Chapter 4

Julian got sick.

In five years, I’d barely heard him cough more than a few times.

But now, he was shivering violently, curled up on the large bed in the villa’s medical room, all his sharp, cold edges melted away, leaving him a vulnerable, pitiable animal.

I sat by the bed, examining his flushed, sickly face.

On a sudden impulse, I cautiously reached out, tracing the curve of his brow.

The heat radiating from his body traveled through my fingertips, burning a path to my heart, making me flinch.

A soft cough came from the doorway.

I snapped my hand back, turning to see Spencer standing there with his medical kit, his gaze heavy.

“Dr. Hayes.”

Spencer nodded, opened the closet, took out a lab coat specially kept for him, changed into it, sanitized himself, and then examined Julian.

I automatically moved to the corner massage sofa, out of the way.

After Spencer finished his procedures, he said calmly, “He’s fine. Just overworked.”

“His health has always been excellent, and he’s always been busy. Before…”

“You’re worried about him?” Spencer cut me off, tilting his head.

He’d caught me off guard.

I opened my mouth but no words came out, so I just nodded.

“I give him regular check-ups, and I’m very familiar with his physical condition. The human body has its limits. Even the strongest people have their breaking point and need to stop and rest. The high fever is just his body’s cry for help. A good night’s sleep and a few days of rest will fix him.”

“Alright, thank you.”

Spencer set up an IV for Julian.

Julian stirred, turning twice impatiently: “Kian.”

His delirious murmur was so soft, I almost couldn't believe I’d heard my own name.

Disbelieving, yet hopeful, I walked over and leaned closer.

“Kian, I’m cold.”

As if under a spell, I immediately and gently tucked the blanket more tightly around him.

The next second, Spencer yanked me violently aside, his clear, sharp eyes clouded with fury: “Kian, if I wasn’t here, would you have wrapped your arms around him to warm him up?”

My hidden thoughts exposed, I awkwardly looked away.

“Kian, you’re sick.” Spencer’s voice was heavy with pain, as if I were already beyond saving. “I think you need to see a therapist. I have a friend who’s an expert in this field, I’ll SnapChat you his contact.”

Spencer picked up his phone, his fingers trembling as they scrolled across the screen, not at all like hands that could wield a scalpel.

“Dr. Hayes, I’m fine.”

Spencer seemed not to hear. My phone vibrated. I opened it to find the therapist’s contact he’d sent.

“Stockholm Syndrome can be completely reversed with timely intervention.”

“Dr. Hayes, I told you, I’m fine. I don’t need a therapist.” I fled, trying to get out.

Spencer followed closely, cornering me at the top of the stairs.

“Kian, you can’t love Julian.”

When such a thought was so bluntly exposed, I suddenly lost all strength to deny or hide it.

I slumped against the wall, a lost cause, just letting myself rot: “But I am a rotten person who doesn’t know what’s good for him. Julian’s good-looking, and now he’s a big shot in Rosewood. Besides, he’s practically ruined me. Why can’t I love him?”

Spencer took off his glasses, looking pained, and pressed his fingers to his temples.

“Dr. Hayes, don’t bother with me. Just let me rot.”

With that, I brushed past Spencer’s shoulder, ready to go downstairs.

“Kian, have you never once doubted your brother’s death?”