Chapter 200

Chapter 200

"Edward? Edward!"

Molly slapped his face lightly and pressed her thumb hard against his philtrum. Nothing.

It took her half an hour to half-drag, half-carry the unconscious, feverish drunk to the living room sofa.

She checked his pulse at the side of his neck. It was rapid and erratic.

His temperature had to be over 104°F.

Panic spiked through her. She grabbed her phone and dialed 911.

The ambulance arrived quickly.

The paramedics moved with practiced efficiency, loading Edward onto a stretcher and fitting him with an oxygen mask.

Molly snatched up a coat and her phone, then climbed into the ambulance without a second thought.

No matter what had happened between them, Edward had collapsed at her doorstep. She couldn't just walk away.

 

Sitting outside the ER, Molly's emotions tangled into a chaotic knot.

She sat lost in thought until a doctor emerged from the treatment room, his expression grim. He clutched a partial report in his hand.

"Ms. Johnson, we need to talk about Mr. Howard's condition."

Molly snapped back to the present, asking instinctively, "Isn't it just a fever from drinking too much?"

The doctor shook his head, his brow furrowed deeply. "The fever and alcohol were triggers, but the underlying issue is far more serious. Mr. Howard's condition is extremely critical."

"Critical… what do you mean? I thought he was getting better."

"I'm afraid you need to prepare yourself for the worst."

"The worst?" Molly blinked, her mind struggling to process his words.

The doctor pressed his lips together, regret heavy in his tone. "Based on Mr. Howard's current condition, if we're being optimistic… he has about a month left."

Edward… is dying?

The news hit her like a physical blow. She stood frozen, the bright fluorescent lights of the ER suddenly too harsh, the ambient noise of the hospital fading into a distant hum.

She couldn't name the feeling—it was as if someone had carved a piece out of her chest, leaving behind only hollow emptiness.

"Could it be a misdiagnosis?" Her voice cracked before she even realized she was speaking.

"Highly unlikely. Given Mr. Howard's current state, he needs surgery immediately. We're hoping you can convince him."

The doctor sighed heavily.

"If he has the surgery… what are his chances?"

"One percent. Mr. Howard refuses the operation—probably because he's afraid he won't wake up. But at this point, there are no other options."

Molly squeezed her eyes shut, the furrow between her brows deepening. She drew in a shaky breath, trying to steady the turbulence inside her. Her throat felt like sandpaper.

"Okay. I understand."

 

Not long after, the doors to the treatment room swung open. Edward was wheeled out.

He lay peacefully, an oxygen mask over his face. The light cast soft shadows across his sharp features, lending him an almost serene beauty.

In that moment, Molly realized something: she didn't hate him anymore. Not really.

She sank into the chair beside his bed and stayed there, silently keeping vigil. Her gaze traced the lines of his face over and over, as if committing them to memory.

The door opened.

Mike, Edward's assistant, stepped inside. When he saw Edward lying motionless, his expression flickered with a mixture of emotions.

"Ms. Johnson," he began cautiously, "I'm not sure if I should say this, but—"

"Go ahead."

"Mr. Howard loves you. I don't know what happened between you two, but… you've seen his condition. Could you please, just for now, put aside whatever hurt there is and stay with him?"

Mike's tone was earnest, almost pleading.

Molly's heart gave a faint, painful lurch.

"When your company ran into trouble," Mike continued, "Mr. Howard told you to come beg him—but behind the scenes, he transferred seventy million dollars into your account. I handled the transaction myself. He made me swear not to tell you."

Molly's eyes went wide.

She turned slowly to look at Edward, his chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. For a long moment, she said nothing.

"I see," she murmured at last, her voice barely audible. Her emotions churned in a storm she couldn't quite name.

 

She didn't know how long she sat there. Outside, the sky gradually lightened. A pale beam of dawn slipped through the window and touched the room.

"Mm…"

A low groan came from the bed.

Molly's head snapped up. Edward's lashes fluttered. Slowly, his eyes opened.

His gaze was unfocused at first, hazy with confusion. Then he saw her—and froze.

"Why are you here?" His voice was rough, hoarse. Shadows of illness darkened his features.

"You collapsed outside my apartment with a 104-degree fever. What was I supposed to do, leave you there?" Molly stood and poured a glass of lukewarm water, handing it to him.

Edward took the glass and drank a few sips, his brow creasing slightly.

Molly's eyes stayed on his face. "Do you know what the doctors told me?"

Edward paused mid-sip. He didn't answer. Instead, he set the glass on the bedside table and turned his gaze toward the window.

"They told me everything," Molly said, her voice tight.

"So?" Edward suddenly grabbed her wrist, his grip firm, his gaze sharpening. "Are you pitying me now? Or is it something else—are you worried about me?"

"Edward, why did you transfer seventy million dollars into my account?"

At the mention of the amount, Edward's body went rigid. His frown deepened. "What?"

"Don't play dumb. I know. When my company was in crisis, someone anonymously wired me seventy million. It was you, wasn't it?" Molly stared into his eyes, refusing to let him look away.

Edward was silent for several long seconds. Finally, he nodded.

"Yes."

Molly's voice trembled. "Why didn't you tell me? You hated me. Why would you help me?"

Edward looked at her, something complicated flickering in his eyes.

"I never hated you."

Never hated. Only loved.

Just loved you the wrong way. But it doesn't matter now.

"I didn't know how else to keep you," he said quietly. "Molly, I've never loved anyone in my life. I didn't know how to love someone. I wanted to learn how to love you properly… but I'm running out of time."

Molly froze.

She had never imagined hearing words like this from him.

"I gave you that money," Edward continued, "because I didn't want to see everything you'd worked so hard for fall apart. If you'd known it was me, you would've refused."

"So you'd rather let me hate you?" Molly's voice broke.