“Maryam Dixon isn’t healthy enough to donate blood. Is there another option?” The doctors traded uneasy glances. The chief physician spelled it out. “A transfusion is still the safest bet. We could try conservative treatment—let her body heal on its own—but that comes with risks…”

“How bad are the risks?” The deep voice came through the phone again.

In the ER, the doctor paused, then answered with clinical precision. “There’s a ten percent chance of shock and a one to three percent risk of sudden death.”

“I remember this hospital brags about having the best doctors and emergency equipment in the country. I’m transferring a million dollars to her medical account now. Don’t cut corners. Make sure she survives!”

The message was unmistakable: Rhys Howell would not let the woman with the rare blood type donate to the injured woman.

The doctor, backed into a corner, agreed.

A single tear slipped down Lorelai Howell’s cheek. Her eyes refused to open.

Coldness wrapped around her, dragging her toward the abyss.

But she couldn’t let go.

For years, she’d lived for him. Now she regretted it. Just once, she wished she could live for herself…

In that instant, a fierce will to live surged up from somewhere deep inside Lorelai.

The monitors that had been screaming alarms began to steady.

The chief physician wiped sweat from his brow and exhaled hard. They had come terrifyingly close to seeing that three percent risk become reality…

Meanwhile, in the hospital corridor, the man on the phone looked grim, tension practically dripping off him.

During his call with the doctor, a text from Maryam Dixon had come through.

[“Rhys, Lorelai is hurt and needs my blood. But the doctors say the risks are high—possibly fatal. Rhys, if you promise to marry me, I’ll do whatever you ask. I’d even give my life willingly.”]

*

Pain. Excruciating pain.

But Lorelai stayed silent.

Because she knew pain meant she was still alive, that she had narrowly escaped death’s grip.

Straining to open her eyes, Lorelai’s blurry vision landed on a familiar face.

Cold. Distant. Commanding.

Yet that perfect, handsome face carried a hint of exhaustion, and shadows lingered behind those sharp eyes.

It was Rhys Howell.

In Lorelai’s eyes, he was everything. Emotions she couldn’t contain rose inside her.

Then the sharp sound of a wheelchair skidding across the floor cut through the air.

Suddenly, a delicate female face appeared beside Rhys Howell.

Lorelai’s heart lurched violently, her scattered thoughts snapping into focus.

Her chest contracted with pain.

At that moment, Maryam Dixon, seated in the wheelchair, kept up her fragile act.

“I’m sorry, Lorelai. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to donate blood to you yesterday. Rhys wouldn’t allow it. He was worried about my health, so please don’t blame him.”

As she spoke, Maryam turned her gaze toward Rhys, her eyes dripping with syrupy affection.

Watching the scene, Lorelai felt as if an icy hand had closed around her heart.

Who would ever guess that the woman lying in the hospital bed was actually this man’s legal wife?

Swallowing down the pain and nausea, Lorelai forced a cold smile.

“Yeah. Rhys worries about his sister’s health but couldn’t care less whether his wife lives or dies. What a stand-up guy.”

Her words were laced with thorns.

After yesterday’s brush with death, she understood one thing perfectly: no matter how much she gave, she would never win this man’s heart.

Seeing Lorelai’s face—no longer gentle—Rhys Howell felt a surge of inexplicable irritation.

“Lorelai, Maryam’s condition made her unfit to donate blood to you. You’re strong, and this hospital has top-tier equipment. A tiny risk of sudden death shouldn’t have been a concern.”

Listening to Rhys’s explanation, Lorelai suddenly burst out laughing.

She laughed so hard she doubled over, tears streaming down her face.

“You’re right, Rhys Howell. Since I’m so strong, I don’t need a blood transfusion even when I’m on the brink of death. Maybe I don’t need a husband either.”

At that, Rhys Howell’s eyes narrowed, his voice stern. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Lorelai lifted her chin slightly and enunciated every word. “I mean, I want a divorce, Mr. Howell.”

Suddenly, Rhys Howell’s expression turned chillingly cold.

Their marriage had been arranged by his family three years ago—a fact he deeply resented. Still, Lorelai had been the perfect Mrs. Howell. She’d even handled countless family matters he had come to rely on.

He had never considered divorcing Lorelai.

And he sure as hell had never believed she would want to divorce him.

But playing hard to get? She’d tried that little trick before.

Swallowing hard, Rhys Howell responded gravely. “Stop this nonsense. Use these days in the hospital to recover. Let me know if you need anything, and I’ll have it brought to you.”

Seeing Rhys Howell brush off her talk of divorce, Lorelai couldn’t even be bothered to argue.

“I’ll draft the divorce papers and send them your way. Don’t worry—it won’t take long.”

With that, Lorelai cast a cold glance at Maryam, who was clinging to Rhys.

Maryam’s joyful facade froze into terror, her body shivering with cold.

The old Lorelai would have been kind to Maryam just to avoid upsetting Rhys Howell.

It had given Maryam the false impression that Lorelai was a weak pushover.

But now she knew better.

Seeing the pallor spreading across Maryam’s face, Lorelai turned her gaze away.

“If you have any stipulations for the divorce agreement, feel free to mention them. I’ll take them under advisement. Otherwise, you can leave.”

In the face of Lorelai’s indifferent tone, Rhys stood, his expression a block of ice.

His dark suit framed his tall, lean figure, cold as a frozen statue.

“Lorelai, considering your injuries, I’ll overlook this irrational behavior. But know this: I detest these trivial games.”

With those words, Rhys Howell, suppressing his anger, departed the hospital room with decisive strides, the door slamming behind him.

Perhaps in his fury, he left behind the woman he claimed to cherish.

Maryam looked at Lorelai’s icy gaze, nearly bursting into tears from fright.

“Rhys, Rhys, wait for me!”

At that moment, Maryam no longer cared to feign frailty in her wheelchair. She scrambled out as quickly as she could.

Hearing the door close, Lorelai, who had been sitting upright, suddenly relaxed.

She slumped against the headboard, her gaze drifting to the window.

For three years, as Mrs. Howell, her life had revolved entirely around Rhys Howell.

From preparing his breakfast in the morning and organizing his daily necessities to accompanying him to events as his partner.

Everything she did was as his accessory.

In the end, everyone praised Rhys Howell’s youth and capability, but no one acknowledged the person standing silently behind him.

She, Lorelai Howell, the second daughter of the Olson family, an Ivy League graduate—had she really fallen so low that even her life was at the mercy of others?

Retracting her distant gaze, Lorelai picked up her phone and dialed a number.

The voice on the other end was mocking.

“Hello, my dear sister. Finished serving your husband?”

Lorelai paused at the voice, then chuckled despite herself.

What he said was accurate—though it was all in the past now.

“Mathias, I’m getting a divorce.”

The simple statement left the voice on the other end stunned.

Finally, the mocking voice sputtered in disbelief. “What did you just say? Repeat that!”

Lorelai’s lips curved upward, and she raised her voice. “I said, I’m getting a divorce!”

“Wait for me! I’m coming over to beat Rhys Howell up!”

"Rhys, hold up!" Maryam Dixon grabbed the sleeve of Rhys Howell's coat, her voice edged with desperation.

"I wanted so badly to save her last night," she whispered, barely audible over the endless hum of the hospital corridor. "But... I was scared. Scared I'd end up where I pulled you from. Rhys, I really care about you. I was hoping for something between us."

Her voice was fragile, yearning—it pulled at the heartstrings. But the man ahead didn't so much as turn around.

Tears spilled down Maryam's cheeks as she watched his tall, steady figure retreat.

"I know I don't measure up to her," she went on, "and in the state I'm in, I have nothing to offer. I should have died that day saving you. Just being alive feels like a miracle. I can't afford to dream anymore..."

Rhys's hand clenched at his side, knuckles going white. After a moment, he spoke, his voice steady but rough.

"Everything I promised, I'll make good on. Don't overthink it. Let me take you home."

When he turned around, hope sparked in Maryam's tear-filled eyes.

"I knew it, Rhys. You're the best!"

The next day, in the hospital room, Mathias Olson sat beside Lorelai Howell, peeling a pear.

"Spit it out," Lorelai said, unable to take his hesitation anymore.

Mathias stopped, searching for the right words. "Sis, are you sure you're not just stirring things up to get that guy's attention again?"

Lorelai was notorious for pulling stunts like this.

"Mathias," she began.

"Yeah?" He glanced up.

"Do you think I've turned into a fool after getting involved with Rhys Howell?" Lorelai asked softly, her eyes fixed on the pear.

Mathias shot her a sharp look and flicked her forehead. "Don't be ridiculous."

Then, with a cheeky grin, he added, "You've always been a little silly."

Lorelai rolled her eyes. "Really? Who used to follow me around, whining about always being outshone? The family's golden child—"

Mathias cut her off quickly, clapping a hand over her mouth.

Amid their teasing, the years of distance that had grown between Lorelai and Mathias since her marriage seemed to melt away.

"Mathias, I'm going to divorce Rhys Howell. I won't regret this decision," Lorelai said, determination written on her face.

Mathias felt relieved at her resolve. Lorelai was no longer the Howell family's leading lady. She was Lorelai Olson—his sister, and the impressive woman she'd always been.

Meanwhile, at the Howell residence, Rhys sat at the dining table, frowning at the dishes in front of him.

The flavors were off.

When he called the chef in, the explanation was puzzling. "Sir, your meals have always been made by the mistress personally. Of course, we couldn't replicate her touch."

Rhys's brow furrowed deeper. "She did all of it?"

The chef nodded. "Yes, the mistress insisted on handling it herself."

Rhys closed his eyes briefly, exhaustion creeping into his voice. "All right. I understand."

Even as he picked up his fork again, he found his appetite gone.

A few bites later, Rhys rose to get ready for work but couldn't find his favorite tie. Lorelai had always known where it was.

He called a maid for help, but got no answers. "The mistress organized all your belongings, sir. We wouldn't know where she put them," the maid explained.

At Howell Enterprises' headquarters, a manager noticed Rhys's unusual tie. "Mr. Howell, that tie color is quite... bold today. Doesn't really match your suit," he commented, trying to sound casual.

Rhys's icy glare shut him up. "If you have time to comment on my tie, maybe you should spend it fixing that proposal riddled with errors!" The reprimand was cold and sharp.

The manager left the office quickly, and word spread through the company that Mr. Howell's mood was especially foul today—especially about comments on his tie.

Despite everyone's caution, the day brought an unprecedented number of reprimands. By quitting time, employees steered clear of Rhys's stormy presence.

Once in his car, Rhys sat in silence, irritation simmering under his skin. His unease came from how different everything felt lately, dissatisfaction trailing him at every turn.

He convinced himself it was just the small changes in his daily routine getting to him, pushing the annoyance aside as he started the car. The engine came alive, and he drove to his downtown apartment.

But after parking, Rhys didn't get out right away. Moments later, he reversed and sped toward City Hospital.

When Rhys entered the hospital room, Lorelai was surprised by the unexpected visitor.

"What brings you here?" she asked, eyebrows raised.

In the private hospital room, Lorelai Howell sat on the hospital bed, shooting an irritated look at her unexpected visitor, Rhys Howell.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, slicing through the silence with a sharp edge of annoyance.

Rhys set his briefcase on the table like he owned the place, his voice flat. “Mom asked me to keep an eye on you while she’s stuck overseas. Her flight got delayed a couple more days.”

“No need. The staff are taking good care of me. I can just tell Mom you stopped by. You should go,” Lorelai offered, tossing him an easy out.

She wanted him gone. Needed him gone. To Lorelai, Rhys was an unhealthy obsession—one she was done letting ruin her.

Rhys didn’t so much as flinch. He made no move to leave. Instead, he picked up a mug of coffee and held it out. “Want some?”

Lorelai watched him like a hawk and shook her head. Undeterred, Rhys set a mug of warm coffee on the table beside her bed, then crossed to the desk to work.

They were married. Yet their relationship was colder than that of strangers.

Watching him at the desk, Lorelai knew the real reason he was here: she was his cover. His real interest was Maryam.

Maryam was being treated at this same hospital, funded by Rhys—something the Howell family knew nothing about. Rhys used Lorelai as an excuse to visit Maryam, dragging her out under the guise of shopping and conveniently abandoning her.

Looking back, those memories cut deep. Lorelai used to tell herself that Maryam’s promise meant they were only friends.

How naive she’d been.

The familiar ache settled in her chest. She’d once clung to Rhys’s surface-level concern. Now it only repulsed her.

Later that afternoon, while Rhys was in the restroom, Lorelai seized the chance. She called a nurse over and handed her a note, instructing her to deliver it to room 4401—Maryam’s room.

Minutes after Rhys returned, his phone rang.

Unsurprisingly, it was Maryam.

Lorelai couldn’t hear the conversation, but she watched Rhys’s expression tighten. He ended with, “I’ll be right there.”

Lorelai smiled faintly and gestured for him to go.

Rhys looked like he wanted to say something, but in the end, he stayed silent and strode out.

Watching him disappear, Lorelai realized she hadn’t fully let go. Her heart still ached.

But she knew, eventually, this too would pass.

As day bled into night, Rhys didn’t come back.

At first, Lorelai welcomed the quiet. Then it hit her—something was off. Dinner never arrived.

She remembered the caregiver who usually attended to her had been fired, probably on Rhys’s orders. He’d left her for another woman.

Frustrated and out of options, Lorelai texted Rhys. Straight to the point:

[Get someone to bring me dinner!]

Ten minutes passed. Then twenty. Still nothing. Her vision blurred with hunger, and his silence was unnerving.

What was he doing?

Maybe Maryam had him so wrapped up he’d forgotten his phone.

Calling now might mean hearing things she was better off not knowing.

Yet, with the divorce pending, Lorelai reasoned, what did it matter if Rhys ended up with Maryam? Soon Maryam would officially be Mrs. Howell. No sense brooding over it.

She took a deep breath and dialed his number, expecting it to take a few tries. It connected immediately.

There were no scandalous sounds on the other end. Just Rhys’s cold voice: “Why aren’t you speaking?”

Lorelai’s anger flared. The choice to be with Maryam instead of her—it cut deep.

“You’re wondering why? Why did you fire my caregiver? Rhys Howell, if you want to make me suffer, be direct. Don’t play games!”

A cold laugh echoed through the line. “Make you suffer? I’m not that bored.”

But sensing her irritation, Rhys found himself unexpectedly amused.

He lifted a takeaway box and said, like it was nothing, “Next time, just call me directly if you need something.”

Lorelai was livid. He’d obviously seen her message.

Before she could let her anger get the best of her and unleash on him, the hospital room door swung open.

Rhys stood there—phone in one hand, takeaway box in the other. Like some delivery god.

Lorelai blinked, caught off guard. She hadn’t expected him to show up so fast, dinner in hand. Wasn’t he supposed to be with Maryam?

Rhys set a wooden food box on her small dining table. She recognized the logo. One of her favorite restaurants.

That took some of the edge off her anger.

“Are you trying to poison me or something?” Lorelai joked, eyeing him.

Rhys almost laughed. “Yeah. With arsenic.”

Lorelai rolled her eyes and eagerly opened the box. But when she saw what was inside, her hope vanished, replaced by cold disappointment.