Never Again Yours (Isadora and Magnus) novel Chapter 449

Victor gently brushed her forehead, his eyes dark and deep, his voice low and soothing. "Go to sleep. I'm right here."

Isadora had just woken up and was still weak; exhaustion claimed her quickly.

She knew Victor would stay with her, and the familiar scent of pine that clung to him made her feel safe.

She closed her eyes and drifted off almost instantly.

Her long, curled lashes rested against her cheeks, and her breathing soon became slow and even. Peaceful as a kitten, she looked soft and delicate—utterly defenseless.

She was just asleep.

Victor watched her, gaze fixed and unwavering, and stayed by her side the entire night without once closing his eyes.

—

Morning arrived.

Finley appeared bright and early, ushering a team of specialists into the room.

He was Isadora's attending physician, personally overseeing every exam and procedure—he even drew her blood himself.

Everyone in the hospital knew that the VIP suite upstairs housed someone of rare importance.

An entire floor had been cleared just for her.

Nearly a dozen security guards were stationed at every entrance, ensuring no unauthorized visitors could disturb her.

Finley reviewed Isadora's test results from the night before; her recovery was going well, all things considered.

He gave her a gentle reminder. "Isa, your leg is still stiff and not very mobile. Don't try walking for now. Once circulation improves, the swelling and stiffness will gradually fade."

"Thank you," Isadora replied.

She knew Finley was going above and beyond for her—mostly out of respect for Victor.

After the checkup, Victor and Finley chatted quietly by the door before coming back inside.

Once the doctors left, the rest of the day stretched on.

Isadora stayed in bed, treated almost like an endangered species under state protection.

Isadora couldn't shake the feeling that Victor was actually upset about something.

—

By midday, a housekeeper knocked, pushing in a cart with a carefully prepared meal.

Victor set his tablet aside, rising with his usual quiet dignity to walk over to the bed.

The housekeeper rolled the trolley beside her and quickly slipped out.

Victor sat at the edge of the bed, lifting a porcelain bowl with elegant hands.

Inside was a delicate chicken broth, the surface shimmering with the thinnest sheen of golden oil.

Victor expertly skimmed off the excess fat, then scooped up a spoonful, blowing gently to cool it before offering it to Isadora.

She obediently parted her lips and tasted the soup—a touch of sweetness, smooth and savory, clearly the result of hours of slow simmering.

Victor filled the spoon again, cooled it, and brought it to her lips once more.