Chapter 2

At the end of the hall, the window was cracked open. Early-autumn wind slipped through with the noise of the street below.

I leaned against the white tile wall and stared outside, my chest heavy, every breath carrying a dull ache.

That international phone call had drained the last of my strength, leaving behind the kind of exhaustion that sank into my bones. Then familiar footsteps approached, and a jacket still warm from someone's body settled over my shoulders.

A pair of arms wrapped around me from behind. Thomas rested his chin in the hollow of my neck, and that familiar disinfectant scent filled my nose. It used to calm me. Now it only made me sick.

"Why are you out here alone in the wind?" he asked, his voice low and tired. After a pause, he added, "I was too harsh just now. Don't stay mad at me, okay?"

I didn't turn around or pull away, though my body had gone stiff. "Thomas."

Looking down at the hands around my waist, I asked, "Why did you give Sophie that bed without telling me? I'm your fiancée. Didn't I at least deserve to know?"

His arms tightened slightly, and his tone slipped back into that familiar calm. "It was an emergency. Sophie's mom's vitals suddenly fluctuated, and Sophie was crying so hard she was about to pass out. As a doctor and a friend, I helped her first."

I turned to face him and looked straight into his eyes. "You felt bad for her?"

I tugged at the corner of my mouth, overcome by a sense of absurdity, "My mom's tumor is pressing on a blood vessel. We've waited three months for that specialist bed. Doesn't my mom's life matter too?"

He frowned and reached to smooth my windblown hair. "I've seen your mom's scans. She's stable. You've always been strong enough to handle things yourself."

His tone was certain, as if stating a basic medical fact. "Sophie isn't. Besides me, she has no one to give advice. She’s so fragile. If something happens to her mother, she won’t be able to bear the blow."

I listened quietly, my stomach turning. So because I was strong, my mother's life could be traded away as a favor, handed over to someone weaker without a second thought.

He sighed with that familiar air of superiority. "Emily, we're going to get married sooner or later. You'll be Mrs. Grant one day, so why fight Sophie over this now? I'll take full charge of your mom's condition."

As if Grace's life were nothing more than a bargaining chip in some lovers' spat.

The fluorescent lights buzzed softly overhead as I stared at his face. Five years. From twenty to twenty-five. Only in this moment did I realize I'd never truly seen through the man standing in front of me.

I looked at him without a ripple and asked, "Thomas, were you serious about everything you just said?"

A flicker of impatience crossed his eyes, but he still patted my head as if humoring a child. "Enough. Stop this. You're usually the sensible one. Why are you acting so hysterical today? Be reasonable about this and don't make things hard for me."

Reasonable. That same light little word again, like a dull blade sawing through the last thread between us. Cold spread through my body, racing from the soles of my feet straight into my heart.

I didn't scream or cry. I simply brushed his hand away and turned toward the elevators.

I had only taken two steps when a powerful grip clamped tight around my wrist. Thomas yanked me back violently. His hold was so tight it ached down to my bones.

"Where are you going?" his brows knit tightly. Hardness edged his voice. "I'm on night duty and exhausted. I don't have the energy to coax you, so stay with me tonight and sleep in the lounge by my office."

My wrist blanched beneath his tight hold. I lowered my gaze to his long fingers. Struggling was pointless. So I stopped fighting against him and let my shoulders slump in submission.

The moment he felt me give in, the tension left his body, and a satisfied curve tugged at his lips.

"That's better. Stop throwing these little tantrums," he said, taking my hand and threading our fingers together. As if stripping Grace of her chance to live had been nothing more than a lovers' quarrel.

He took my wrist and turned, walking toward the duty room. His steps were light, filled with a patronizing fondness, as though granting me a favor.

I followed behind him like a puppet on strings. With my free hand, I quietly slipped out my phone and pressed Professor Linden's itinerary confirmation without looking. The medical flight was set to leave the day after tomorrow.

The screen flared to life abruptly in the dim corridor. The cold lighting of the cellphone cast a pale light over my expressionless face.