Her sudden interrogation left me speechless for a moment.

It wasn’t like I hadn’t called her last night, but she didn’t spare even a single word of concern.

Bitterness rose sharply in my throat.

I explained weakly, "I ate something spicy last night, and my stomach condition flared up. I was at the hospital getting an IV."

She went silent for three seconds. "You’ve been hooked up all night. It should be finished by now. Come home."

I looked up at the IV bag, which was still a third full. "Yeah. I’m heading back."

After ending the call, I pulled out the needle and left the hospital.

The moment I stepped inside the house, I saw Lauren leaning against the sofa with a gift box beside her.

My gaze slid past it and landed on her. "Why did you come back?"

If this were before, I would’ve wished she came home every day. I would’ve wanted nothing more than to cling to her endlessly, but now I asked the opposite.

Lauren felt a flash of displeasure, though something else quickly overshadowed it.

"I want your creamy seafood chowder. Make it and pack a serving for me."

A quiet suspicion stirred inside me. This wasn’t something she wanted. This was something Ian wanted.

I had once stumbled across Ian’s Instagram, where he shared what he ate every day. Among those posts was creamy seafood chowder, the same one I always made for Lauren to take to work.

As I walked into the kitchen, I pretended to speak casually. "Creamy seafood chowder, huh? That reminds me of something interesting.

"One of my patients the other day almost miscarried because she accidentally ate too much leftover shellfish her mother-in-law brought home from a restaurant. Pregnant women should be careful about shellfish contamination.

"Despite all that, the mother-in-law still blamed the restaurant’s chef. Isn’t that funny? Fortunately, the baby made it."

I glanced back at Lauren and saw her face instantly drain of color. That confirmed everything I had suspected.

I thought I had gone numb, but pain still surged through my chest in sharp waves, and my eyes turned hot with an ache I couldn’t swallow.

I turned away, steadied myself, and forced my voice back to neutral as I rinsed the ingredients.

Behind me, Lauren’s cold voice cut through the air. "Don’t bother cooking. I don’t want it anymore. That gift on the table is for you. And you’re coming with me to a luncheon meeting at noon."

With that, she turned and walked out.

I set down what I was holding, my eyes drifting toward the gift box as a faint, self-mocking smile pulled at my lips.

She didn’t remember that I couldn’t eat spicy food. How would she possibly remember that I didn’t even like wearing watches?

It felt like my heart dropped straight into an ice pit, and the blood in my limbs seemed to have frozen solid. My chest burned as if eaten away by ants. I wanted to cry desperately, but no tears would come.

I didn’t know how long it took before I finally gathered myself enough to close the gift box and head to the hotel where Lauren was meeting her clients.

I could have refused to go, but I wanted closure, an end with some semblance of dignity. Let this be our last meal together.

When I arrived at the hotel, I sat quietly beside Lauren and ate my food.

Suddenly, next to me, Lauren spoke, "Sam, that's Director Charles Grant, one of the shareholders of Sheridan Industries. We need to finalize a deal with him. Go pour him a drink for me."

I continued eating, refusing calmly, "I just got discharged from the hospital. I shouldn’t be drinking."

Lauren wouldn’t let it go. "This contract is important. I can’t drink. You have to do it!"

I set my cutlery down. "I’m not your employee. That’s your assistant’s job."

As I said that, my eyes shifted to Ian Kane.

Lauren followed my gaze, and her face instantly darkened. She leaned in and hissed under her breath, "He’s not feeling well. You’re a doctor. Can’t you be a little more understanding?"

Before I could respond, she had already pulled me to my feet and shoved a glass of liquor into my hand. "Director Grant, this is my fiance. He will give you a toast."

At that point, refusing would only make things worse. Left with no choice, I forced myself to drink.

However, I underestimated how cold Lauren could be. For the sake of her contract, she ignored my health completely and pushed one drink after another into my hands.

By the time the deal was finally signed, the stabbing pain in my stomach had me turning pale, sweat beading across my forehead.

I tugged at the hem of Lauren’s shirt, hoping she would take me to the hospital.

A flicker of worry passed through her eyes. She hesitated, but the moment she heard Ian calling for her outside, she shook off my hand and left with him.

Just before my consciousness slipped, I thought I saw Lydia.

When I came to again, I was in a hospital bed, an IV hooked into my arm.

I learned from the nurse that a beautiful, elegant young woman had brought me in. Listening to her description, combined with the last thing I saw before passing out, I understood that Lydia must have been the one who brought me here.

The thought warmed me toward her, yet at the same time, guilt rose within me.

I knew she liked me. She insisted on the arranged marriage, but I also knew I was only using her as a way to escape a failed relationship.

Just then, the door to my hospital room swung open.

It was Lauren. Her expression carried clear displeasure, though she tried to keep her voice level.

"Who’s the wench that brought you here?!"