Chapter 268 I Lost My Temper

Alexander's POV

With trembling hands, I scooped Katherine up and rushed her to the hospital.

Her violent shivers terrified me as I carried her through the hospital doors. Her skin burned against mine despite the sweat soaking through her clothes.

"Help! My wife needs medical attention immediately!" I shouted, scanning the dingy lobby for someone who could help us.

Ryan hurried ahead, speaking rapidly to the receptionist while our security team cleared a path. A doctor appeared moments later, taking one look at Katherine before his eyes widened in alarm.

"Quickly! She has dengue fever. Get her to the emergency room now!" he ordered, motioning for a nearby nurse to bring a stretcher.

Dengue fever. The words hit me like a physical blow.

Now I understood why Katherine had been scratching those mosquito bites on her arm. How could I have missed something so dangerous?

I reluctantly placed her on the stretcher, her hand clutching mine in a death grip as another wave of pain racked her body. Even in her semi-conscious state, she seemed afraid to let go.

"It's okay, I'm right here," I whispered, jogging alongside the stretcher as they wheeled her toward the emergency department.

The doctor fired questions at me—when did the symptoms start, how high was her fever, had she experienced any bleeding or bruising?

I answered as best I could while Ryan provided the more technical details about her temperature and symptoms.

The treatment room they brought us to looked alarmingly basic. Peeling paint on the walls, outdated equipment, and a lingering smell of disinfectant that couldn't quite mask other, less pleasant odors.

"The medical conditions here are inadequate," I stated firmly, addressing both the doctor and our security team. "We need to go back to the States!"

The doctor, a middle-aged man with tired eyes, shook his head. "Mr. Hudson, your wife is too unstable to travel long-distance right now. She needs immediate treatment for the dengue. We'll start her on IV fluids and monitor her closely."

Ryan stepped forward, his young face creased with worry. "Our helicopter won't arrive until tomorrow morning. Can you stabilize her until then?"

"We'll do our best," the doctor replied, already inserting an IV line into Katherine's arm.

The hours that followed were the longest of my life. Katherine drifted in and out of consciousness, her body alternating between violent shivers and burning fevers.

Every time she woke, her eyes would search frantically until they found mine, and only then would she settle slightly before pain overtook her again.

I stationed myself at her bedside, holding a cool cloth to her forehead when the fever raged and wrapping her in blankets when the chills took over.

Her normally elegant features were drawn with suffering, and each moan that escaped her lips felt like a knife twisting in my chest.

"Alexander..." she whispered during one brief moment of lucidity, her voice barely audible.

"I'm here," I assured her, taking her hand. "I'm not going anywhere."

Her fingers tightened around my wrist as another wave of joint pain hit her—a common symptom of dengue, the doctor had explained.

Her nails dug deep into my skin, breaking through in places, but I didn't pull away. This pain was nothing compared to what she was enduring.

Around midnight, Ryan approached me, concern etched on his face.

Despite his youth, he looked every bit my son in that moment—thoughtful, determined, and far too serious for his age.

"You should rest a bit," he suggested. "I'll take the second half of the night. You look exhausted."

I shook my head, careful not to disturb Katherine who had finally fallen into a fitful sleep. "You should rest. There are no mosquitoes in the hospital, you don't need to worry. We'll need you on the helicopter tomorrow."

Ryan didn't insist but didn't leave either. Instead, he pulled up a chair on the opposite side of Katherine's bed and settled in.

His eyes moved from his mother's face to my hands, where Katherine's nails had left deep, bloody crescents.

"She's really hurting you," he observed quietly.

"It doesn't matter," I replied, my gaze fixed on Katherine's feverish face. "If it helps her, she can break my arm for all I care."

Ryan fell silent, and when I glanced at him, I caught an expression on his face I couldn't quite read—something like surprise.

Morning couldn't come fast enough. Katherine's condition hadn't improved at all, and the local doctors were beginning to look concerned.

The moment our helicopter landed on the hospital's small helipad, I felt a surge of relief.

The medical team that stepped out was everything the local hospital wasn't—efficient, well-equipped, and reassuringly professional.

They transferred Katherine to a stretcher designed for air transport, immediately hooking her up to better monitoring equipment and administering medication that the local hospital didn't have.

"We've got her, Mr. Hudson," the flight doctor assured me. "Her vitals are stable enough for transport."

While they prepared Katherine for the flight, Ryan approached me with medical supplies he'd gathered from the helicopter team.

"You should clean this up too," he said, handing me iodine, antiseptic, and medical gauze.

"Thank you, Ryan," I said, touched by his thoughtfulness. I winced slightly as the antiseptic stung the raw wounds on my wrists.

Ryan watched me bandage my arms with surprising expertise. "Do you want to rest a bit? I can watch Mom while you sleep during the flight."

I shook my head, unable to even consider closing my eyes while Katherine was suffering. "Don't worry about me. You haven't slept all night either. Go get some rest."

The helicopter ride back to Seattle was mercifully uneventful. Katherine slept through most of it, the stronger medication finally giving her some relief.

I sat beside her, holding her hand that no longer clutched at me in pain but lay limply in mine. I almost missed the painful grip—at least then I'd known she was fighting.

When we landed in Seattle, an ambulance was waiting to take Katherine to the hospital. Kevin was already there, pacing the emergency entrance like a caged tiger.

The moment he spotted us, his face contorted with a mixture of relief and fury.

"Alexander!" he shouted, storming toward me as the medical team rushed Katherine inside. He grabbed me by the collar, his knuckles white with tension. "Alexander, didn't you say you would take care of my sister? How did she get dengue fever?!"

I didn't resist. What defense could I offer? I had promised to protect her, and I had failed.

"I'm sorry..." I said, the words feeling wholly inadequate.

Kevin's grip tightened. "What good is your apology? Let me tell you, if anything happens to my sister, I will never forgive you."

"Uncle Kevin!" Ryan's voice cut through the tension as he physically inserted himself between us. "This isn't his fault! No matter how well he took care of her, he couldn't control whether mosquitoes carried viruses or not!"

"Besides, Uncle Kevin," Ryan continued, pointing to my bandaged wrists, "his hands are injured from Mom grabbing them when she was in pain. Don't be so impulsive!"

Kevin released me slowly, his anger deflating as he took in my appearance—the bandages, the exhaustion written all over my face.

"I lost my temper," he admitted reluctantly. "I'm sorry."

I straightened my collar but didn't respond to his apology.

It didn't matter.