Chapter 208
Donald, the physician, stood with a professional air that commanded respect. Hannah found herself quietly appraising him; it seemed that everyone in Oscar’s inner circle was a hidden talent, operating with a level of competence that bordered on the extraordinary.
"Mrs. Wells," Donald addressed her, his tone grave. "Mr. Wells is badly wounded. As his family, you must understand the gravity of his recovery."
"I’m listening," Hannah said, her focus sharpening.
"First, the wound is dangerously close to the heart. Do not touch his chest or apply any pressure to the area. One wrong move could reopen the sutures. You must be extremely careful when assisting him."
Hannah’s face drained of color. A memory flashed through her mind—her "playful" punches to Oscar’s chest earlier that day at the Light Building when she had been in a fit of pique. He had been shot, the wound barely stable, and she had struck him. Yet, he hadn't flinched. He hadn't uttered a single cry of pain. The realization of the agony he must have hidden made her stomach churn with guilt.
"Second," Donald continued, "the wound was not cleaned in a timely manner and was heavily infected. I’ve stabilized it, but you must watch him like a hawk. If he develops a fever, inflammation, or starts bleeding, call me instantly." He handed her a card, and Hannah memorized the digits as if they were a lifeline.
"And third," Donald said, his expression becoming even more severe. "Mr. Wells may move around, but there is to be absolutely no... physical intimacy. No sex life."
Hannah felt the heat rush to her cheeks.
"I’ve told you, the wound is near the heart," Donald explained clinically. "During intercourse, the heart rate spikes. The surge of adrenaline and blood pressure could cause a massive hemorrhage. If he begins to bleed out while his epinephrine levels are at their peak, it will be nearly impossible to stop. He will go into shock and die."
The bluntness of the warning left Hannah speechless. Donald bowed slightly and exited, leaving her alone with the "dying" man leaning against the pillows.
Hannah turned back to Oscar, who was watching her with a look that was far too lively for a man with a hole in his chest. She picked up the bowl of soup and approached the bed.
"Did you hear the doctor?" she asked pointedly.
"You mean the part about our sex life?" Oscar offered a naughty, effortless smile.
"Oscar!" Hannah snapped, her worry turning into irritation.
"Alright, alright. I heard him. I’ll be obedient," he promised, though his eyes danced with mischief.
As she fed him the soup, Hannah couldn't help but reflect on their recent run of luck. First her kidnapping and recovery, now Oscar’s gunshot wound. She wondered if they were both cursed or if their lives were simply destined to be a series of near-misses.
"You got shot because of me, didn't you?" she asked softly.
Oscar didn't confirm it, but his silence was an answer in itself. He had abandoned his business in the Capital to race back and save her, likely leaving himself exposed to enemies he usually kept at bay.
"Oscar, will you tell me who you really are someday?"
"Yes," Oscar said, his gaze meeting hers with absolute firmness.
"Then I’ll wait for you." It was a fair trade. He was waiting for her trust; she would wait for his truth.
She shifted the topic, trying to lighten the mood. "How is your leg? Is it actually fine? It’s been less than a month since the 'fracture.'"
"It’s fine," Oscar nodded. "It wasn't that badly injured to begin with."
Hannah’s spoon paused mid-air. "Not badly injured? Then why did you play the part of a disabled man and demand I wait on you hand and foot?"
Oscar chuckled, a low, vibrant sound. "If I hadn't, would you have ever come close to me willingly? Would you have taken care of me like this?"
"Unbelievable," Hannah gnashed her teeth. "Is everything a ploy for you? Do men think of nothing but sex?"
"Not always," Oscar said, his voice dropping into a husky, dangerous register. "But I must admit, Hannah, I do want to have sex with you. I’ve been thinking about it for a very long time."
Hannah’s face burned. "You... you’re a liar."
"You said you were ready that night," Oscar reminded her, his eyes locking onto hers. "I don't think you’re a liar, Hannah. I expect you to keep your word."
Hannah bit her lip, cornered by her own past admission. But then, she saw an opening. "My word is my bond, Oscar. But as the doctor said, you can't exactly 'get it up' right now without dying. I’d hate for you to expire in bed."
Oscar’s smile vanished, replaced by a look of thwarted, silent fury. Hannah felt a surge of triumph; she had finally won a round of their verbal sparring.
"Just you wait, Hannah," Oscar threatened, his voice a low growl. "One day, you’ll learn that provoking a man in my position is a very dangerous game."
Hannah just smirked and continued feeding him, enjoying his frustration—until her phone shattered the moment. It was Susan.
"Hello, Susan?"
"Hannah... Hannah, I’m in trouble! It’s Manuel... something is wrong with Manuel!" Susan’s voice was a frantic mess of sobs and stammers.
Hannah stood up instantly, her heart dropping. She remembered this from her previous life—a vague, dark memory of a crisis involving Manuel that happened around this time. She had been too caught up in her own misery back then to help, but she wouldn't make that mistake again.
"Susan, listen to me! Calm down!" Hannah commanded. "Call 911 immediately and get him to the nearest hospital. Tell me exactly where you are. I’m coming right now."
She hung up and turned to Oscar, who looked equally grim. He had heard the name 'Manuel' and knew the stakes were high.
"Susan needs me. I have to go," Hannah said, already heading for the door. "I’ll tell Max to look after you."
She vanished into the hallway, leaving Oscar staring after her. His mind raced. What could have happened to Manuel?