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1030 Words
“Ma’am, you must go to the hospital! There’s an emergency!”
Martha, who had worked for the prestigious Quill family for many years and remained unfazed by even the strangest events, like a pig in the backyard getting pregnant unexpectedly, now rushed over with an anxious expression.
Curled up on the couch, Grace Rivers heard her voice and quickly closed the tab of a live stream featuring a sexy male dancer, switching it deftly to financial news.
Grace, a petite girl with a delicate face and innocent cat-like eyes, turned her head and looked at Martha with a well-behaved expression.
“Martha, what happened? Did the backyard pig get pregnant again?”
Martha replied sorrowfully, “It’s Mr. Quill.”
Grace’s phone slipped out of her hand and fell to the floor with a clatter.
“Mr. Quill is pregnant!?”
Martha immediately spat in frustration. “No, Mr. Quill was coughing today. He’s already at the hospital. As his wife, it’s only reasonable for you to go check on him.”
“Oh, that’s terrible… but does it really have to be me?”
Just as she finished speaking, the phone she had just picked up slipped from her hand once again, the cracked screen reflecting her shocked expression.
“What did you say? Who was coughing?”
Understanding Grace’s young ears were practically deaf, Martha repeated herself patiently.
Grace’s body went limp, and if Martha hadn’t caught her in time, the frail girl would’ve collapsed to the floor.
Martha sighed inwardly. Although their marriage was only in name, everyone in San Francisco knew Grace loved Mr. Quill with a devotion that stripped her of dignity, even to the point of giving up her freedom.
Now, in this time of crisis, true feelings have been revealed.
Shaking in disbelief, Grace lifted her head.
“Are you saying my billionaire husband, with an iron-clad body, who could move mountains, and upon his death, I’d immediately become Forbes’ number one—was coughing?”
Martha nodded gravely.
“God have mercy—" Grace cried tears of joy. The girl who could barely take three steps without gasping now sprinted towards the door with the speed of a marathon runner.
Martha: “...”
Why did she feel like Grace’s condition seemed even more serious?
With the maids staring in astonishment, Grace dashed to the garage in one breath. Parked there was the Knight XV, the king of off-road vehicles, its sleek, black exterior exuding power and luxury.
She approached, her slender, pale wrist giving a dramatic flick as she pressed the car key.
“It’s decided, you’re coming with me, my knight.”
From the corner, a Volkswagen electric car responded to her summons with a cheerful ‘beep beep.’
...
At the top floor of **St. Matthew's Medical Center** in **San Francisco**, a group of doctors in white coats, their skin tones reflecting their diverse backgrounds, gathered solemnly, discussing something in hushed tones, as if afraid to disturb anyone.
Their conversation was so quiet that when a soft voice broke the silence, it startled them all.
“Excuse me, could you tell me where Ethan Quill’s room is?”
Hearing that name, the doctors turned in unison.
In front of them stood a petite girl, her large, clear eyes fixed on them. She was lightly dressed, her small face pale from the cold, invoking a sense of pity.
Seeing their hesitation, the girl furrowed her delicate brows, her pale lips parting to ask again, “Excuse me? Ethan Quill, where?”
Doctor: “...”
The oldest doctor, with blue eyes, pointed to the room at the far end of the hallway, replying in perfect English, “Mr. Quill is in the room at the very end.”
The girl thanked him, but as she turned to leave, the group heard her mutter softly under her breath, “Yes.”
“...”
Standing before the door, Grace took a deep breath.
Sure enough, the next second, a mechanical, icy voice rang out in her mind—
**[Target detected. Please remain in character. Any OOC behavior will result in an electric shock.]**
Grace immediately dropped her casual attitude, expertly pulling out a bottle of eye drops and applying them swiftly.
After knocking rhythmically three times, she retracted her hand.
Soon, a low, magnetic voice that could make anyone weak in the knees came from inside.
She opened the door.
There was no sign of the man lying weakly in bed coughing, as she had imagined.
Instead, Ethan Quill was sitting on a leather sofa, his long legs crossed, made even more striking by the fit of his tailored suit pants.
His slicked-back hair revealed a perfectly shaped forehead and strong brow bones.
His features were sharp and handsome, like a classic sculpture crafted by a master artist, strikingly beautiful.
Hearing her entrance, he spared a glance from the documents in his hand, his amber eyes—the highlight of his exceptional appearance—catching the light.
Grace closed the door behind her and, under Ethan’s gaze, inched forward step by step.
Ethan watched her silently, counting down in his mind.
As expected, before he reached the end of his three-second countdown, the girl’s lips trembled, and tears began to flow.
Her sorrowful expression made it seem as though she were standing before his memorial photo, not the man himself.
Facing the girl who seemed ready to cry herself dry, Ethan maintained his indifferent expression, but his eyes revealed his growing impatience.
Just as he was about to signal for someone to escort Grace out, he suddenly clenched his fist and coughed.
The girl, who had been sobbing uncontrollably, widened her cat-like eyes in shock and forgot to keep crying. “Ethan! What’s wrong? You’re coughing! If you’re gone, how will I live?!”
Her words sounded more like a curse than concern.
Just as Ethan parted his lips to respond—
The familiar, sweet voice rang out again in his mind.
**[Is this a cough? This sounds like cash raining down on me.]**
**[How will I live? Obviously, by inheriting everything you own and dancing on your grave.]**
- Writer
