Chapter 3

On the fifth day of the countdown, I began handing over the only thing in this house I actually cared about: Grandma Eleanor’s medical care.

The only reason I had married Ethan—aside from my own pathetic, unrequited love—was Grandma.

Three years ago, when my parents died and my family went bankrupt, Grandma Eleanor took me in. Later, when she vehemently opposed Ethan marrying the scandal-ridden Anna, she made my marriage to him a condition of his CEO position and inheritance. To stabilize her failing health, Ethan had coldly offered me the contract.

For three years, Ethan treated me like ice. But Grandma loved me like her own blood. In my past life, I heard that she died on the operating table, her heart giving out from the grief of what Ethan did to me.

In Ethan’s eyes, Grandma’s stability over the past six months was entirely due to the millions he spent on a top-tier private medical team. He always believed money could solve anything.

Until I dropped a hundred-page Pre-Op Care Binder onto his desk.

"Grandma’s surgery is the day after tomorrow. These are the details of her daily care for the past two years," I said. "She gets severe pre-op anxiety. Every afternoon at 3:00 PM, she needs to listen to Bach’s Well-Tempered Clavier on a vinyl record player at a specific frequency."

"On rainy days, her neuropathic pain flares up. You need to use the custom neuro-stimulator set exactly to 45 hertz, combined with a 25-minute muscle massage using a specific blend of marjoram and lavender essential oils."

Ethan froze, his eyes dropping to the massive binder.

I ignored his reaction. "Also, her medication causes severe nausea. This is her nutritional breakdown, calculated to the gram by her dietitian. It must be strictly enforced. From now on, you and Anna handle this."

Ethan slowly opened the binder. The pages were filled with meticulous, dense notes tracking every single fluctuation in Grandma’s mood, every minor shift in her vitals.

He closed it, looking at me with an incredibly complex expression. "You've worked hard these past three years. But Anna studied nursing abroad. She’s attentive. She’ll take good care of Grandma. You don't need to worry."

Reality slapped him in the face that very afternoon.

Desperate to prove herself, Anna snuck into Grandma’s medical suite. Not only was she wearing a suffocating, heavy perfume that triggered Grandma’s asthma, but she also took it upon herself to crank the neuro-stimulator up to 60 hertz.

"Get out! Get out of my room!" Grandma’s agonized scream echoed down the hall.

By the time Ethan rushed in, Grandma’s heart rate was spiking dangerously from the sheer pain. She was gasping for air against the headboard. The floor was slick with spilled essential oils, the wires of the medical equipment violently yanked out of the wall.

"A doctor! Get a doctor!" Ethan yelled, completely panicking.

Faced with the blaring alarms of the complex medical machinery and his grandmother’s agonizing gasps, the billionaire CEO didn't even know which specialist to call. Anna was cowering in the corner, sobbing hysterically.

I sprinted into the room, my face hard, and shoved Ethan out of the way.

"Move!"

I expertly killed the power to the neuro-stimulator, snatched the nebulizer from the bottom drawer, and pressed the mask to Grandma’s face. In the same breath, I pushed a precise dose of sedative into her IV port.

The movements were muscle memory. Within three minutes, Grandma’s frantic gasping smoothed out, and she fell into a deep, exhausted sleep.

Looking at the wreckage of the room, Ethan slumped against the wall, utterly defeated. His usual commanding aura was completely shattered. He watched me pack up the medical equipment with a gray, hollow look in his eyes. He opened his mouth to speak, but the emergency paramedics burst into the room.

I watched them load Grandma onto the stretcher, then turned and walked back to my room.

Before I could close my door, Ethan caught it, his eyes bloodshot.

"Lina..." His voice was wrecked, trembling with a helplessness I had never heard from him before.

Just then, his phone rang. It was the hospital.

"Mr. Ethan, the patient suffered severe trauma. Her pre-op vitals are crashing. We need you here immediately to sign the DNR and emergency consent forms!"

Chapter 3

On the fifth day of the countdown, I began handing over the only thing in this house I actually cared about: Grandma Eleanor’s medical care.

The only reason I had married Ethan—aside from my own pathetic, unrequited love—was Grandma.

In Ethan’s eyes, Grandma’s stability over the past six months was entirely due to the millions he spent on a top-tier private medical team. He always believed money could solve anything.

Until I dropped a hundred-page Pre-Op Care Binder onto his desk.

Ethan froze, his eyes dropping to the massive binder.

Ethan slowly opened the binder. The pages were filled with meticulous, dense notes tracking every single fluctuation in Grandma’s mood, every minor shift in her vitals.

Reality slapped him in the face that very afternoon.

"Get out! Get out of my room!" Grandma’s agonized scream echoed down the hall.

"A doctor! Get a doctor!" Ethan yelled, completely panicking.

I sprinted into the room, my face hard, and shoved Ethan out of the way.

"Move!"

The movements were muscle memory. Within three minutes, Grandma’s frantic gasping smoothed out, and she fell into a deep, exhausted sleep.

I watched them load Grandma onto the stretcher, then turned and walked back to my room.

Before I could close my door, Ethan caught it, his eyes bloodshot.

"Lina..." His voice was wrecked, trembling with a helplessness I had never heard from him before.

Just then, his phone rang. It was the hospital.

"Mr. Ethan, the patient suffered severe trauma. Her pre-op vitals are crashing. We need you here immediately to sign the DNR and emergency consent forms!"