Chapter 292: Impossible Woman

\[Sarah\]

The next morning, I discovered Mike had already booked tickets for himself and the children to return to America. As I came out to see them off, a hollow feeling spread through my chest. I tried to maintain a composed exterior, but Mike—who knew me better than almost anyone—immediately noticed my solemn expression and frowned deeply.

"You're not seriously thinking of paying back that billion to Theodore, are you?" he asked, his voice tight with concern. "We don't have that kind of money!"

I felt my throat constrict as the weight of my decision pressed down on me. Every headline was like salt in an open wound, each comment online a fresh reminder of my humiliation. I couldn't bear it—not on top of everything else I'd lost.

I took a deep breath, fighting to keep my voice steady despite the storm raging inside. "How much money do we actually have right now?"

The question caught Mike off guard. "I've never really focused on that! You're the Sullivan MedTech heir—don't you know?"

Truth be told, I'd never paid much attention either. My mind raced with calculations, each one more desperate than the last. Would selling my properties be enough? Could I liquidate my investments? My fingers trembled slightly as I clasped them together, trying to hide my growing panic.

"Just take Emma and William back first," I said, changing the subject, unable to face the impossibility of my financial situation for another second. "I'll follow in a few days. You should go now—don't miss your flight."

"Sarah, that hit piece wasn't from Theodore. Alex told me it was published by Pierce Technologies' competitors. They just happened to drag both of you into it. A billion dollars might seem astronomical to us, but for a tech giant like Theodore, it's nothing. You don't need to stress yourself over this money. What's most important right now is your health. Don't forget you still have a baby to think about!"

"I know," I said softly, feeling some of the tension ease from my shoulders as tears pricked at the corners of my eyes. Part of me wanted to surrender—to call Theodore, to tell him I missed him, that I needed him.

"You've already been through so much suffering," Mike continued, his voice softening as he noticed my eyes glistening with unshed tears. "Just consider that money the child support!"

A bitter laugh bubbled up in my throat but died before it reached my lips. Child support. As if money could ever substitute for a father. Shame coiled in my stomach like a serpent. I'd pushed him away when I needed him most, and now I was too proud to admit I was drowning.

I glanced over at Emma and William waiting nearby. "Let's not talk about this now. Have a safe trip and message me when you arrive."

"Alright. If you're not back in a week, I'm flying over to get you," Mike said firmly.

"We'll see about that," I replied as I walked them to the door.

After they left, I returned to the villa, changed into more professional attire, and had my bodyguard drive me to Sullivan MedTech's European branch. I needed to determine exactly how much money I could access. A billion dollars wasn't small change—not something I could repay on impulse.

At the office, I signed several documents, transferring all available funds. Then I sent Theodore a message, telling him I would repay the money in installments.

About fifteen minutes after sending the message, I received a bank notification—one hundred million dollars had been successfully transferred. I stared at my phone screen, watching the zeroes line up in neat succession. My entire body went cold, then hot, as contradictory emotions battled within me. 

I refreshed my message screen compulsively, waiting for Theodore's response. Nothing. The silence from his end felt deafening, somehow worse than if he'd replied with anger or dismissal. Perhaps he was busy running his empire, the billion-dollar rescue operation merely a footnote in his financial ledger. Or maybe he simply didn't care—about the money, about my message, about me.

For me, this wasn't just about money. Each dollar transferred was a statement—that I wasn't a con artist, that I hadn't manipulated him, that I paid my debts. My dignity, the one thing I had left, demanded nothing less. Even if it took years, even if it consumed everything I had, I would clear this debt.

The next day, I channeled my restless energy toward another mission. I contacted local law enforcement, requesting information about Daniel's kidnapping. Someone had deliberately put Daniel in harm's way to get to me—and I needed to know who.

Though the silver-haired man was dead, some of his associates had survived and been questioned. I pored over their statements in my hotel room each night, searching for any fragment, any hint of who might have orchestrated this tragedy. The names blurred before my exhausted eyes, none triggering recognition, until I finally collapsed into fitful sleep, only to begin again the next day.

A week passed, then another. When Mike called, his voice tight with worry, I told him about my new plan—I had accepted private medical consultation offers from several European billionaires. The kidnap had inadvertently revealed my identity as professor‘s protégé, and suddenly, the ultra-wealthy were falling over themselves to secure my services.

"Are you insane?" Mike's voice rose through the phone. "You're still recovering from a gunshot wound! And the baby—"

"The baby is fine," I cut him off, ignoring the twinge of guilt at the lie. The truth was, I'd been having occasional spotting—nothing serious, the doctor assured me, but a warning sign to rest more. "This is the fastest way to earn money. These consultations pay extraordinarily well."

Despite my still-healing wound and the fragile child in my womb, I pushed myself harder each day. Sometimes, late at night, I'd press my hand against my stomach and whisper apologies to the tiny life within—for the stress, for the exhaustion, for the mother who couldn't seem to make the right choices.

But I needed the money. 

\[Theodore\]

At eight in the evening, my Rolls-Royce glided through New York's bustling streets. I leaned back in my seat, eyes closed, when my phone suddenly chimed.

I opened my eyes and glanced at the screen. A message from Sarah.

I opened it: "I'll pay you back the money, but I don't have that much right now. I'll repay it in installments."

I gripped my phone tightly, a bitter taste in my mouth. We had gone from being lovers to having a creditor-debtor relationship. Though this connection was ironic and sad, at least it maintained some link between us.

I didn't reply. What was the point of disagreeing? She never listened to me anyway.

About fifteen minutes later, I received a bank notification. My personal account had just received a transfer of one hundred million dollars, with "repayment" as the note.

I stared at those cold numbers, my heart constricting painfully. This was probably all the cash she could gather right now. I knew Sullivan MedTech had been financially strained in recent years; she must have emptied her accounts to come up with this amount.

The next day, I was in my office discussing company matters with the Vice President when Alex suddenly burst in, his expression grave. 

"I have something important to report," Alex said, stepping forward.

The VP, sensing the urgency, discreetly left the office. The soft click of the door closing echoed in the sudden silence.

"What is it?" I asked, my tone tinged with irritation that masked a sudden spike of anxiety. Only one person could put that look on Alex's face these days.

Alex lowered his head slightly, avoiding direct eye contact—a bad sign. "Mike just told me that Sarah has been taking on numerous private medical consultations in Europe to repay you faster. Her body hasn't fully recovered, and she's still pregnant. Working herself this hard will inevitably cause problems. Can't you just forget about this debt?"

The words hit me like physical blows. Sarah. Working herself to exhaustion. Still injured. Pregnant with our child. Each revelation twisted the knife deeper into my chest. I felt the blood drain from my face as I gripped the edge of my desk so hard my knuckles turned white.

"That stubborn, impossible woman," I whispered, more to myself than to Alex.