The check-up was quick, but the doctor's words echoed in Lana's mind long after they left the hospital.
"It's a rib contusion," the doctor had said, studying her chart. "No fracture, but you'll need a few days of rest. Ice the area regularly, avoid twisting or lifting anything heavy. Most importantly—stay in bed. If the pain worsens, come back."
Lana nodded with a tight smile, though the idea of lying in bed for days felt almost impossible.
On the drive back, Dylan glanced at her. "You're not staying in your dorm in that condition."
"I'll be fine," Lana said softly, staring out the window. "Carlyle's there. She can help."
"You need rest. Not to shuffle up five flights of stairs and share a bathroom with a dozen other girls," Dylan countered, voice firm but gentle. "Just stay at my place for a few days. I'll have everything ready for you."
She hesitated, then sighed. "I don't want to be a burden…"
"You're not," he said quickly. "I'll even call Mason to come stay, so it doesn't feel weird."
That made her look at him. "You'd do that?"
Dylan smiled. "Of course."
And so, an hour later, Lana stepped into the guest room of the Orwell mansion—her steps slow and careful as she pressed an arm protectively over her side. Dylan was right behind her, making sure she moved gently and without strain.
He had arranged the room just down the hall from his own.
"I thought you'd be more comfortable close by," he said casually. "In case you need anything."
The room was stunning—muted blue walls, soft lighting, and crisp, inviting sheets. Lana gingerly sat on the edge of the bed, grateful just to not be walking anymore.
Dylan sat on the armchair nearby, watching her for a moment.
"How're you feeling?" he asked. "Do you want something to eat before bed? Or just meds and quiet?"
"I could use the meds, maybe something light to eat later," Lana said, settling into the pillows with a sigh. "Thank you again… for everything."
He offered her a small smile. "No need to thank me."
They started talking more comfortably after that, the awkwardness fading into the kind of ease that came naturally between them. Lana found herself smiling more, even with the ache in her side, forgetting the pain with each of Dylan's clever remarks and warm glances.
Just as she was settling back with a more relaxed posture, the door creaked open.
Mason stepped in, catching the sound of laughter—and the sight of his father sitting comfortably at Lana's bedside, both of them smiling far too much.
His brows drew together. "Am I interrupting?"
Lana's smile faded slightly. Dylan leaned back without much of a reaction.
"No," Lana said quickly. "We were just talking."
Mason walked over, holding a fresh ice pack. "Here. You're supposed to alternate this every few hours."
"Thanks, Mason," Lana said softly, taking it from him.
Mason crouched next to her, lowering his voice. "Are you sure everything's okay?"
"It is."
"You don't look okay," he said, searching her expression. "Lana, talk to me."
"I swear, it's nothing," she said, though her tone wasn't convincing.
He sighed. "Alright. I'll let Carlyle know you're staying here for a few days. She'll probably come visit tomorrow."
"That'd be nice."
Mason stood up again and glanced at his father, who hadn't moved from the chair. "I asked the helper to bring you a small snack later. Something light."
"Thank you," Lana said sincerely.
He gave her a warm look, but as he turned to leave, his eyes shifted again to Dylan—still comfortably in his seat, clearly not intending to move.
Mason narrowed his eyes, sarcasm curling his words. "Are you not coming with me? Or are you going to camp here tonight?"
Dylan raised a brow, meeting his son's look with calm amusement. "Just making sure Lana's okay."
"I think she's had enough of your jokes for one night," Mason muttered, walking toward the door.
Lana chuckled softly. "I'll be okay. I'll get some sleep soon."
Before Mason left, Lana added, "Wait… Do either of you have extra women's clothes? I didn't bring anything."
Dylan stood, brushing his hands together. "Already handled. I had some things sent up in your size."
Lana blinked. "How did you—?"
"Lucky guess," Dylan said with a half-smile.
Mason rolled his eyes. "Of course you did."
As the door finally clicked shut behind Mason, Lana leaned back on the pillows, ice pack against her ribs, heart beating a little too fast for someone in need of rest.
The tension between the two Orwell men hung in the air even after one of them had left—and somehow, Lana knew that this night was only the beginning.