Chapter 4 · After Letting Loose With The Ceo, I Learned I Was Misdiagnosed

My six months were almost up.

I let myself go more and more, getting bolder and wilder with each passing day.

At the company's annual party, I snatched the mic and belted out a rock song, my voice so off-key that it could've landed in another country.

The crowd roared with laughter, but I caught Keith in the corner, watching me in silence, his eyes holding something I couldn't quite read.

Tom Lewis, a colleague, tried to talk some sense into me. "Celine, maybe you should tone it down a bit. Mr. Carter's been pretty patient with you."

I just laughed, "Patient? He's just waiting for me to drop dead so he can finally get some peace."

The truth was, I knew Keith didn't really dislike me that much.

He might even actually like me, just a little.

But with me dying, thinking about someone liking me felt way too extravagant.

I started packing up my stuff, scribbling out my will, and even got in touch with a funeral home.

My parents kept calling, but I refused to pick up.

*****

During the last month, Keith canceled all his business trips, started leaving work right on time every day, and even began taking me out to eat.

He picked strange restaurants. Everything on the menu was light and healthy.

"Mr. Carter, is this my last supper?" I joked.

He piled food on my plate. "Eat more. You're too thin."

"Being skinny's a plus. Less to burn when I'm cremated," I quipped.

His fork slipped and clattered onto the table.

"Celine," he said, his voice husky. "Stop talking about death."

I lowered my head and went back to my food, saying nothing.

*****

Finally, the day for my follow-up came.

I really didn't want to go, but Keith dragged me to the hospital anyway.

"We need an answer," he said.

I laughed, "An answer for who? For you?"

He stayed silent.

The hospital reeked of sharp disinfectant, the smell stinging my nose.

I sat on a bench in the hallway, waiting for the results.

Keith stood by the window, his shoulders stiff and his posture rigid.

The truth was, over the past six months, my health hadn't gotten any worse.

Actually, my appetite was better. I had more energy. And even those awful cramps barely bothered me anymore.

But I didn't let myself get my hopes up.

Miracles didn't happen to people like me.

When the doctor called me in, Keith followed right behind.

The old doctor studied the X-ray, then glanced at me, his brows furrowing.

My heart sank.

Guess this was really it.

"Ms. Knight," the doctor said, adjusting his glasses. "Did you maybe mix up your scans last time?"

I blinked, caught off guard.

"You're in great health. Just a little anemic, that's all," the doctor said, pointing at the X-ray. "Look here, and here. Everything's spotless. Cancer? Who told you that?"

The world froze.

My ears buzzed. Everything sounded distant and blurry.

Keith grabbed my shoulders, his grip tight. "Doctor, are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure," the doctor said, pulling up my records from six months ago. "Turns out, they mixed up the scans. These belonged to another patient with the same name. Oh man, I'm really sorry. This shouldn't have happened at all..."

I didn't catch anything he said after that.

I was healthy.

I was not sick.

I was not going to die.

*****

The sunlight hit me hard as I walked out of the hospital.

I stood on the steps, my knees going weak.

Keith reached out to steady me. "Celine."

I looked up at him, my lips parted, but I couldn't make a sound.

In the past six months, I slept with Keith, told off my relatives, got into a fight with my coworker, and blocked my parents.

I thought I was dying, so I lived like I had nothing to lose.

So now the doctor was telling me it was a misdiagnosis?

"I..." My throat felt parched. "What am I supposed to do now?"

Keith looked at me and broke into a sudden smile.

Not a cold smirk. A real, warm smile.

"So, you're scared now?" He arched his brow.

I was scared. Scared to death.

I tore at Keith's clothes and mocked his lousy skills in bed.

I made a scene at my grandpa's birthday party and smacked my cousin.

At work, I pissed off everyone, making enemies all around.

I even blocked my parents, told them I was dying, and let them fend for themselves.

Now how was I supposed to face any of them?

"Mr. Carter..." My voice shook. "Could you still approve my resignation?"

I just wanted to bolt. Right then. Right there. Disappear off the face of the earth.

Keith adjusted his cuffs with deliberate calm. "I told you, you're not allowed to quit."

"But..."

"No buts." He stepped closer, pinning me between the car door and his chest. "Celine, you owe me. It's time to pay up."

"What do I owe you?" I asked.

"You think you can just sleep with me and walk away?" He leaned in, his breath brushing against my ear. "Now that you're not dying, we can settle the score, nice and slow."

My legs felt like jelly.

"Oh, and one more thing," he added, "you said I was just average in bed."

A chill ran down my spine.

"I've been learning the skills hard these past six months," he murmured, his voice dangerously low and a wicked smile curling on his lips. "Care to test me again?"

Chapter 4

My six months were almost up.

I let myself go more and more, getting bolder and wilder with each passing day.

At the company's annual party, I snatched the mic and belted out a rock song, my voice so off-key that it could've landed in another country.

The crowd roared with laughter, but I caught Keith in the corner, watching me in silence, his eyes holding something I couldn't quite read.

Tom Lewis, a colleague, tried to talk some sense into me. "Celine, maybe you should tone it down a bit. Mr. Carter's been pretty patient with you."

I just laughed, "Patient? He's just waiting for me to drop dead so he can finally get some peace."

The truth was, I knew Keith didn't really dislike me that much.

He might even actually like me, just a little.

But with me dying, thinking about someone liking me felt way too extravagant.

I started packing up my stuff, scribbling out my will, and even got in touch with a funeral home.

My parents kept calling, but I refused to pick up.

*****

During the last month, Keith canceled all his business trips, started leaving work right on time every day, and even began taking me out to eat.

He picked strange restaurants. Everything on the menu was light and healthy.

"Mr. Carter, is this my last supper?" I joked.

He piled food on my plate. "Eat more. You're too thin."

"Being skinny's a plus. Less to burn when I'm cremated," I quipped.

His fork slipped and clattered onto the table.

"Celine," he said, his voice husky. "Stop talking about death."

I lowered my head and went back to my food, saying nothing.

*****

Finally, the day for my follow-up came.

I really didn't want to go, but Keith dragged me to the hospital anyway.

"We need an answer," he said.

I laughed, "An answer for who? For you?"

He stayed silent.

The hospital reeked of sharp disinfectant, the smell stinging my nose.

I sat on a bench in the hallway, waiting for the results.

Keith stood by the window, his shoulders stiff and his posture rigid.

The truth was, over the past six months, my health hadn't gotten any worse.

Actually, my appetite was better. I had more energy. And even those awful cramps barely bothered me anymore.

But I didn't let myself get my hopes up.

Miracles didn't happen to people like me.

When the doctor called me in, Keith followed right behind.

The old doctor studied the X-ray, then glanced at me, his brows furrowing.

My heart sank.

Guess this was really it.

"Ms. Knight," the doctor said, adjusting his glasses. "Did you maybe mix up your scans last time?"

I blinked, caught off guard.

"You're in great health. Just a little anemic, that's all," the doctor said, pointing at the X-ray. "Look here, and here. Everything's spotless. Cancer? Who told you that?"

The world froze.

My ears buzzed. Everything sounded distant and blurry.

Keith grabbed my shoulders, his grip tight. "Doctor, are you sure?"

I didn't catch anything he said after that.

I was healthy.

I was not sick.

I was not going to die.

*****

The sunlight hit me hard as I walked out of the hospital.

I stood on the steps, my knees going weak.

Keith reached out to steady me. "Celine."

I looked up at him, my lips parted, but I couldn't make a sound.

In the past six months, I slept with Keith, told off my relatives, got into a fight with my coworker, and blocked my parents.

I thought I was dying, so I lived like I had nothing to lose.

So now the doctor was telling me it was a misdiagnosis?

"I..." My throat felt parched. "What am I supposed to do now?"

Keith looked at me and broke into a sudden smile.

Not a cold smirk. A real, warm smile.

"So, you're scared now?" He arched his brow.

I was scared. Scared to death.

I tore at Keith's clothes and mocked his lousy skills in bed.

I made a scene at my grandpa's birthday party and smacked my cousin.

At work, I pissed off everyone, making enemies all around.

I even blocked my parents, told them I was dying, and let them fend for themselves.

Now how was I supposed to face any of them?

"Mr. Carter..." My voice shook. "Could you still approve my resignation?"

I just wanted to bolt. Right then. Right there. Disappear off the face of the earth.

Keith adjusted his cuffs with deliberate calm. "I told you, you're not allowed to quit."

"But..."

"No buts." He stepped closer, pinning me between the car door and his chest. "Celine, you owe me. It's time to pay up."

"What do I owe you?" I asked.

"You think you can just sleep with me and walk away?" He leaned in, his breath brushing against my ear. "Now that you're not dying, we can settle the score, nice and slow."

My legs felt like jelly.

"Oh, and one more thing," he added, "you said I was just average in bed."

A chill ran down my spine.

"I've been learning the skills hard these past six months," he murmured, his voice dangerously low and a wicked smile curling on his lips. "Care to test me again?"