Chapter 20: Fuck You!
Without waiting for a reply, Ethan turned and walked away, leaving Cynthia standing there, her mind a whirlwind of guilt and exhilaration. She hesitated for a moment before continuing to the restroom, her thoughts now far more tangled than they had been before.
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Hours Later— MEGAN'S POV...
Megan stirred from her restless sleep, her body sluggish and her mind clouded with the remnants of a migraine that had plagued her for a few days. The throbbing came in waves, each one feeling like a heavy blow to her skull. She groaned as she sat up in her king-sized bed, clutching her forehead in a futile attempt to ease the pain.
“Ahhh…” she hissed, the sound escaping through clenched teeth. With a trembling hand, she brushed her disheveled hair out of her face and whispered to herself, “I’ll have to go to the hospital. This fucking headache won’t leave me be.”
Swinging her legs over the edge of the bed, she winced as her bare feet touched the cool floor. Slowly, she stood, the room spinning slightly as she steadied herself against the bedpost. She shuffled toward the wardrobe cabinet, her silk nightdress trailing behind her. Opening the cabinet with an unsteady hand, she pulled out a jacket and slipped it on over her nightwear.
Catching her reflection in the standing mirror, Megan paused. Her face, usually glowing with vitality, looked pale and gaunt. Her eyes, ringed with dark circles, stared back at her, filled with exhaustion. “Alright,” she muttered, straightening her posture. She exhaled deeply, steeling herself before pushing past the mirror and out of the room.
As she entered the corridor, she spotted Carlos coming from the opposite direction. His steps quickened when he saw her, concern etched deeply into his features.
“Megan, how are you feeling now?” he asked, his voice a mix of worry and frustration. He reached out, placing the back of his hand against her forehead to check her temperature.
“Not getting better,” Megan replied, her tone flat and weary.
Carlos’s expression hardened, his jaw tightening as he stepped back. “Why on earth will you be refusing to go to a hospital?” he asked sharply, his frustration breaking through.
“Because I hate the smell,” Megan shot back, her voice rising slightly despite her weakened state.
“Well, you don’t have a choice anymore,” Carlos said, his tone firm. “You’re not getting better, and I won’t sit here and watch you suffer.” He pulled his phone from his pocket and typed a quick message. “I’ll have my men ready in ten minutes to take you to the best heart care in the city. Money can provide whatever you need.”
“That will be great,” Megan said, her voice softening with relief.
Carlos’s stern expression softened as he leaned down and placed a gentle kiss on her forehead. “Go get ready,” he said, his tone gentler now, before turning to head into the master bedroom to make the arrangements.
Moments later, Megan found herself seated in the back seat of one of Carlos’s luxurious SUVs. The vehicle sped through the bustling streets of New York, the city’s usual cacophony muted by the car’s soundproof interior. Traffic lights seemed irrelevant as the driver maneuvered the powerful vehicle with precision, the two other black SUVs in their convoy following close behind.
Megan leaned her head against the cool window, her eyes closed as the city blurred past. The throbbing in her head persisted, but she focused on her breathing, trying to keep calm.
After nearly half an hour, they arrived at Silver Oak Medical Center, a gleaming structure of glass and steel that stood as a testament to modern healthcare. The SUV came to a smooth stop, and one of Carlos’s men quickly opened the door for her.
Megan stepped out, her slippers making a soft sound against the pavement. The two bodyguards in black suits flanked her as she walked toward the entrance, her nightdress swaying slightly with each step.
The automatic glass doors slid open, revealing the pristine interior of the medical center. The faint smell of antiseptic hit her immediately, making her wrinkle her nose in distaste. Megan’s eyes scanned the room, taking in the sleek furniture and the bustling nurses behind the reception desk.
Without hesitation, she approached the counter, placing her hands on it with more force than necessary. “I need to see a doctor. Now,” she said, her tone sharp and commanding.
The nurse at the desk, a young woman with neatly tied hair and a professional demeanor, looked up. “Ma’am, you’ll need to sign your name in the logbook and fill out this form,” she explained, sliding a clipboard toward Megan. “After that, proceed down the hallway where a nurse will assist you with the necessary tests.”
Megan’s patience snapped. She swatted the logbook off the counter, sending it tumbling to the floor. “I don’t have time for all that!” she snapped, her voice echoing in the quiet lobby.
The nurse took a step back, her expression a mix of shock and disapproval. “Ma’am, this is a hospital,” she said firmly. “You can’t act like this here.”
“Fuck you,” Megan shot back, raising her middle finger in a defiant gesture. Without waiting for a response, she stormed down the hallway, ignoring the startled looks from other patients and staff. Her nightdress trailed behind her like a banner of defiance, the sound of her slippers slapping against the polished floor punctuating her march.