The next morning, Carol had just finished her breakfast when her phone buzzed-it was Grace.

"Carol, Ethan's got a follow-up at the sanatorium today. Go with him, will you?"

Grace's tone was gentle but left no room for arguing. "You're his wife. Spend more time with him. It'll be good if you can remember what the doctor says."

Carol glanced at Ethan across the table. He was sipping his coffee, expression unchanged, like he'd known about this all along.

She could only nod. "Alright, Grace. Got it."

After ending the call, Carol tidied up the dishes and looked at Ethan. "When are we heading out?"

"Once Jack gets here," Ethan said, setting his mug down and grabbing his coat. "You don't have to force yourself just to please my mom. If you don't want to go, then don't."

Carol paused, then smiled lightly. "I've already agreed. Might as well go."

She really did want to know-just how bad was his condition, exactly? Sophia had said he had about two months left. Would the doctor say the same?

About thirty minutes later, Jack drove up.

Carol and Ethan sat in the backseat. The car was silent except for the soft piano music playing.

Ethan leaned back in the seat, eyes closed. His face looked paler than usual.

Carol sneaked a look at him. His lashes were long, casting faint shadows on his cheekbones. There was a surprising softness to him in that moment.

She remembered seeing him for the first time at the sanatorium-reclining on a lounge chair, fragile like something impossibly delicate. Her chest tightened.

After a forty-minute drive, they arrived at the facility.

The place was quiet and peaceful, full of trees and greenery. The faint scent of disinfectant lingered in the air, but it wasn't overpowering.

Just as they reached the room, a young man in a white coat and gold-rimmed glasses walked up to them.

He looked about Ethan's age, with a calm and friendly demeanor. The moment he saw Carol, he visibly hesitated.

"Ethan, who's this?" he asked, clearly surprised.

"Simon," Ethan replied. Then he turned to Carol. "Simon Blake, Carol."

He didn't mention Carol's identity, but Simon was quick to pick it up. Smiling, he offered his hand. "Mrs. Mitchell, nice to meet you. I'm Simon-Ethan's friend and attending physician."

"Nice to meet you, Dr. Blake," Carol said, shaking his hand. His palm was warm, steady-very doctor-like.

Inside the room, Simon began his exams.

He checked Ethan's temperature and blood pressure first, then moved on to drawing blood.

When the nurse inserted the needle, Ethan's arm tightened. His knuckles went pale, but he didn't say a word, just stared out the window with a calm, unreadable gaze.

Carol stood next to him, watching the needle slide into his pale skin. Unconsciously, her hands clenched.

It wasn't until the nurse pulled the needle out and pressed a cotton swab over it that she finally let out a breath.

"Blood pressure's a bit low, temperature's fine," Simon noted, glancing up at Ethan. "We'll do a CT scan later to check the organs. Have you been taking your meds on time? Any discomfort lately?"

"Yeah, I've been taking them," Ethan replied in his usual even tone. "No issues."

Simon obviously didn't buy it, but he didn't press further. He just nodded and said, "Let's get a CT scan done first."

While Ethan was getting scanned, Carol waited outside.

A little while later, Simon came out and said, "Mrs. Mitchell, can we talk for a bit?"

Carol nodded and followed him to the seating area in the hallway.

"You've probably got a general idea of his condition," Simon got straight to the point, his tone turning serious. "It's pretty complicated. His immune system's a mess, there are sudden acute episodes, and a bunch of other complications."

Even though she'd mentally prepared herself, hearing it straight from a doctor still made Carol's heart sink.

"He's in a lot of pain, but he hides it well." Simon stared into the distance, sighing just softly enough that it might be missed. "He walls himself off-from everyone. Family, friends... Even when I suggested therapy, he shut it down."

He turned to face her, his eyes full of sincerity. "Honestly, I was surprised when I heard he got married. And seeing you here with him today? Even more surprising. Carol, I don't know what kind of agreement or relationship you two have exactly... but legally, you're the closest person to him right now."

He paused briefly, his voice dropping to a more serious tone. "His physical condition is heavily influenced by his mental state. That whole two-month estimate? That was based on the worst-case scenario when he last had a near-death episode. But if he could-if he wanted to-fight harder to live, if he had a shift in mindset... things might take a different turn."

"You being here might be a game-changer," Simon's eyes carried a faint glow of hope. "Try to... just get a little closer to him? Even if it's just as a roommate, or a friend. Sometimes, that everyday warmth and comfort can be more powerful than any fancy meds."

Simon's words hit Carol like a stone thrown into a still lake.

Suddenly, "two months" didn't feel like a vague deadline. It had weight-a living, breathing man's suffering, struggle, and the pain hidden under that cold exterior.

She stared at the lush green trees beyond the terrace. Sunlight was pouring down, but somehow it didn't feel warm at all.

Her heart was in a mess.

Late at night, everything was quiet-until the soft sound of rain started tapping at the window.

But then, over the drizzle, she was jolted awake by a strange thud followed by sharp, struggling gasps.

It came from upstairs.

Her whole body went tense. Her heart skipped-Ethan!

She jumped out of bed, didn't even bother with shoes, and ran straight upstairs barefoot. The door to the master bedroom wasn't locked; she shoved it open.

Only a dim bedside lamp was on.

Ethan was curled up in bed, visibly shaking from head to toe. His face was frighteningly flushed, hair soaked with sweat and sticking to his forehead.

He was breathing so hard-it was like every breath rattled in his chest, mouth tinged with blue, and he was coughing up blood.

"Ethan!" Carol rushed to his bedside, reached out and touched his forehead-burning hot. A raging fever.

She instantly remembered what Dr. Simon had said about emergencies-patients with weakened immunity could spiral fast, even from something as simple as a high fever.

Stay calm. Gotta stay calm.

Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to pull it together. Without wasting a second, she grabbed the room's landline and called Jack. Her words were quick and to the point-just enough so he knew to go find Simon ASAP.

Then she dashed into the bathroom, soaked a towel in cold water, wrung it until it was just damp, and hurried back. Her movements were careful but fast as she pressed the cool cloth to Ethan's burning forehead. With another towel, she gently dabbed at his neck, those heat-rich spots, trying to bring the fever down however she could.

"Ethan, can you hear me?" she asked softly while she worked, speaking close to his ear. Her voice stayed as steady as possible, like she could call him back with just her words. "Hang in there, okay? Dr. Blake will be here any second. You're gonna be fine, you hear me?"

But the man on the bed looked trapped somewhere between unconsciousness and pain, unresponsive to her voice. He only let out low, pained groans, his body shivering one moment and tensed up the next, burning up and clearly suffering.

Carol's chest tightened painfully.

Right now, Ethan was miles away from the cold, sharp version of himself. He looked fragile-like a glass doll about to shatter.

That sharp contrast between his usual strength and this sudden vulnerability-it hit her hard, left her breathless.

She didn't stop. Kept swapping out towels. Kept talking to him. Whether he could hear her or not, she just kept going.

"Ethan! Can you hear me?!"

She bent over again, reaching to switch out the towel on his forehead, when suddenly-a burning hot hand clamped down on her wrist.

It was strong. Startlingly strong. It actually hurt.

She froze, staring down at him.

His eyes were still shut, his awareness way out of reach, but his grip was tight like he'd latched onto the only thing keeping him steady in all the chaos inside his body.

Cracked lips barely moved, mumbling faint sounds that barely counted as words.

Holding her breath, Carol leaned in to listen.

It sounded like a name.

Hard to tell. But one thing was clear-it wasn't her name.

That small truth pricked at her heart like a tiny needle-just painful enough to notice. But she pushed those thoughts away. Now wasn't the time.

She didn't pull her hand away. Instead, used her free hand to keep caring for him as gently and steadily as before.

And this time, her voice softened almost instinctively, way more gentle than she meant. "It's okay... just hold on to me. I'm right here."

In this chaotic, fever-heavy night... in this dim room thick with sickness... she let him cling to her hand-let him hold on like she was his only tether in the world.

Ethan's eyes stayed closed, long lashes twitching slightly with the pain. It looked like he didn't even have the strength to open them-but in the moment her warm towel brushed against his cheek, Carol felt it-just barely, but real-his body relaxing the tiniest bit.

Time dragged.

The sound of rain and thunder from outside blended with his rough, angsty breathing.

Then finally... the sound of a car pulling up grew louder.

Jack and Simon arrived at the same time.

Ethan finally passed out, and that burning-hot hand of his slipped from her grasp, limp and heavy.

Carol lowered her gaze to the ring of red marks on her wrist, then looked back at the man, unconscious yet still frowning in pain. For a long moment, she just stood there, frozen.

It felt like the air hadn't fully cooled yet-it still carried a trace of his feverish heat and that muddled mumble he'd whispered before passing out.

In that moment, she saw something underneath Ethan's usual tough shell-something raw and fragile. A need. A deep, helpless sort of dependence. And she wasn't even sure if that dependence was meant for her.

Simon rushed upstairs, and with Jack's help, moved Ethan to another room packed with medical equipment. They got to work immediately.

Carol was stuck outside. She stood with her toes brushing the cold tile floor, ear pressed to the door. Even the soft beeping from inside felt louder to her.

The image of Ethan coughing up blood, dark red smearing the corner of his mouth, played on repeat in her head, stabbing at her heart like a needle, leaving her fingers icy cold.

For the first time, she really grasped how fragile life was-even for someone like Ethan, who always acted like he didn't give a damn. He talked about life and death with such ease, like none of it mattered. But in reality, his life could be snuffed out like a candle in the wind.

Finally, the door opened.

Simon pulled off his mask, looking serious. "It's acute pulmonary infection. He was coughing up blood, but we've stabilized him for now. That said, someone has to stay with him tonight-monitor his breathing and temperature closely. We can't afford any more mistakes."

Jack stepped forward right away. "Ma'am, why don't you get some rest? I'll stay-"

"No need," Carol cut in, firm and steady. "It's easier if I stay. You wait downstairs-if we need to rush to the hospital again, I'll need you to drive."

She shook her wrist and tried to throw in a little humor. "Besides, I'm his legal wife. If I don't step up now, his mom's gonna think I'm slacking."

Jack paused, saw she wasn't even a little hesitant, and just nodded. "Alright then. I'll be downstairs if you need me."

After sending Simon and Jack off, Carol gently pushed open the door to the room.

Ethan was back in bed. He looked a bit better than earlier, but still pale as a sheet. His dark lashes rested quietly against his cheeks, softening the sharp lines that were usually so cold and unyielding.

Carol pulled up a chair and sat down by his bed. Her eyes drifted to the hand outside the blanket-strong and well-defined, but with fingertips icy to the touch.

Before she knew what she was doing, she reached out and gently held it, trying to pass her warmth to him.

The instant her skin touched his, his hand twitched slightly, then turned over to grasp hers in return.

It wasn't a tight grip-more like he was holding on so gently it almost didn't register-like he was clinging to something precious in his sleep, something he didn't want to let slip away.

Carol froze, heart pounding. But she didn't pull away. She let him hold on.

His cold fingers and the heat from her palm mingled together, slowly melting into a quiet, fragile warmth that settled over the room.

That night felt endless.

As dawn crept in through the windows, Carol finally dozed off, her head resting on the edge of the bed. A faint tickle on the back of her hand woke her up.

Her eyes blinked open. Ethan was awake.

He was trying to sit up, and her hand...was still in his.

When he realized it too, his movement stalled. He looked down at their joined hands, his eyes flickering with something unreadable-confusion, surprise, maybe something else. Then, like he'd been burned, he quickly let go.

Carol quickly pulled her hand back and stood up, pretending to shake off the numbness. "You're awake? How're you feeling? Want some water?"

Ethan avoided looking at her, leaning quietly against the headboard. His face was still pale, but the aloof calm in his eyes was back, like last night's fragile, needy version of him never existed.

"I'm fine." His voice was hoarse. "Thanks for last night."

The words were dry and distant, clearly just polite formalities.

"What're you thanking me for?" Carol leaned a little closer, her tone deliberately teasing, "We're married, remember? Are you really gonna bill me for 'nursing services'? 'Cause I was on call all night - even threw in a little hand-warming service for free. What's your plan for paying up?"

Ethan clearly didn't expect that and froze for a second.

Carol chuckled. "Alright, you just woke up. I'll stop messing with you. Let me go get Jack."

"Mm."

She turned and left the room, softly pulling the door shut behind her.

As the door clicked closed, she thought she heard the faintest sigh from inside - too soft to be sure.

By the time she came back with Jack and breakfast, Ethan had already moved to the armchair by the window, wrapped in a blanket, watching the morning light.

He quietly ate some oatmeal and cooperated with the doctor Simon sent over. He didn't say much and had gone back to being distant, even more guarded than usual.

But Carol could sense something was different now.

That wall he always kept up? It had a tiny crack in it.

When she brought lunch up later, he didn't just say "leave it there" like he used to. Sometimes he actually looked up and asked, "What did you do today?"

Once, when she was digging through shelves in his massive study looking for a book, trying not to give up, he casually said, "Third shelf, fifth book from the left."

Of course Carol wouldn't miss a chance like that to keep pushing her luck. That night, when she brought dinner, she purposely set the tray on the edge of his desk and leaned in close to his ear, whispering, "Mr. Mitchell, with all this special treatment, are you secretly giving me a VIP pass to your heart?"

Ethan hesitated, fingers tightening on his pen, but didn't turn around. "I just don't want you roaming in front of me all the time."

"Oh?" Carol walked around to face him, hands behind her back, head tilted. "And here I thought you were falling for me."

His pen suddenly jerked across the page. He finally looked up, eyes a mess of emotions. "Carol, you... how can you be this shameless?"

Instead of reacting, she just smirked confidently and tossed him a carefree smile before walking out. "Tch, I've got you all figured out. You just won't admit it."

A few more days passed, and Ethan seemed well enough to go downstairs on his own.

That evening, Carol made a simple dinner like usual. When she walked out from the kitchen holding the plates, she was surprised to see Ethan already sitting at his usual spot at the dining table.

She froze for a second, then placed his plate in front of him.

They ate in silence.

After a while, Ethan suddenly spoke. His voice was still scratchy, but calm. "The spot by the window in the study gets good light. You can use your laptop there if you want."

Carol paused mid-bite and glanced up at him.

He didn't look at her, just kept quietly sipping his soup like the comment didn't mean much.

But Carol knew better. That hadn't been a throwaway line-it was him showing a hint of openness, giving her a tiny sliver of space in his world. It wasn't nothing.

She set her fork down and leaned slightly over the table, elbows resting on the edge. Her eyes sparkled with a teasing gleam, a smug smile tugging at her lips. "So, you sure you're not catching feelings for me?"

Ethan's hand stalled for half a second as he stirred his soup. He looked up at her and, for once, his gaze didn't have that usual frosty edge. Instead, there was something else-resignation, maybe. "I just think the lighting's good there. Makes it easier to draw."

"Oh really?" Carol dragged out the words, clearly not buying it. "'Cause I read somewhere that when a guy lets a girl near his 'private space', it's usually a sign he's into her. Mr. Mitchell, are you sure I didn't hit the nail on the head?"

Ethan took a slow sip of soup, deliberately avoiding her eyes. "...Eat your food."

"Fine," Carol muttered, pouting a little.

Silence fell over the dining room again-but this time, it was different. The quiet wasn't awkward or tense; it felt oddly calm, almost comforting.

He was still Ethan-the aloof, meticulous man who'd never been easy to approach.

And she was still Carol-the girl who'd married into this for fifty grand and a shot at a clean slate.

But somewhere along the line-between late-night coughs and quiet care-the lines between them had started to blur.

At eleven sharp, the clock chimed its last. The villa was still, save for the faint whoosh of the AC.

Carol sat in front of the desk in the guest room, her digital pen hovering just above the tablet screen. She moved delicately, trying not to make a sound-the house was so quiet, even Ethan's occasional coughs upstairs echoed like whispers in a cave.

Then, the metallic clink of a key turning in the front lock shattered the silence, jarring and loud at that hour.

Her hand jerked, pen tapping the board. Heart racing, she glanced out the window. The black sedan was unmistakable-Grace's car.

No time to process. She yanked the jacket off the chair and bolted downstairs. If Grace found out she'd come from the guest room, that "we live together" story would fall apart instantly.

Too late.

She reached the hallway just as the front door swung open.

Grace stepped in, carrying two thermos containers. Her shawl was still damp from the night air, but her smile was warm and polite. Only her eyes gave her away, sweeping the room like searchlights.

"Carol?" she said gently. "Still up? Great timing-I made chicken soup for you two. Where's Ethan?"

Carol clenched the hem of the jacket, fingers tightening until her knuckles went white. She forced a calm tone. "He's upstairs resting. I just came down to grab a design file."

"A design file?" Grace's gaze slid over the cozy loungewear Carol was wearing, then flicked toward the guest room. Her smile thinned a little. "Guest room light's on. Design file's downstairs?"

Before Carol could explain, Grace was already heading up the stairs with quick, confident steps, thermoses in hand. "I'll bring him some soup directly. That boy never drinks enough unless I'm watching."

Carol followed close behind, pulse thudding harder with every step. Ethan's bedroom was at the end of the second-floor hallway. The guest room was right by the stairs-too close. It wouldn't take much for Grace to catch on.

And sure enough, the moment Grace nudged open the master bedroom door, her smile froze.