Chapter 393

Ethan Roscente's knuckles turned white as he crushed the fever-reducing pills in his palm.

"These are for fever." His voice was tight as his gaze dropped to her swollen abdomen. "You can't take them while pregnant."

Sophia Lowell's cheeks burned crimson with fever, her lashes fluttering like butterfly wings. She instinctively curled deeper into the blankets, a sheen of sweat glistening on her forehead.

"So hot..." she murmured, fingers twisting the sheets.

Ethan knelt on the edge of the bed, wringing out an ice-cold towel. With careful movements, he dabbed her scorching neck, pausing when his thumb brushed her collarbone.

"Don't touch me..." Sophia suddenly thrashed, her voice breaking. "You're getting married..."

The towel fell onto the carpet with a damp thud.

Ethan's eyes darkened. He captured her flailing wrists and pulled her against his chest. "I never agreed to that arranged marriage." His lips brushed her earlobe. "There's never been anyone else."

Through feverish delirium, Sophia heard his words. Tears spilled instantly. She dreamed of hospital corridors at seventeen, the sting of antiseptic in her nose.

"Mom..." She curled into herself. "Don't leave me..."

Ethan's heart wrenched. He pushed sweat-dampened hair from her forehead, pressing a kiss to her trembling eyelids. "I'm here." His voice was raw. "Always."

Rain lashed against the windows.

In her haze, Sophia clutched his wrinkled dress shirt like a lifeline. Burning with fever, she couldn't distinguish reality from dreams but instinctively sought his warmth.

"Ethan..." She sobbed his name. "It hurts..."

His muscles tensed, Adam's apple bobbing. Ripping off his tie, he wiped her palms with alcohol pads. "I know." He kissed her hairline. "Just a little longer."

By 3 AM, her fever dropped to 38°C. Ethan changed sweat-soaked sheets, tucking her back into the down comforter. Sophia finally stilled, breathing evening out.

At the window, he lit a cigarette. The ember's glow highlighted bloodshot eyes. His phone screen illuminated—the eighteenth missed call from the Roscente estate.

When the ashtray overflowed, rustling came from behind. Sophia pushed up weakly, squinting at his silhouette against the dawn light.

"...Water." Her voice was sandpaper-rough.

Ethan stubbed out the cigarette and lifted a glass to her lips. The rim clinked against her teeth, making her flinch. Suddenly, she focused on his red-rimmed eyes.

"You..." Her pupils contracted. "Why are you here?"

He gripped her chin, thumb grazing cracked lips. "That's my question." Ice laced his words. "Pregnant, and you dared to walk in the rain?"