Even if it meant divorcing Amy.

At this moment—perhaps it was the fever, perhaps something deeper—Alexander felt an unfamiliar, unsettling emotion flicker through his chest.

"Alex, Alex, are you even listening to me?"

Victoria's sharp voice snapped him out of his thoughts.

Alexander blinked, forcing himself back to the present. Whatever strange feeling had surfaced vanished as quickly as it had appeared.

His voice was rough with exhaustion. "Call Amy. Tell her to come to the hospital. Now."

Victoria assumed Alexander wanted to confront Amy, so she simply nodded. "Fine."

Amy took her time arriving at the hospital, finishing a leisurely breakfast before finally leaving her apartment.

As she reached the doorway to Alexander's room, she heard Victoria's voice from inside.

"Alex, just take one bite, please. You need to eat if you want to recover."

There was a pause before Alexander responded, his tone weary. "No. I'm not hungry."

Victoria seemed ready to plead further, but Amy knocked and stepped inside.

The moment she entered, something flashed in Alexander's eyes. Instinctively, his gaze dropped to her hands.

Amy carried nothing but her purse—no flowers, no homemade remedies, nothing. His expression darkened.

Amy quickly assessed the scene: Victoria stood beside the bed, holding a steaming bowl of soup, looking as if she were prepared to spoon-feed him. Alexander, however, looked anything but willing.

Glancing at the bowl in Victoria's hands, Amy offered an unsolicited observation. "Ms. Langley, Blackwood is particular about his food. He won’t touch anything store-bought. If you want him to eat, you’ll have to make it yourself."

The truth was, Alexander hadn’t always been this picky. Years of Amy’s cooking had simply spoiled his palate.

Victoria’s expression turned icy the moment she saw Amy.

"So, Ms. Sinclair, have you come to beg Alex for forgiveness?"

Amy’s lips curved into a faint, almost amused smile. "If anyone should be asking for forgiveness, it’s him—not me."

Her gaze drifted lazily to Alexander. "Well, Mr. Blackwood, how are you feeling?"

He met her eyes. "I want your cooking. Make me soup."

Victoria stiffened.

Amy didn’t react. "If you want soup, ask Ms. Langley or the housekeeper. Alexander, I’m not your personal chef anymore."

His dark eyes reflected her indifference.

In the past, whenever he was sick or injured, Amy’s eyes would fill with worry. Now, she looked at him like he was a stranger.

Something in his voice wavered. "Amy, with that attitude, aren’t you worried I’ll hold you accountable for what happened?"

She held his gaze, unfazed. "Would you really?"

Noticing Victoria’s expression twist, Amy smiled slightly. "Don’t misunderstand. I’m not talking about whether you’d miss me. I’m talking about my studio—and the music I’ve composed."

Then she turned to Victoria. "Ms. Langley, there’s no need to see me as a threat. Mr. Blackwood went out of his way to pave the road for you. If he hadn’t pushed so hard, left no room for anyone else, I wouldn’t have been forced to cut ties so abruptly. The fact that he’s in the hospital now just proves how much he cares for you."

Victoria’s eyes widened in surprise. For a moment, something like gratitude softened her expression. "Everything you’ve done for me, I truly appreciate. But..."