24

24

Killian Morgan stared at her like he was seeing a ghost.

“Did you... did you come last night?” he asked, his voice still rough from the fever, his eyes red. He was holding that bowl of cold chicken noodle soup like it might disappear.

Imani rolled her eyes, trying to act normal, even though her heart was beating so fast she was sure the doctor next to her could hear it.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Mr. Morgan,” she said, pushing past him into his penthouse with a grocery bag. “I came to check on my employee. You called in sick. I’m a responsible CEO. That’s what responsible CEOs do.”

Killian blinked. “At 9 PM? In my penthouse? On my couch?”

“I—” Imani stammered, then recovered quickly. “Your door was open! Anyone could have walked in and robbed you blind! You should thank me.”

The doctor — Dr. Evans from CityMD, a nice man in his fifties who Imani had begged to come at 6 AM — cleared his throat awkwardly.

“Mr. Morgan, if we could—”

Imani didn’t let him finish. She grabbed the cold bowl right beside the trash can, heading to the kitchen.

“Ugh, this is cold. You can’t eat cold soup when you’re sick. You’ll get sicker,” she said, marching to his kitchen like she owned it. “I’ll boil it so we can have it for breakfast. Doctor, you check him while I do that. He had a 102 fever last night.”

Killian followed her with his eyes as she went to his stove, his bare feet silent on the marble. He couldn’t stop staring.

A minute later, Imani had the soup back on the gas burner, stirring it, adding more water to reheat it. The kitchen smelled like chicken and ginger again.

The whole house felt like home again to Killan, he was lost staring at Imani from where he stood.

Dr. Evans gestured for Killian to sit on the couch.

“Mr. Morgan, let’s check your vitals. Fever, blood pressure... When did this start?”

Killian sat, but he kept looking toward the kitchen.

Imani called over her shoulder, “Doctor, wait and eat with us. I made enough. You left so early, you must be hungry. Eat out of the food before you go.”

Dr. Evans smiled politely. “Oh, that’s kind of you, Ms. Shawn. Thank you.”

A few minutes later, Imani served three bowls — one for Killian, one for Dr. Evans, one for herself — and sat on the big armchair across from them, with her legs tucked under her.

“Okay, let’s eat,” she said proudly.

Dr. Evans took a big spoonful, blew on it, and put it in his mouth, his face changed instantly and eyes watered. He coughed. He tried to swallow.

He couldn’t swallow. The soup was so salty it was like drinking the Atlantic Ocean.

He looked at Imani, who was watching him expectantly.

Her lips grew big, smiling from ear to ear, “How... how is it, Doctor?” she asked.

Dr. Evans forced a smile, his throat working hard. “It’s... it’s very... flavorful, Ms. Shawn. Very... over seasoned. Yes.”

He took a sip of water quickly, trying not to be rude. “You know, I’m actually not a fan of soups so I’d pass..” He shifted the bowl aside.

Imani frowned and took a spoonful of her own soup, she put it in her mouth and immediately regretted it.

It was inedible. So salty it burned her tongue. She had mistaken salt for sugar or something last night in her panic. She couldn’t eat it as well. She spat it quietly back into her bowl and reached for water.

Both eyes turned to Killan…they turned him to a movie,

Killian took a spoonful. And another. And another.

He ate it all up without complaining. Spoon after spoon, even though his face was slightly twisted, even though he had to keep drinking water between bites.

Imani stared at him. “Killian... you don’t have to—”

The doctor was shocked. He looked at Killian’s emptying bowl, then at his own full, salty bowl, then back at Killian.

“Mr. Morgan, seems you’re a fan of soups... you like it?” Dr. Evans asked, genuinely confused.

Killian wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and looked straight at Imani, his fever eyes soft for the first time.

“It’s delicious,” he claimed, his voice hoarse but sure. “Best soup I’ve ever had. Thank you.”

Imani’s cheeks turned red. She knew it was a lie. A big, obvious, terrible lie. But he was lying to protect her? Or..?

Dr. Evans stood up quickly, packing his bag. “Well! Your fever is down to 100.1, Mr. Morgan. It’s viral. Rest, fluids — not too much of this particular fluid — and you’ll be fine in two days. I’ll send a prescription to your pharmacy. Ms. Shawn, thank you for... breakfast.”

He left as fast as he could, leaving his full bowl on the table.

Now it was just the two of them. The penthouse quiet again. Two bowls of uneatable salty soup between them.

Imani was about to go as well, picking up her bag, embarrassed, when Killian’s voice stopped her.

He wasn’t looking at her. He was looking down at his empty bowl, his fingers tracing the rim.

“Imani,” he said quietly.

She turned.

He asked, “Is Luke... is Luke Anderson the right call for your business?”

Imani froze, why did he ask? “Yes,” She nodded slowly, and wanted to explain about further, “I—”

But Killian simply said, cutting her off gently, with no anger, no jealousy, just tired acceptance “As long as it makes you happy. It’s your choice.”

Imani stood there in his living room, holding her bag, and for the first time, she didn’t know what to say.

For the first time in 5years, her heart leaped. Maybe…just maybe because it was the first time someone prioritized her happiness.

She was stunned.