The atmosphere in the room was suffocating. The dim light from the bedside lamp cast eerie shadows over Michael's frail body. His tiny chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven breaths, his face sickly pale. Heaven sat beside him, gripping his hand tightly, silently pleading for him to fight.
The fever wasn't breaking.
Tears burned in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. Crying wouldn't help him.
She turned sharply when the door creaked open. Dylan stepped in, his tall frame silhouetted against the dim light. His sharp eyes landed on Michael, then flicked to her.
"What do you want?" she spat, venom dripping from every word.
Dylan ignored her and walked over to the doctor, his voice low and commanding. "Why is he not getting better?"
The doctor hesitated before responding, adjusting his glasses. "His immune system is weaker than expected. The fever should have subsided by now, but it's persisting. If it continues, his organs could start shutting down."
Heaven's breath caught in her throat. "No… no, that's not possible." She turned to the doctor desperately. "There has to be something—anything—you can do!"
The doctor sighed. "I've already administered the strongest medication available here, but he needs specialized care. He should be in a hospital."
Heaven turned sharply to Dylan. "Then let him go! Take him to a hospital!"
Dylan's jaw clenched, but he remained silent.
"Do you even hear yourself?" she continued, stepping toward him. "You're keeping him here like some prisoner when he's just a child! If you had any shred of humanity, you'd—"
"Enough," Dylan interrupted, his voice dangerously low. His dark eyes met hers, and for a moment, something flickered there—something unreadable.
He turned to Jayden. "Get the car ready."
Heaven's breath hitched. "What?"
Dylan gave her a cold glance. "You want him in a hospital? Fine."
She stared at him, shocked. She had expected resistance, an argument—anything but him agreeing so quickly.
Jayden nodded and hurried out of the room to make the arrangements.
Dylan turned back to Michael, his expression unreadable. His fingers curled into fists at his sides. Because he's hers.
Samantha's voice echoed in his mind.
"Move on, Dylan."
His chest tightened, but he forced the thoughts away.
"He goes to the hospital," he said, his voice firm. "But under my conditions."
Heaven narrowed her eyes. "What conditions?"
Dylan smirked slightly, leaning closer. "You stay by my side. No attempts to run, no rebellion. Obey me completely."
Heaven's stomach twisted. She knew this wouldn't come without a price.
But as she looked at Michael—his fragile body trembling, his small lips slightly parted as he struggled to breathe—she knew she had no choice.
She exhaled shakily. "Fine."
Dylan's smirk deepened.
"Good girl."