. He reached out and gently pried her fingers apart, stopping her from picking at her skin.

"Stop hurting yourself," Cullen said softly.

"The ER doctor said his lungs are collapsing," Emaline whispered, her voice hollow. "They said they might not be able to stop the bleeding."

"They are wrong," Cullen said flatly. "My friend is almost here."

Emaline let out a bitter, broken laugh. "Your friend? Cullen, this is Presbyterian. They have the best surgeons in New York. A friend is not going to fix this."

Before Cullen could answer, the double doors of the waiting room slammed open.

A tall, strikingly handsome man in a tailored suit and a white lab coat strode into the room. He moved with an air of absolute arrogance and brilliance. Two hospital administrators were practically jogging to keep up with him.

Cullen stood up.

The doctor walked straight to Cullen. They shook hands briefly.

"Where is he?" the doctor asked, his voice crisp.

"Trauma Room One," Cullen said, pointing down the hall.

The doctor nodded and pushed through the restricted doors without looking back.

Emaline stood up, accidentally waking Leo. She stared at the swinging doors in shock.

"Who was that?" she asked.

"Dr. Elisha Vinson," Cullen said, slipping his hands into his pockets. "He specializes in advanced thoracic trauma."

Emaline's jaw dropped. "Elisha Vinson? I have read about him. He runs a private clinic for billionaires. He does not do ER consults. How do you know him?"

Cullen's expression tightened. He looked down at the linoleum floor for a fraction of a second before meeting her gaze. "My old college roommate was Elisha's younger brother, who passed away," Cullen said, his voice dropping to a somber, quiet register. "Elisha always felt he owed our family a debt of gratitude for being there during that time. I have never called on him for anything, until today. I told him it was life or death."

Two agonizing hours passed.

Finally, the doors opened. Dr. Vinson walked out, pulling off his surgical cap.

Emaline ran to him, her heart in her throat.

"The bleeding is stopped," Dr. Vinson said smoothly. "We repaired the ruptured vessel. He is stable."

Emaline burst into tears of pure relief. She covered her face with her hands.

"However," Dr. Vinson continued, looking at Cullen. "He cannot stay here. He needs the hyperbaric chambers at my clinic to heal the lung tissue properly."

Emaline's relief vanished, replaced by a crushing weight.

"Your clinic?" Emaline choked out. "I cannot afford that. I signed a note for thirty thousand, but your clinic must cost hundreds of thousands."

"Do not worry about the cost, Ms. Finley," Dr. Vinson smiled politely.

Cullen stepped up behind Emaline. He placed a warm hand on the small of her back.

"I will handle the transfer fees," Cullen said.

Emaline spun around to face him. "No! I cannot owe you that much money. I will never be able to pay it back!"

Cullen looked down at her. His thumb brushed against the curve of her spine, sending a shiver through her body.

"You do not have to pay it back," Cullen said, his voice dropping to a low, intimate murmur. "Consider it a dowry."

Emaline's breath hitched. Her eyes widened.

A dowry. He was talking about the marriage proposal. He was buying her father's life in exchange for her hand.

She looked at Dr. Vinson, who was pretending to read a chart, completely unfazed by the conversation.

Emaline looked back at Cullen. His dark eyes were waiting for her answer.

She swallowed hard. "Okay," she whispered. "Okay. Transfer him."