Chapter 183

Sophia stirred in her groggy state, drawn toward a comforting warmth. She instinctively nuzzled closer—only to be abruptly seized by a strong arm around her waist.

"Who's there?!"

Her eyes flew open. Her back pressed against a scorching chest. Steady breaths tickled her ear, carrying the familiar scent of cedarwood.

This wasn’t a dream.

Her body tensed. She drove her elbow backward with force.

"Tch—"

The man grunted in pain, releasing his grip. Sophia twisted free and delivered a sharp kick.

Thud!

The dull impact of a heavy body hitting the floor echoed through the hospital room.

Propping herself up on the bed, she finally recognized the figure rising from the ground. Ethan Roscente rubbed his lower back, his white dress shirt crumpled beyond recognition.

"Attempted spousal homicide?" he hissed through clenched teeth.

The overhead lights flickered on. Sophia squinted as memories flooded back—the elevator malfunction, oxygen deprivation, losing consciousness...

"Wake up and immediately turn hostile?" Ethan loomed over her, bracing his arms on either side of the bed. "Should’ve left you to rot in that elevator."

She turned her face away. The antiseptic hospital air mingled with his ambergris cologne, making her temples throb.

"I'll repay the medical bills."

"Think I need your pocket change?" His laugh was icy. "Better consider how you'll compensate for my back."

He leaned in suddenly, his thumb grazing her pale lips. "Or... pay in kind?"

Sophia snatched a pillow and hurled it at him. "Get out!"

Ethan caught it midair. His gaze darkened as he pinned her back onto the mattress. The IV line jerked violently, cold medicine surging back up the tube into her vein.

"Let go!"

"Keep struggling." He trapped both her wrists with one hand. "See if I don’t take you right here."

She froze. The predatory glint in his eyes sent a chill down her spine—the look of a leopard sighting prey.

"Planning to assault an innocent woman, Mr. Roscente?" She raised her voice deliberately. "The hallway’s under surveillance."

Ethan suddenly smirked. Releasing her, he adjusted his cuffs with deliberate slowness. "Cameras were disabled." His fingertip traced her collarbone. "How else to... tend to my patient?"

Sophia grabbed the call button.

"Save your energy." He snatched the device and tossed it onto the sofa. "This entire hospital answers to me."

A thunderclap split the sky outside. Harsh lightning illuminated his razor-sharp profile—and the lipstick stain on his shirt collar.

Her pupils constricted.

That exact shade—the same "man-eater red" Isabella Valentine had worn during this morning’s financial news segment.