When Contracts Turn to Forbidden Kisses Chapter 113

Ethan

After completely breaking down in the elevator, Amelia forced herself to put on her doctor’s mask the moment she stepped into the emergency room, even though her face was pale as paper.

Michael glanced at me briefly, a silent request for permission to deliver what was clearly bad news. I nodded almost imperceptibly.

"I'm sorry about Mrs. Garcia's death," he said, his voice lowered out of respect. "The internal bleeding from the crash was too severe. Despite multiple transfusions, they couldn't save her."

I watched Amelia's face, expecting tears or a breakdown. Instead, her expression became almost eerily calm—the professional mask of a doctor sliding into place. But I didn't miss the slight tremble of her fingers or the way she swallowed hard before responding.

"I understand," she said, her voice steady. "Thank you for telling me."

Michael continued, "Frank is in a medically induced coma. One leg was crushed in the impact. The surgeons are working to save it, but the prognosis for full recovery isn't good."

Amelia nodded, processing the information with clinical detachment.

"And Mrs. Wilson?" she asked, and I detected the slightest waver in her voice.

"Still in surgery. Her condition is more stable than the others. The doctors are cautiously optimistic."

"I see. Thank you for the update." Her response was mechanical, practiced—the voice of someone who had delivered similar news to countless families but never expected to be on the receiving end.

I studied her carefully, noting the minute signs of distress that others might miss—the slight tightening around her eyes, the barely perceptible clench of her jaw. She wasn't as composed as she appeared, and I resisted the urge to pull her into my arms right there in the hospital corridor.

Amelia turned to the security team, addressing the lead guard with quiet authority. "Please stay here and monitor Frank's condition."

The guard straightened, obviously uncomfortable with the request. "Ma'am, Mr. Astor assigned us specifically to protect you and your family. We should remain with you at all times, especially now."

Before she could argue, I stepped forward. "I'll take personal responsibility for Dr. Thompson's safety," I stated firmly, using the tone I reserved for non-negotiable business deals. "If there's any issue, take it up with me directly."

The guard hesitated, clearly weighing his orders against my assertion. I held his gaze steadily, silently communicating that I wasn't backing down. Finally, he nodded and stepped back, accepting the temporary change in command.

A doctor emerged from one of the operating rooms, surgical cap still on and mask hanging around his neck. Amelia seemed to recognize him immediately.

"Dr. Thompson," he acknowledged with a tired nod. "We've stabilized Mrs. Wilson. The impact caused some internal bleeding, but we've managed to control it. The head trauma is our primary concern now. The next twenty-four hours will be critical, but if she regains consciousness tonight, her prognosis is good."

"Thank you, Richard," Amelia replied, and I caught the subtle shift in her demeanor—colleagues speaking the same professional language, a momentary reprieve from the personal devastation.

As the doctor left, I placed my hand lightly on the small of Amelia's back, hoping the contact would ground her. "If you want a second opinion or specialists from Johns Hopkins or Mayo Clinic, I can have them flown in immediately," I offered quietly.

She nodded wordlessly, and I felt her body sway slightly toward mine before she caught herself. The brief moment of vulnerability told me more than any words could have.

We walked to the ICU where Frank lay surrounded by monitoring equipment. Through the glass window, his imposing frame looked strangely diminished amid the medical apparatus. Amelia's reflection in the glass showed a flash of raw emotion before her professional mask slipped back into place.

"This is my fault," she whispered, so softly I almost missed it. "They were protecting my son. They were protecting me."

I stood beside her, close enough to offer support but not crowding her space. I knew better than to offer empty reassurances. Nothing I could say would ease the guilt she was feeling—deserved or not—and platitudes would only cheapen the moment.

When Mrs. Wilson was wheeled into the adjacent room, Amelia immediately focused on the monitors. "Her vitals are stable," she noted, her doctor's instincts taking over. "Oxygen saturation is good, and her heart rate is within normal range. That's a good sign."

I watched her cling to these clinical details, understanding her need to retreat into professional knowledge when emotions became too overwhelming. It was a coping mechanism I recognized all too well from my own life.

Later, back at the riverside apartment, Amelia's composed façade finally cracked when she discovered Lucas's bedroom empty. The panic in her voice as she called his name sent a jolt of protective instinct through me.

"Lucas? Where are you, baby? Lucas!"

I immediately pulled out my phone and dialed my mother's number, placing my free hand on Amelia's shoulder to reassure her that I was handling it.

"Mother, is Lucas with you?" I asked tensely when she answered. "Yes, and Ella too? You're sure they're both there?" Relief flooded through me at her confirmation. "Thank you. We'll be in touch."

I turned to Amelia, whose face had gone ashen with fear. "They're at my family's estate. Mother took Ella there as well when she heard about the accident. They're safe, Amelia. Both of them."

She sagged against the wall, the relief evident in every line of her body. For a moment, the composed doctor vanished, replaced by a mother whose only concern was her children's safety.

My phone rang again—Mother calling back. I stepped away slightly to take the call.

"Yes, Mother, I'm with her now," I confirmed.

"How is she holding up?" Mother asked, genuine concern in her voice.

"She's handling it as well as can be expected."

"Ethan," my mother said, her voice softening in a way I rarely heard, "women are often strongest when they're most vulnerable. Don't let her professional demeanor fool you. Stay with her. She needs you now, even if she won't admit it."

"I know," I replied, surprised by my mother's insight. "You're right."

"Take care of her, Ethan. And yourself."

"I'll tell her," I promised before ending the call.

I turned back to Amelia, who was watching me with exhausted eyes. "That was my mother again. She says..." I paused, feeling suddenly awkward relaying my mother's words. "She says I should stay with you."

Something shifted in Amelia's expression—surprise, perhaps, or a new awareness. For a brief moment, I glimpsed past her defenses to the woman I had fallen in love with years ago, the woman I was determined to win back.

"Thank you," she said simply, and I understood she was thanking both me and my mother.