"I said it once more: we're done." Finnian Neumann blinked like I had delivered a surprise line in a badly written play. He stepped toward the hospital bed with the practiced ease of someone who had never been told no and expected applause instead. "Don't be dramatic," he said. "You can't mean that. You know how this looks." "I'm aware of how it looks," I said. "I mean it." He smiled the smile that earned him magazine covers. It landed on my face and slid off. He tried the shrug, the charm, the casual shoulder brush that used to melt other people's words. "Carly, get me a nurse," he barked, louder. "She's not—" "Finnian." Carly Schmidt cut him off like she cut through bad contracts. "Leave. Now." Finnian's smile stiffened. "This is a hospital, Carly. You don't boss me around." "She's under our care," Carly said. "You have no business here arguing about PR scripts. Get out before you cause a scene." "Cause a scene? I'm the scene." "I don't care who's the scene," I said. "You're done here. Leave." Finnian laughed, high and sharp. "You think you can tell me that? Who even are you?" "I'm Aurora Myers," I said. I let the name sit between us like a challenge. Finnian's expression changed. The laugh died. "Aurora—" He moved closer, voice dropping. "You can't just wake up and say that. People will talk