By the third night, I'd survived the fever, but dehydration set in. I was retching violently, purging fluids I didn't have.
Terrified, the nanny called Connor.
He answered—but instead of words, the line filled with wet, breathless sounds. Him and Jade. He let me listen before the nanny could even speak.
"The fever's gone, isn't it?" he scoffed when she finally managed to stammer something.
"But sir—"
"She's faking it. Again."
Darkness crept into my vision, but the pain in my chest cut sharper than the illness. Just as I summoned strength for one last plea, Jade's voice came through, whining and sweet.
"Connor, baby... don't bother with her. Come back to bed."
He cursed and hung up.
The last thing I heard was the nanny screaming.
"Mr. Winfield! Help! She's collapsed!"
I woke in a hospital bed. Julian was there, his lips pressed to my temple, his eyes dark with suppressed rage.
"Are you still determined to destroy yourself for him?"
"Soon," I whispered. "Less than two months."
His jaw tightened. "You almost died, Sam."
"When it's over... I'll come back. I promise."