“President Deveraux, although both Mr. Milo Thatcher and Assistant Remington have RH-negative panda blood, Mr. Thatcher has a history of heart disease. Forcing blood from him might trigger acute shock. I recommend transferring him to the hospital first, then drawing blood for the anemic Assistant Remington—”
“No need to convince me,” Giselle cut in coldly.
“Your only concern is that Knox recovers. As for the rest, I’ll handle it.”
Hearing her footsteps draw near, I slowly shut my eyes.
“Does it hurt?” she asked, her voice laced with a rare trace of gentleness.
“Just hang in there. It’ll be over soon.”
I turned my face away, unwilling to waste a single word on her.
By the time they had drawn 800 milliliters of blood, my lips had turned a sickly shade of purple.
Suddenly, from the master bedroom, Knox began to cough.
The moment she heard it, Giselle pressed down on the doctor’s hand just as he was about to remove the needle and demanded they double the amount.
The doctor, sweating bullets, warned her that any more might kill me.
She hesitated for two seconds, just two, before her voice came cold and firm. “Knox comes first.”
“But—”
I cut him off.
“Do it. Just let me leave once it’s done.”
Giselle stared at my drained face, her eyes burning with a fury colder than ice.
Her lips parted, ready to accuse me of making a scene.
Was I going to walk out over something so petty?
But before she could say a word, Knox’s frail voice rang out from upstairs. “Giselle—”
And just like that, she was pulled away again.
Two days later.
I woke up in a hospital bed after falling into shock, and the first thing I saw was Giselle sitting by the window, calmly reviewing documents.
Our eyes locked, silent and still.
Without a word, she brought over a bowl of cereal and lifted the spoon as if to feed me.
I turned my head slightly.
“I’ll do it myself.”
She said nothing; she just stood there, watching me silently eat half the bowl. Then she finally asked, “Are you feeling unwell anywhere?”
I gave an answer that had nothing to do with her concern. “Please give me my phone.”
Perhaps she heard the distance in my voice because she froze for a moment before signaling the butler to bring it over.
When the phone was in my hand, she noticed the list of missed calls lighting up the screen.
Her voice came quiet but sharp, “Who’s been calling you?”
She never used to ask questions like this.