CHAPTER TWELVE: The Price Of Control.

By midday, Harrison Cole had already rejected three meals, insulted two nurses, and demanded that the television in his room be removed. Jasmine stood beside his bed with the untouched lunch tray in her hands.

“Your meal has been here for twenty minutes,” she said.

“I can see that.”

“You need to eat.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“You have barely eaten since yesterday night”.

“That sounds like a personal problem”

Jasmine placed the tray on the table.

“It becomes my professional problem when you become weak because you refuse food.”

Harrison’s eyes remained on the television mounted against the wall.

“Then document it.”

“I will.”

His gaze shifted toward her.

“You enjoy writing reports about me”

“I enjoy accurate documentation.”

Harrison studied her for a moment before turning away. The room was brighter than it had been in the private ward. The curtains were partially open, allowing the afternoon light to fall across the floor. A nurse had replaced the bedsheets, cleared away the emergency equipment, and arranged the medical supplies in neat rows. Everything looked controlled except Harrison.

His oxygen saturation had remained stable throughout the morning, but his breathing was still shallow. His blood pressure had improved slightly, and he was more alert than he had been after the respiratory arrest. The doctors were satisfied with his response, but no one had described him as safe. Jasmine had learned not to confuse improvement with total recovery.

She checked his pulse.

“Your heart rate is still elevated.”

“Maybe because you keep touching me.”

“I touched your wrist for thirty seconds.”

“An unnecessary thirty seconds. What happened to the monitor?”

She released his wrist. She knew that the monitors could give fake readings attimes and she wanted to be sure of his vitals.

“Your pulse is one hundred and ten.”

“Congratulations.”

“Your sarcasm does not change the reading.”

“Neither does your concern,” Harrison replied 

Jasmine looked at him.

“Do not mistake my observation for concern.”

His expression changed slightly then the door opened. Emily entered with a medication chart and a small cup of water.

“Dr. Lawson wants his next medication given after he eats,” she said.

Harrison immediately shook his head.

Emily paused. She dares not speak to Harrison. She always wonders how Jasmine manage to risk her Job by tolerating him.

Jasmine reached for the chart.

“Mr. Cole, the medication is prescribed to support your recovery.”

Harrison kept looking at the television screen like he was engrossed but one could tell he was just ignoring her.

“Mr Cole, are you listening?”

Harrison’s eyes hardened.

“You nurses have become very comfortable speaking to me.”

“We are comfortable explaining your care.” Jasmine replied with her gaze still on him.

“You are comfortable forgetting who I am.”

Jasmine folded her arms.

“I know exactly who you are.”

“i doubt.”

“You are a patient who is recovering and is now refusing your food and medication.”

Silence settled over the room. Emily lowered her eyes, but Jasmine could tell she was listening.

Harrison’s mouth tightened. That wasn't the answer he was expecting to hear.

“You make it sound very simple.”

“Your condition is not simple. Your refusal is.”

His gaze sharpened.

“Get out!"

“No.”

The word was quiet, yet loud.

Emily looked up.

Jasmine continued, “I will not force the medication or food into your mouth. But I will explain the consequences of refusing it, document your decision, and notify the doctor.”

“You think that frightens me?”

“No. I think it informs you.”

Harrison leaned back against the pillows, his breathing becoming slightly faster.

Jasmine noticed immediately.

“Slow your breathing.”

“Stop telling me how to breathe.”

“Then you have to do it correctly without being told.”

His eyes flashed with anger, but he obeyed.

Jasmine watched his chest until the rhythm became steadier.

Emily stepped closer.

“Why are you still here? Leave immediately,” Harrison said irritated.

Jasmine wrote a brief note in the chart while Harrison watched her pen move.

“You really are going to report everything.”

“Everything relevant.”

“Changes in condition. Refused medication. Refused meals. Abnormal observations. Interventions. Responses,” she said flipping the pages of the chart.

“And your opinion?”

“My opinion does not belong in your chart.”

“That must be difficult for you.”

“Not at all.”

She closed the chart.

Emily moved the medication cup back onto the tray.

“I’ll inform Dr. Lawson.”

“Make sure you do,” Harrison said.

Emily turned back and left.

The moment the door closed, Harrison turned his attention back to Jasmine.

“You enjoy challenging people.”

“I enjoy doing my job properly.”

“You keep hiding behind that sentence.”

“Because it is true.”

“No one is that devoted to a job.”

Jasmine adjusted the IV fluid slightly.

“Some people are, someone has to be.”

The words escaped before she could stop them.

Harrison’s eyes narrowed.

For a brief second, no one said anything.

Jasmine remembered the patient from three years earlier. She remembered the helplessness of standing beside a bed while a family waited outside for news. She remembered how every second had seemed to move too slowly, how every instruction had sounded distant, and how the patient’s breathing had finally stopped despite every attempt to save him. Since then, she had treated every unstable patient as if time were an enemy waiting to attack. Harrison did not know any of that. He did not need to.

“Are you always this unpleasant?” he asked.

“Only when necessary.”

“That is a convenient excuse.”

“It is a professional boundary.”

He gave a faint, humorless laugh.

“You call rudeness a boundary?”

“I call refusing to tolerate disrespect a boundary.”

Harrison’s face became colder.

“You are speaking to Harrison Cole.”

“And you are speaking to Jasmine Carter.”

His eyes moved over her face.

“You think that makes us equal?”

“No.”

“Good.”

“It makes us two people in the same room. One is sick. The other is working.”

His expression darkened.

“You have no idea what you are talking about.”

“Then explain it.”

He stared at her.

For a moment, Jasmine thought he might answer. Instead, he turned his face toward the window. The silence that followed was not peaceful. It was heavy with the kind of anger that did not need shouting.

A few minutes later, the door opened again.

Dr. Lawson entered with Emily behind him.

“I hear you are refusing your medication,” he said.

“I am just refusing a dose,” Harrison said not looking at him.

“You are refusing a prescribed treatment after a respiratory emergency.”

“I am aware of what happened.”

“Then behave like someone who wants to recover and be discharged.”

Harrison’s eyes shifted toward him.

“Do not lecture me. You think I enjoy being here?”

“I will lecture you if your decisions place your life at risk.”

Jasmine stood at the side of the bed, silent.

Dr. Lawson checked the chart before his eyes met Jasmine.

“Any nausea?”

“No.”

“Difficulty swallowing?”

“No.”

“Pain?”

“Yes Dr.”

“Then why refuse?" Dr Lawson said, his gaze shifting back to Harrison.

Harrison’s jaw tightened.

“I don’t need to explain every decision I make.”

“In this hospital, you do when the decision affects your treatment Mr Cole.”

“She already explained that,” Harrison said, looking at Jasmine.

“Then you heard her.”

“I heard both of you.”

“Good. Take the medication.”

Harrison remained still.

“Mr. Cole, your body has been through significant trauma. You are not in control of every process happening inside it. You may control your company, your employees, your security detail, and whatever else you have built around yourself. You do not control physiology.” Dr Lawson said, careful to keep his tone neutral.

The words struck harder than a shout.

Harrison’s nostrils flared.

“Not another word, Doctor.”

“I am trying to prevent another emergency.”

Dr. Lawson held out the medication cup.

Harrison stared at it before he finally took the cup.

He swallowed the medication with a small amount of water and handed it back.

Dr. Lawson nodded once.

“Was that difficult?”

“Leave.”

“I was planning to.”

The doctor turned toward the door, then stopped.

“Jasmine, continue monitoring his respiratory status. If his saturation drops, if his breathing changes, or if he becomes confused, call immediately.”

“Yes, Doctor.”

“And he is not to be left unattended during the next few hours.”

Harrison scoffed. “I am not a prisoner.”

“No, you're not,” Dr. Lawson replied. “Prisoners are usually healthier.”

He left before Harrison could respond.

Emily followed him, leaving Jasmine alone with the patient.

Harrison stared at the closed door.

“They all think they can speak to me however they want.”

“They speak to you according to the situation”

“And what situation is that?”

“You are a difficult patient.”

His head turned sharply.

“You keep proving it,” Jasmine added.

Harrison looked away again.

Jasmine collected the tray and moved it toward the side table. The food remained untouched.

“You should try eating something.”

“I said I’m not hungry.”

“Then take a few bites.”

“I do not need permission to starve.”

“If you continue refusing food, you may become weaker, delay healing, and increase your risk of complications.”

“I survived the accident.”

“You also stopped breathing earlier.”

His expression changed.

The reminder landed between them.

Jasmine lowered her voice.

“You survived because people intervened quickly. That does not mean your body has finished fighting.”

Harrison looked at her.

For once, he had no immediate reply.

She picked up a small container from the tray and opened it.

“Soup. Start with that.”

“I don’t take orders from you.”

“Then consider it a suggestion.”

“I don’t take suggestions either.”

Jasmine placed the bowl within his reach.

“Fine. Ignore it.”

She returned to the chart.

Minutes passed. The monitor continued its steady rhythm and after a while Harrison reached for the spoon. Jasmine did not look up. He took one mouthful and then another. She kept writing as though she had not noticed but Harrison noticed that she had noticed. And somehow, that irritated him more than the food itself. By the time the afternoon shift began to fade, the bowl was half empty.

Jasmine recorded the intake and checked his vital signs again.

“Your pulse is coming down,” Jasmine said.

“Try not to sound excited,” Harrison replied.

“I am not excited.”

“Now, you sound disappointed.”

“I am documenting improvement.”

He looked at her.

“You really do have an answer for everything.”

“No. Just the things that matter.”

Outside the room, the hospital continued moving;phones ringing, wheels rolling across polished floors, nurses calling for assistance, families waiting for updates. Inside, Harrison remained trapped between weakness and pride while Jasmine remained at his side, watching the monitor and keeping her distance.

She was assigned to his care for every shift except night duty. That meant she would return in the morning. It meant he would see her again.

Harrison looked toward the clock.

“You will be here tomorrow?”

Jasmine closed the chart.

“Yes. Because I am assigned to your care.”

He looked away.

The answer left him with an unfamiliar irritation. Harrison understood that Jasmine Carter’s presence was not temporary. She was not passing through his life. She had been placed directly in the middle of it. And neither of them had been given the choice to refuse.

His phone buzzed. He stretched his hand and picked it up. The screen lit. It was Margaret.