Chapter 252

A Sudden Fever

Evelyn blinked in surprise as realization washed over her.

No wonder I feel so awful.

Her throat burned like fire, her tongue sticking to the roof of her mouth like parched parchment. It had to be from yesterday’s downpour—she’d been drenched to the bone. And with back-to-back surgeries at the hospital, she’d barely had a moment to catch her breath, let alone change out of her damp scrubs.

She lifted a shaky hand to her forehead, pressing her fingers against her clammy skin.

"It’s nothing serious," she murmured, tucking her hand back under the covers. "Just a mild fever—around 101.5°F." She glanced at Nathan. "Could you grab the medicine from the drawer? Some pills should do the trick."

Nathan stared at her for a long moment, his brow furrowing.

Had she really just guessed her temperature without a thermometer?

Still, he moved to the nightstand, retrieving the first-aid kit. He pulled out a digital thermometer and pressed it to her temple. The screen flashed—101.5°F.

His lips parted slightly.

How had she known exactly?

"Just pills?" His voice was low, edged with concern. "No IV? No doctor?"

Evelyn shook her head weakly. "Not yet. Let’s try the meds first." She pushed herself up slightly, wincing at the effort. "If they don’t work, then we’ll consider stronger measures."

Nathan’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t argue. He rummaged through the kit, pulling out the medications she listed—antipyretics, anti-inflammatories, something for the sore throat. He lined them up neatly on the nightstand before standing.

"I’ll have breakfast brought up," he said, his tone leaving no room for protest. "Stay in bed."

Evelyn gave a small nod, her usual sharpness dulled by the fever. She looked softer like this—vulnerable, almost docile.

Nathan’s fingers twitched at his side, an inexplicable urge to brush a stray lock of hair from her face rising in his chest. He clenched his fist and turned away.

The moment the door clicked shut, Evelyn dragged herself out of bed, shuffling to the bathroom to splash cold water on her face. By the time she emerged, Nathan was already back, balancing a tray laden with steaming soup, toast, and a cup of herbal tea.

His eyes darkened when he saw her standing there.

"Back to bed. Now," he ordered, his voice brooking no argument.

Evelyn obeyed without protest, sliding under the covers as he set the tray over her lap. She picked up the spoon, her movements sluggish, and took a slow sip of the broth.

Nathan watched her for a moment before exhaling sharply.

This woman would be the death of him.