Chapter 3

Wesley's POV

The blood loss had made me dizzy, and my vision was getting blurry.

I only found out later that ten minutes before my heart gave out, Norman had turned to Amelia, pale-faced, and said, "Amelia, the smell of disinfectant out there is overwhelming. I feel like I can barely breathe."

She immediately helped him up, worry crossing her features. Without even acknowledging me, she took him downstairs to the garden to get some air.

While I was fighting for my life, all Amelia cared about was Norman—her childhood sweetheart who couldn't even handle the smell of disinfectant.

…

Third-Person POV

Outside the operating room, the red emergency light glared above the doors. The charge nurse paced anxiously down the hallway, holding the consent forms and critical condition paperwork.

Hospital policy was strict. For a procedure this risky, the doctors needed an immediate family member's signature before they could operate.

If something went wrong without proper authorization, the hospital would be left liable.

"Keep calling! Don't stop until someone answers!" the surgeon in charge shouted from inside.

The nurse repeatedly dialed the number Amelia had left on Wesley's admission forms. But all she heard was the automated message. "Sorry. The person you are trying to reach is unavailable."

…

Meanwhile, in the garden below, Norman sat on a bench. Amelia slipped off her designer coat and gently draped it around his shoulders, shielding him from the chilly November breeze.

"Feeling any better?" she asked. "Still feeling sick? Do you want me to get you something warm to eat?"

Her tone was nothing like the cold, impatient one she'd used on Wesley moments earlier.

Norman looked down and forced a bitter smile before nodding. "Much better, Amelia. I'm sorry. I hate that my health keeps becoming such a burden.

"Wesley is upstairs waiting for surgery, and here I am taking up your time again. If he knew, he'd probably blame me for it…"

Amelia reached over and gently ruffled his hair. Her expression softened with concern as she said, "Don't overthink it. They won't start the surgery that quickly.

"He was born with a silver spoon in his mouth, so he's never been good at handling even the smallest inconvenience.

"Your old injury is what worries me. What if the pain gets so bad that you pass out again, like you did when you were little?"

No sooner had Amelia finished speaking than the phone in the coat pocket began vibrating nonstop.

Norman glanced down and immediately saw the caller ID flashing on the screen—"First General Cardiac Unit".

He knew Amelia better than anyone. He was certain that as long as the hospital couldn't reach her, Wesley would just have to endure the pain a little longer.

He couldn't fathom why Wesley had been handed everything on a silver platter. He had wealth, power, and the legal right to call Amelia his wife.

Meanwhile, Norman had grown up in an orphanage, living off whatever scraps were left behind. He was also forced to remain hidden as nothing more than Amelia's "younger brother".

And yet, all he had done was pretend his old injury had returned, and Amelia had immediately arranged a private hospital suite worth a fortune for him.

To Norman, it proved one thing. Wesley meant nothing to Amelia.

Norman's face gave nothing away as he slipped his hand into the pocket of Amelia's coat. Then, he held down the power button and turned off her phone.

The moment the screen went dark, he acted as though nothing had happened and turned to Amelia.

"Amy, it's windy out here. Can we stay a little longer? Ever since you got married, we haven't had the chance to spend time together like this."

Completely absorbed in caring for the younger man she felt responsible for, Amelia failed to notice anything unusual. She had no idea that while she sat beside him, her husband was fighting for his life upstairs because she could not be reached.

…

Wesley's POV

Inside the operating room, my consciousness had already begun slipping away.

Meanwhile, the surgeon's expression grew grimmer by the second.

I could feel the blood draining from my body, little by little. An unbearable cold spread through me, as if my entire body had been plunged into freezing water.

The surgeon clenched his jaw and made his decision.

"We can't wait any longer. His blood pressure is down to 50! Activate emergency protocol. If anything happens, I'll take responsibility. Prep anesthesia!" he barked.

Just as they were about to operate without waiting for consent, the doors burst open.

"I'll sign it! Let me sign! I'm his father."