Chapter 18 – The Doctor’s Advice

The Blackwell Tower stood tall against the late afternoon sky, its steel and glass gleaming like a fortress of power. Inside the topmost floor, the atmosphere was far less pristine. Papers cluttered Adrian’s desk, contracts still unsigned, his phone buzzing with endless notifications.

Adrian Blackwell sat rigid in his leather chair, staring at the glowing screen in front of him but hardly reading the numbers. His temples throbbed, a steady ache that had become his constant companion. He rubbed the bridge of his nose, ignoring the way the letters blurred in and out of focus.

He had gone three nights in a row with barely two hours of sleep. The brunch, the endless meetings, the weight of decisions only he could make—it pressed on him like an iron cage.

His hand tightened on his pen, then slipped.

A sharp crack split the silence as the pen clattered to the floor. Adrian pushed back his chair, intending to stand, but the room tilted violently. His chest tightened. His vision tunneled.

The next thing he registered was the cold marble floor beneath his cheek.

---

When his eyes opened again, the lights were dim, and a familiar voice was muttering curses under his breath.

“Damn it, Adrian. You can’t keep doing this.”

Adrian blinked and saw James crouched beside him, checking his pulse. The doctor’s tie was loose, his white coat draped over the chair, and irritation sharpened his boyish features.

“Still alive,” Adrian muttered hoarsely.

James shot him a glare. “Barely. Your blood pressure’s through the roof. You collapsed like a man twice your age.”

Adrian sat up slowly, ignoring the dizziness that clawed at him. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s not nothing,” James snapped. “Your body is telling you what I’ve been saying for years. This insomnia is eating you alive.”

Adrian ran a hand through his hair, expression unreadable. “I’ve managed it before. I’ll manage it again.”

James exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Adrian, stop lying to yourself. You’ve been running on fumes for years, and it’s catching up. You need rest, real rest. Drugs aren’t helping. Meditation isn’t helping. The only time your body actually shut down and stayed under was—” He broke off, studying Adrian’s face.

Adrian’s jaw tightened. He didn’t need James to finish the sentence.

“The night she was with you.”

Adrian’s silence was answer enough.

James leaned back on his heels, eyes narrowing in disbelief. “Nine hours. You slept nine uninterrupted hours. Adrian, that hasn’t happened since I met you. You told me yourself—it wasn’t the medication. It was Elena.”

Adrian’s gray eyes flicked away, cold and guarded. “Coincidence.”

James barked a humorless laugh. “You don’t believe in coincidences. Not in business, not in life. Why start now?”

Adrian’s fingers curled against his knee, his composure cracking for the briefest second. He could still remember it—the unfamiliar warmth of her against him, the scent of her hair, the sound of her breathing in the quiet night. His body had surrendered in a way it hadn’t in years, shutting off the endless cycles of calculation and control.

It infuriated him.

James stood, crossing his arms. “You want my medical advice? Sleep with her again.”

Adrian’s head snapped up. “Watch your phrasing.”

James smirked faintly. “Don’t get me wrong—I mean literally sleep. Same bed, same room. If she’s the trigger that lets your brain stop its damn overthinking, then use it. For God’s sake, Adrian, you’re married. It’s not unnatural.”

Adrian rose to his feet, slow and deliberate, straightening his suit jacket as though donning armor. “This isn’t about marriage. I don’t share my bed.”

“You did once,” James countered, “and you woke up like a normal human being for the first time in years. Don’t throw that away because of pride.”

Adrian said nothing, his expression carved from stone.

James sighed, softer this time. “Listen. I know you, Adrian. You’d rather burn yourself out than admit weakness. But if this continues, you won’t just collapse in your office. You’ll collapse in a boardroom, in front of investors, in the middle of a negotiation. And that’s a weakness your enemies will eat alive.”

That struck a chord. Adrian’s jaw flexed, but he kept his gaze locked on the city skyline through the window.

James clapped him lightly on the shoulder. “Just try it. If it works again, maybe it’s time you start… acting like a couple. For your health, if nothing else.”

Adrian didn’t respond. He didn’t need to. The thought was already lodged in his mind, unwelcome and stubborn.

---

The drive home was silent, the city lights flashing across the tinted windows of his car. Adrian sat back, hands clasped, his mind replaying James’s words.

Sleep with her again.

His logical side rejected it outright. Elena was not part of his life, not truly. Their marriage was convenience, business. Nothing more. Allowing her into his private world—into his bed—would blur lines he had no intention of crossing.

And yet…

The memory of waking up rested, clear-headed, and startlingly alive still lingered. The feel of her warmth against him. The quiet peace he hadn’t known in years.

Adrian’s lips pressed into a thin line.

This wasn’t about desire. It wasn’t about love. It was about survival.

Or at least, that was what he told himself.

---

At the mansion, the butler greeted him as usual, but Adrian barely acknowledged it. He found Elena in the living room, curled on the sofa with a book. She glanced up as he entered, her eyes searching his face.

“You’re late,” she said simply.

Adrian shrugged out of his coat, hanging it neatly. “Work.”

Her gaze lingered, suspicious, as though she sensed something off. His movements were precise as ever, his expression unreadable, but there was a heaviness about him that hadn’t been there the night before.

Elena tilted her head slightly, narrowing her eyes. “You look… different.”

Adrian met her gaze briefly, then looked away. “Do I?”

“Yes,” she said, setting her book aside. “Tired. But not the usual kind.”

For a moment, Adrian almost answered. Almost told her about the collapse, about James’s infuriating suggestion, about the war inside his own head.

Instead, he simply said, “Don’t concern yourself with it.”

Elena frowned, but didn’t push.

As he ascended the stairs, her eyes followed him, unsettled. She didn’t know what had happened today. But she knew, with the same certainty she designed her dresses, that Adrian Blackwell was carrying a secret heavier than his empire.

And for the first time, she wasn’t sure if he could keep carrying it alone.