The doctor scanned her medical file, his expression turning thoughtful. “Miss Reed, all your test results are normal. Medically, you’re cleared to leave. We need this bed for more urgent cases…”

“Doctor, I really don’t feel well,” Sophia insisted, her voice weak. “I’m dizzy. Nauseous. Completely exhausted.” She pressed her fingers to her temple, her face pale and strained.

The doctor paused, aware of Sophia’s status. He chose his words carefully. “I understand, but—”

“I’d like to show my appreciation,” Sophia interrupted softly. She discreetly slid a thick envelope from beneath her pillow into his hand.

The doctor felt the weight of it. His hesitation vanished, replaced by a knowing smile. “Of course, Miss Reed. If you’re still feeling unwell, we can extend your observation. Just let me know if you need anything.”

“Thank you, doctor,” Sophia said, offering a frail smile. The moment he left, her expression shifted. A cold, calculating gleam entered her eyes. “He will come,” she whispered to the empty room. “He has to.”

In another ward, Isabella Scott sat vigil. She held her grandmother’s thin hand, her own face marked by worry and fatigue.

Eleanor Vance slept peacefully. Her breathing was even, her color much improved.

Lucas Grant let out a quiet sigh of relief. “It was too close this time. I’m just glad she’s stable.” He turned his concerned gaze to Isabella. “You need to rest, Isabella. Let me take you home.”

Isabella shook her head gently. “No, Lucas. Thank you. I’m staying. You should go. The Grant Group needs you.”

Lucas studied her. He saw the exhaustion in her eyes, the way recent stress had made her seem smaller. “I’m fine,” she said, forcing a faint, reassuring smile. “Please, go back.”

He hesitated, conflict clear on his face, but finally nodded. “Alright. I’ll have my chef prepare something and send it over. You need to eat, Isabella. Take care of yourself.”

She walked him to the door. “Drive safely,” she murmured.

“I will,” he replied, giving her one last long look before turning away.

Alone again, Isabella returned to her grandmother’s bedside. A wave of emotion washed over her. The events of the past days felt like a draining, surreal dream.

A nurse appeared at the door. “Miss Scott? A delivery for you.”

Puzzled, Isabella accepted an insulated container.

“A messenger just dropped this off,” the nurse explained.

Isabella carried it inside, her brow furrowed in confusion. She carefully opened the lid. The rich, savory scent of chicken soup filled the air. It was unmistakably from the kitchen of Hawthorne Residence.

Why would the estate’s chef send her soup now?

A fleeting thought of Ethan Blackwood crossed her mind. She quickly pushed it away.