Carrying An Heir For The Wrong Billionaire 의 모든 챕터: 챕터 81 - 챕터 90

AMELIA My hand brushed the polished bannister as I descended the stairs, each step slow and hesitant. Mr Colton was in the living room, sitting on the large sofa in the middle of the room, reading a book about growth. I had just picked Noah up from daycare, fed him and put him to sleep. I walked to the living room, clutching the strap of my bag. Mr Colton,” I called, my voice sounding thin in the quiet room. He turned to face me, his face peaceful. "Noah is asleep right now. Please, when he wakes up later, can you help me give him food? I might be home late today.” He looked at me with gentle concern. "Is there a problem,dear?” I shook my head, but the motion was a lie. My life felt like a tangled knot I couldn't undo right now. "My father has a surgery today,” I blurted. "I want to be there until his surgery is done.” This wasn't the first time my father has had surgery. But this time, it felt risky. The first time my father had surgery, he nearly gave up the ghost. But aft

AMELIA I walked slowly, my heels clicking softly against the floor, each step deliberate. I held a small basket of fruits—the ones my father loved. I stopped outside Room 124, took a breath and turned the doorknob. The door opened, and I stepped inside, closing the door gently behind me. My father was sitting by the edge of the bed, drinking a glass of water. He was now awake and had strength to move his body. He turned towards my direction. When his gaze landed on me, his face lit up like his saviour had arrived to save him. “Amelia." That was how he always called me. Always by my name. Not “my daughter.” And the only time he had managed to call me his daughter was when he needed me to agree to something important or obey whatever absurd things my mother told me. I went closer, standing a few inches away from him. Then, I placed the basket of fruits on his bedside table. “How are you doing?" I asked, my voice softer than intended. “Do–do you feel pains anywhere in your bo

AMELIA "Thank you,” I said. "For telling Mr Colton the truth about everything. I didn't know how I would tell him." I hadn't meant for my words to sound so vulnerable, but I had to say it. I need to let him know how happy and grateful I was. He has been doing so much for me, without me realising it. And now, I had to make it known. He dropped the document onto his lap. Then, he leaned forward, his elbows pressing into the surface of his desk. His eyes locked onto mine with that intensity that made my heart pound against my chest. He gazed at me as if suddenly deciding nothing else mattered. "Two nights ago," he began, his tone soft and low. "When you were returning from the hospital after checking up on Mr Hughes, you immediately fell asleep in the car. You were drained. Your body felt weak. I carried you inside, and you didn't even wake up when I lay you down. You just heaved." I swallowed. I hadn't remembered that. I realized that I might not have been the one to take mysel

CONRAD I placed my hand on Amelia's shoulders gently so she wouldn't be startled. She looked up at me. Her cheeks were flushed, light pink, her eyes dim. Suddenly she smiled, her gaze on me. The alcohol had already gotten to her. She wasn't herself right now. Her body was warm, her eyes slightly closed. She was leaning on the table for maximum support. “Are you okay?” I asked, my tone soft and low. I didn't know she couldn't tolerate alcohol, but mostly, I didn't know she would drink the much she did. Guilt struck me. I should have been by her side when she was gulping down so much. She nodded, looking down at the table again. I tucked her loose strands of hair at the back of her ear, so I could see her face better. She pulled away from the table, trying to stand, but slightly stumbled. I quickly held her waist, shielding her from falling. She clearly wasn't okay. She was almost drunk. And now, I knew she wasn't a fan of alcoholic drinks. Her body couldn't even contain th

CONRAD I had come back to the hospital later that day for the rest results. “He was brought in with severe respiratory depression. The toxicology screen showed a cocktail of opioids, benzodiazepines, and a trace of propofol. The propofol dose was less than 0.2 mg per kilogram. The lethal dose would have required a much larger volume. In short, he was already on a massive amount of depressants. The propofol may have tipped the scales, but it wasn't the primary cause.” Those were the doctor's exact words. The propofol Amelia had administered was nothing more than a drop in a sea of problems. Aiden's addiction had already sealed his fate. And my father? Amelia had no hand in his death. Not even a bit. He had heart problems for a long time. He already knew he didn't have much time to live. “I don't want a heart transplant," he had said. Maybe, he had feared that during the transplant, something might go wrong due to his old age, and he wouldn't make it. When I had gone to the ho