Chapter 650

Moonlight seeped through the gap in the curtains, casting a silver streak across the concrete floor.

Evelyn Carter's breathing was even and steady, her lashes casting faint shadows beneath her eyes. She always fell asleep quickly, no matter how exhausted she was.

Alexander Hamilton lay on the opposite bed, watching her in silence.

He remembered the step count he'd accidentally seen on her phone—over thirty thousand steps a day. That didn’t even account for the hours she spent standing motionless in the operating room.

Being a doctor drained not just the body, but the mind.

No wonder she slept so deeply.

"...Can't sleep?"

Evelyn suddenly opened her eyes, meeting his gaze.

Alexander immediately shut his. "I can."

"Then sleep."

"Mhm."

She turned over and was soon lost in dreams again.

...

3:17 AM.

Evelyn woke inexplicably. Instinctively, she glanced toward the other bed.

The night breeze lifted a corner of the curtain, flooding the room with moonlight. Alexander was curled up, hands pressed to his abdomen, brows furrowed in pain.

She threw on her coat and approached.

"Alexander?"

No response. She touched his forehead—burning.

A fever.

Evelyn quickly retrieved the first-aid kit, grabbing fever reducers and stomach medicine. She nudged him gently. "Wake up."

Alexander blinked groggily. "Hm?"

"You have a fever."

He touched his own forehead, voice hoarse. "Do I?"

His throat ached, and his stomach churned.

"Take these."

She helped him sit up, handing him the pills and water. He swallowed them obediently before collapsing back onto the bed.

"Aren’t you going to ask what I just gave you?"

"Trust you," he mumbled, pulling the blanket tighter.

Evelyn draped her coat over him. The blanket was too short, leaving gaps.

"Cold..." He suddenly grabbed her hand.

"I'll get another blanket."

Alexander let go.

She brought her own blanket, tucking it carefully around him.

"Sleep."

She knew illness made people fragile, so she was extra patient.

"You gave me your blanket. What will you use?"

"I'll borrow one."

"That’s not proper."

"We don’t stand on ceremony here."

"Evelyn."

"Yes?"

"Still cold."

"Fevers make you feel cold, but more layers won’t help." She softened her tone. "Overheating is worse."

"...Mhm." His eyes stayed closed, voice weak. "Come up here... I’ll hold you... Won’t be cold then..."

Evelyn froze.

Alexander fell silent again, forehead still blazing. It sounded like feverish delirium, not a calculated request.

After a long hesitation, she lay down beside him, still clothed.

Half-asleep, warmth enveloped her.

His chest pressed against her back, his arm circling her waist, drawing her closer. Hot breath brushed her hair. "Sleep..."

Morning.

Evelyn woke on schedule, still caged in his arms. She tried to rise but jostled him awake.

"How did I—"

"You had a fever." She slid out of bed, smoothing her hair. "I need to get to the clinic. Pills are on the table."

She left in a hurry, as if fleeing something.

Alexander stared at the two blankets and coat covering him. Memories surfaced—he’d asked her to share the bed.

He’d thought it was a dream.

...

When Evelyn returned for her white coat, Alexander was sitting up.

"Feeling better?" She pointed to instant noodles by the bed. "Eat if you’re hungry. Can you manage?"

He nodded weakly.

Unconvinced, she took his temperature.

"Fever’s gone. Probably gastritis plus a chill." She exhaled in relief. "Rest."

This time, she left decisively, shutting the door behind her.

Alexander gazed at the closed door, fingers brushing the coat she’d draped over him.

A knock interrupted.