Genius Kids' Scheme: Claiming Daddy's Billionaire Empire Chapter 172

Irene barely made it to her room before collapsing onto the bed, still fully dressed in her party clothes. The Hayes vintage had knocked her sideways, leaving her more drained than any twenty-hour surgery shift ever could.

The bedroom door creaked open as three small figures tiptoed in. Alex clutched a damp washcloth, all business.

"Mom, we'll clean you up," he whispered.

Lucas appeared with a basin of warm water while Lily carried a hand towel. They surrounded her bed with the coordination of a tiny surgical team.

Alex dabbed at her forehead. "This should help," he said, working with surprising precision.

Irene tried to protest but couldn't find the energy as her children took turns wiping her face and hands. Lily slipped off her shoes while Lucas adjusted the pillows.

From the doorway, Joseph watched with a quirked eyebrow. His accomplished granddaughter—the brilliant surgeon—being tended to by three five-year-olds. The corner of his mouth twitched upward before he quietly backed away, leaving her in their capable little hands.

Sunlight stabbed through the curtains, landing squarely across Irene's face. She groaned, turning away as her head pounded. After lying motionless, she finally pushed herself upright, massaging her temples.

"What time...?" she mumbled, squinting at her phone. Late morning already. She couldn't remember the last time she'd slept past eight.

As her vision cleared, something out of place caught her eye—a suit jacket draped over her chair. Irene froze.

"Whose is...?" The question died on her lips. She already knew.

Her stomach clenched, and not just from the hangover. Fragments of last night crashed through her mind: leaning against Adam's shoulder, his clean scent, her head spinning as she clutched his arm. Worst of all, her own voice echoed back: *"Why do you make me feel so safe?"*

"Oh god." She buried her face in her hands.

More memories surfaced: Adam fanning her with a folder when she complained about the heat, his firm grip when she started fidgeting with her dress, the way he'd adjusted her clothing without taking advantage. The gesture struck her now—both gentlemanly and intimate.

The jacket seemed to mock her from across the room—evidence of her lapse in judgment. She couldn't even remember how it ended up here.

Downstairs, her children swarmed her immediately, forming a tiny inspection committee.

"Mom, better? Head hurt?" Lucas scanned her face like reading vital signs.

Alex pointed toward the kitchen. "Got hangover stuff ready. Want some?" His tone carried a hint of pride at knowing adult remedies.

"Made toast too!" Lily added. "With the good jam!"

Irene managed a smile. "I'm fine. That little bit of wine can't take me down." Her head still throbbed, but their worried faces made her stand straighter.

"Not what it looked like last night," Joseph cut in, entering from the living room. His sharp gaze assessed her in one sweep. "If you can't handle booze, don't drink it. Lucky Adam brought you home. What if you'd been alone at that party? Then what?"

The edge in his voice barely masked his concern.

Irene recognized the worry beneath his gruffness. "Grandpa, I get it. Won't happen again."

He seemed satisfied, nodding once. Irene's thoughts, however, circled back to the jacket upstairs and its owner. The simple garment had transformed into something loaded with meaning—a bridge she wasn't sure she wanted to cross.

After breakfast, her phone rang. Matthew's voice came through tight and clipped.

"Emergency. That brain surgery patient from a few days ago just hit the ER."

Doctor mode engaged instantly, pushing aside hangovers and awkward social dilemmas. "On my way," she said, keys already in hand.

At the hospital, a cluster of people blocked the corridor, anger radiating from them in waves.

"You promised a specialist who guaranteed results!" A man jabbed his finger at a retreating nurse. "If he doesn't make it, we'll sue this place into the ground!"

Behind the angry group, a woman sat alone, tears streaming silently down her face.

Irene slipped around the corner, taking the long way to the changing rooms. Minutes later, she entered the emergency room, the consummate professional once more.

The medical team visibly relaxed at her arrival, creating space at the bedside. With quick movements, Irene examined the patient, tuning out the muffled shouting from the hallway.

"Post-surgical complication," she determined after a thorough check. "Caught early. He'll need monitoring for two days, but his outlook is good."

The team moved with renewed purpose under her quiet commands, the chaos outside irrelevant in the face of her steady focus.

By midday, the crisis had stabilized. Irene and Matthew exited the patient's room, both relieved.

Matthew noticed her furrowed brow hadn't relaxed. He nudged her shoulder. "Pretty standard complication. What's up, Joy? Getting soft on me?" His teasing aimed to lighten her mood.

Irene shook her head. "This case needs special attention. His treatment plan needs adjusting."

While some doctors might worry about the family's threats, Irene focused solely on the patient's welfare. She knew too well how fragile life was, hanging by threads she could sometimes mend, sometimes not.

"This patient needs constant eyes," she said decisively. "We should take shifts. I don't trust anyone else to catch the warning signs in time."

Matthew hesitated. "What about your kids? You can't pull another lone wolf routine."

"It's different now. Grandpa's home. The kids won't be alone."

Matthew nodded. "Fine, but you take days, I'll cover nights. That way you're home when they go to bed."

"Deal," she agreed.

In the office, Irene called home to explain, putting the phone on speaker as she sorted patient files.

The triplets' voices tumbled through immediately, falling over each other.

"Mom, don't work too hard!" Lily pleaded.

"Health first!" Lucas chimed in. "You can't help patients if you're burned out."

"We're being super good," Alex assured her, then added casually, "Oh! Uncle Adam's having lunch with us!"

Irene's fingers froze mid-motion. Her mind flashed to fragments of last night.

"He's... there now?" Her voice tightened.

"Yep!" Alex replied, excitement clear. "Wanna talk to him?"

Before she could respond, the phone changed hands.

"Doctor." Adam's deep voice sent an unexpected ripple through her. "Heard about your emergency case."

A strange nervousness gripped her. "Yes... thanks for watching the kids."

Silence stretched between them, filled only by breathing from both ends.

Finally, Adam spoke softly: "About last night... feeling better? The kids said you had a headache."

Heat rushed to her cheeks. "I'm fine, just a little... I should apologize for—"

"Don't." His interruption was gentle but firm. "That wine hits like a truck after a delay. Everyone understands."

Their conversation remained brief before Irene found an excuse to hang up. She leaned back, surprised to find her palms actually sweating.

The jacket waiting at home represented more than just an item to return—it symbolized something shifting between them, something neither had acknowledged.

She couldn't deny the comfort she'd felt hearing his voice, or the flutter of anticipation at seeing him again. Professional boundaries were blurring despite her best efforts.

Irene redirected her focus to the patient files. The jacket problem could wait. For now, work offered the clarity she craved—though Adam's voice lingered like a melody she couldn't shake from her mind.