Chapter 635

The sharp scent of antiseptic stung Evelyn's nostrils.

She slowly opened her eyes to the sterile white ceiling and the familiar IV stand. Two large bags of medication dripped steadily through transparent tubes into her veins.

A faint prickling sensation tingled at her fingertips.

Evelyn frowned slightly, trying to read the labels on the IV bags when the door creaked open. Instinctively, she shut her eyes and steadied her breathing.

Footsteps paused beside her bed.

A calloused hand brushed against her forehead, warm and comforting, carrying a hint of cedarwood.

"The fever's gone," Alexander murmured, his voice hoarse.

Whispers rustled at the doorway. Evelyn heard Teresa's tearful plea: "Let me see Terry one more time—"

"Mom." Alexander cut her off gently. "You're still on IV fluids yourself."

The wheels of a wheelchair rolled across the floor. Anthony spoke softly, "Alexander's right. We should go. Terry will worry if she sees you like this."

Their footsteps faded.

Someone tucked the blanket around her shoulders. The mattress dipped slightly as Alexander sat down. He cradled her cold fingers, his thumb tracing circles over her knuckles.

When only a third of the IV bag remained, the door opened again.

"Mr. Hamilton?" A nurse whispered. "Dr. Lightfoot sent a foldable bed for you."

The bed frame unfolded with barely a sound. As Alexander thanked her, Evelyn caught the nurse's hushed remark: "I thought he was supposed to be a jerk..."

Night deepened.

Evelyn could feel Alexander's presence beside her. His breathing was labored, occasionally broken by suppressed coughs. Several times he rose to pour water, the glass clinking against the table.

At 3 AM, a heart-wrenching scream pierced the night.

Evelyn peeked through her lashes.

Alexander jolted awake, his first instinct to check her temperature. His shirt was crumpled, dark stubble shadowing his jaw.

The cries faded into the distance.

He exhaled in relief and turned toward the bed—

Only to find neatly folded sheets.

A note lay on the pillow.

His hands trembled as he unfolded it.

[Don't look for me.]

The fish congee in the thermal container had gone cold, a film of oil congealing on its surface. Dawn light crept through the window, bleaching the empty bed stark white.