Chapter 3

When Claire woke up, she was hit by the pungent smell of disinfectant, which was the familiar territory for someone who'd spent far too much time in hospitals.

Nathan was lying beside her bed, golden sunlight spilling over him. For a moment, time seemed to stand still, then rewind.

Back in her sophomore year, a flu outbreak had swept through campus, and Claire had caught it. She'd woken up dazedly after her fever broke, and Nathan had been exactly like this, sprawled beside her bed, having watched over her all night.

Instinctively, she reached out to brush his hair, just as she used to. But her fingers had barely moved when Nathan's eyes fluttered open. He stared at her sleepily for two seconds, then suddenly pulled her tightly into his arms. "I'm sorry, Claire."

Claire's hands, which had started to push him away, froze mid-motion. She forced them to continue, shoving him firmly. "No need for apologies."

Instead, Nathan panicked, grabbing her retreating hand. "Are you mad at me? Emily's a key client. I only saved her because she was closer."

Claire bit back a bitter laugh. Nathan could lie straight to her face with no trace of guilt.

"Mr. Sterling, you really don't need to explain," she said. "Officially, I'm your secretary. Unofficially, your mistress. In neither role do you owe me an explanation for your private life."

"Claire!" Nathan's face turned livid. He roughly grabbed her wrist and yanked her back into his arms. "Is that all you want to be? My mistress?"

Claire swallowed the ache in her chest, forcing a weak smile as she met his growing cold gaze. "What else? You've given me more than enough. I don't want to ask for more."

Nathan's grip tightened, his fingers digging into her skin until it hurt. Yet a sudden, sharp smile tugged at his icy lips. "Fine. If all you want is to be my mistress, then keep doing your job."

Before she could react, he crashed his lips against hers, biting down hard. The brutal kiss tasted of fresh blood.

No matter how Claire struggled, Nathan wouldn't stop. Tears streamed down her face as she screamed at the top of her lungs, "Nathan, please! Don't do this. I'm sick—please, just stop!"

"You can keep playing the victim." He sneered. "A few scratches and you're acting like you're on your deathbed. You were never this fragile before."

He was about to continue when the ring of his phone on the bedside table shattered the madness. He answered it, and Emily's voice came through loud and clear. "Nathan, I twisted my ankle by accident. It hurts so bad..."

Those simple words made Nathan pull away from Claire instantly, his rage vanishing. "I'll be right there," he told Emily.

He didn't spare Claire so much as a glance, grabbing his suit jacket and slamming the door behind him.

Claire stared blankly at the ceiling, her face as pale as a sheet. He hadn't even realized he'd given himself away with his own words.

Moments later, a doctor appeared. "Bed 23? Your husband requested a full-body checkup. Here are the results."

Claire hadn't noticed him enter. His voice jolted her back to reality.

The doctor wore a look of sympathy, like he didn't know how to break bad news gently. It made Claire laugh softly. "I already know," she said. "You can just give them to me."

He looked reluctant, offering a reassuring smile. "With proper treatment, we could extend your life a little longer."

Claire shook her head gently. She didn't have much money left, and she also needed to save for Miranda's future hospital bills. Besides, she had no desire to spend the rest of her days trapped in a hospital.

After leaving the hospital, her phone buzzed with a message from Nathan. Attached was a photo of his back as he cooked in the kitchen.

Emily: [Claire, are you feeling better? Nathan made all my favorite dishes. Want to join us for dinner?]