Chapter 85: Alnico
Alaric
Once the car pulled up to the hospital, I walked through the sliding glass doors and hesitated. I wondered briefly if I should swallow my pride, call Dami, and ask him for the exact room number, but I decided against it. Instead, I pulled my hoodie lower, walked straight toward the lobby desk, and greeted the nurse on duty.
"Hello. I am here to see Nico Park, the F1 driver.’’
The nurse paused, giving me a thoroughly skeptical look. "And who exactly are..."
I gently lowered my mask just enough to expose my features. Her eyes widened to the size of saucers the second she recognized my face. She gasped, clearly about to scream, but I sharply raised a hand, silently begging her to hold it in.
The absolute last thing I wanted was to be caught in the public eye.
Everyone would wonder what Alaric de Villier was doing visiting his fiercest enemy, and the rumors currently exploding online after our explosive post-race interview would spread like wildfire.
Rumors were the absolute last thing I needed hanging over my head this season.
"I am a massive fan of yours," she whispered frantically, her lashes fluttering as she leaned over the high counter, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial murmur. "I am also a huge fan of the ship Alnico." She giggled softly.
I forced a tight, polite smile onto my face, looking around nervously, but luckily for me, the lobby was occupied by busy staff. "Do you mind telling me where his room is?"
She nodded rapidly, smiling as if she had just won the lottery. "Anything for the ship," she winked. "He’s in VIP Suite 704."
"Thank you."
I turned to leave, but she hastily slid a notepad and a pen across the counter. "Please, could you kindly sign an autograph for me?"
I suppressed a heavy groan. An autograph? I had come here entirely in disguise, yet leave it to my luck to run into a hardcore fan who doubled as a shipper.
"Of course," I replied after a beat of tight silence.
As I pressed the pen to the paper, she suddenly leaned closer, her voice a breathless whisper.
"Alnico. Please sign it as Alnico."
Alnico. What an incredibly annoying ship name. Though, as I scrawled the letters, a small smirk tugged at the corner of my lips—at least my name came before Nico’s. That was something.
Once I finished the signature, I handed the pad back to her and stepped away, stopping briefly to look back. "Please keep my presence here an absolute secret."
"Anything for the ship," she reiterated, giving me another enthusiastic wink.
Following her perfect directions, I took the private elevator straight to the seventh floor and located the VIP wing. Standing right outside the heavy wooden door of Room 704, my heart began to hammer wildly against my ribs again. I was about to face Nico Park, and yet my nerves made it feel like I was about to walk into a cage with a beautiful, volatile predator.
Taking one last deep, stabilizing breath, I pushed the door open.
The suite was entirely silent, save for the rhythmic, electronic beeping of the vitals monitor beside the bed.
Nico lay right there. His left shoulder was heavily wrapped in white bandages, and his eyes were closed.
In his sleeping state, the fierce, biting contempt he usually wore completely melted away. He looked entirely ethereal—like an angel carved from marble, breathtakingly beautiful and devastatingly fragile. Seeing him this close without the barrier of our usual hostility, I noticed just how long and thick his dark eyelashes were against his pale skin.
A sudden, desperate urge to reach out and touch them flared up inside me. It wasn’t everyday I gotta see Nico Park completely vulnerable like this.
My hand moved instinctively, fingers hovering just inches away from his face, but reality suddenly snapped me back. I sharply pulled my hand away, berating myself. I had seen his face. I knew he was breathing. It was time to leave.
I shouldn’t be thinking about anything else.
But just as I turned toward the door, a ragged sound broke through the quiet room.
"No, uncle... not that arm, no! Don’t come close uncle!’’Nico screamed out in pure agony.
I whipped back toward the bed instantly. He was thrashing violently against the sheets, his head tossing from side to side as heavy beads of sweat began streaming down his pale forehead.
"Hey, Nico—are you alright?" I rushed to the bedside, pressing the back of my hand against his forehead. His skin wasn’t burning; there was no fever. He was just drenched in sweat.
He was trapped in a nightmare.
"Hey, Nico," I called out again, my voice softening as I leaned over him, gently cupping his face in my hands, hoping the physical contact would pull him out of the dark.
Whenever I was the one waking up screaming from my own past terrors, Harold always used this exact method to soothe me back to sleep. "Breathe, Nico. You are only dreaming. This is just a nightmare," I murmured, my hand shifting to tap his uninjured shoulder with a rhythmic, grounding gentleness, treating him like a fragile child.
"Dad, please don’t go..." those were the last broken words that stumbled from his lips before his body finally stopped thrashing.
"There, there," I whispered, staring down at his face.
Right then, his dark lashes fluttered, and his eyes slowly blinked open. He stared straight up at me. There was no cold contempt in his gaze, no fierce anger—only pure surprise.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
My heart pounded so wildly against my chest that I was completely certain he could hear it. After all, I was leaning so far over the bed that I could feel the warm, shallow brush of his breath directly against my face.
Nico blinked slowly, his voice raspy and thick with sleep as he looked at me.
"Princess... what are you doing here?"
