Chapter 12

Red Fragrance Lounge. Neon lights flickered in a dizzy mix of red and green, blurring night and day until it all felt like one long, overhyped party. "Bro, Ethan, the sun's about to come up. Don’t you know yanking someone out of bed deserves straight-up hell-level punishment?" Michael Hart squinted, half-asleep, his tie crooked as he slouched in the booth. He’d barely nodded off before Ethan dragged him out for drinks with one call. When you're seriously sleep-deprived, your sense of morality kinda clocks out too. "Cut the crap. I know you. If it were some hot girl calling, you'd pull three all-nighters and still show up smiling." "Excuse me? That's totally different. I’ve got surgery at nine in the morning, okay? Come on, did you really drag me here just to binge on booze?" Michael and Ethan had grown up together; their families were tight going way back. With a bunch of older siblings in the picture, Michael never had to stress about carrying the family expectations. So at seventeen, he decided on his own to run off to medical school in Europe. Only just recently had he made it back to Riverlyn. "Aren’t you a doctor? I’ve got something going on—" Ethan shot him a look, gesturing to his chest. Michael burst out laughing, elbowing him playfully in the waist. "Dude, I thought your kidneys were acting up or something! Isn’t your little assistant in the hospital after a miscarriage? Maybe cool it for a while, yeah?" "Shut up!" Ethan snapped, shooting him a glare. "How the hell do you know about that? Let me guess—my mom?" "Nope, not this time. I’m the one who told her. I just started working at the central hospital, and guess what? That deluxe VIP suite? Yeah, your assistant's staying there—" "What?" The wine glass froze mid-air in Ethan’s hand, his whole body stiffening like someone flipped a switch. "You told my mom about Clara?" "Yup. Your mom loves me to bits; she's always bribing me to keep an eye on you. The moment I noticed something fishy, I thought I better report back." "You little—" Ethan stopped himself, swallowing the rest of the insult along with a wave of wine-fueled regret. So it wasn’t Emma who told her? He suddenly remembered how quiet Emma had been, like she wanted to say something but held it in. That silence hit differently now, skipping his heartbeat altogether. "Ethan, are you seriously planning to go through with the divorce and marry that assistant?" Michael’s voice lowered, expression more solemn now. "Look, I get it. I’m not into those spoiled rich princess types either—raised to be bossy, dramatic, and entitled. But... I don't think your wife’s like that. Emma seems... different somehow." Ethan kept puffing on his cigarette, saying nothing. His mind drifted to Sophie. The sweet girl who, despite growing up dirt poor, always had a cheerful heart. He couldn’t stand remembering the bruises she got from school bullies. She earned her way into top schools with her grades—not so some rich girls could etch ‘bitch’ into her face with fancy lipstick for sport. Back then, all he kept asking himself was—why didn’t I meet her sooner? Why couldn’t I protect her then? "I’ve met Emma a few times," Michael added, waving away the smoke between them, frowning. "You know the look she gives you? It's like... this deep, selfless kind of love. Like she just wants to hold your pain, not even thinking of herself. I don't quite know how to put it." With that, he snatched Ethan’s cigarette. "Dude, seriously? Chill out with the smoking! You trying to blow out your lungs or what?" Ethan looked up, stunned out of his thoughts. Then, suddenly more serious, he asked, "Can pneumonia make you cough up blood?" "What?" Michael blinked, caught off guard by how random that was. Ethan didn’t change expression, repeating the question louder. Michael shrugged. "Nah, pneumonia's not usually that bad. If you're coughing up blood, something else is probably up. Why... what's going on? You're not messing with me, right? Hey! Ethan! Where are you going—"