Quentin held Amanda in his arms, cursing himself for being so blind to her suffering.
"Mandy? Can you hear me?"
Amanda's breath was shallow and hot. Hearing his voice, she offered only a vague, incoherent murmur before slipping back into unconsciousness. Quentin tightened his grip. She had endured the bone-chilling lake and the stress of the auction while her body was already breaking down.
They reached the hospital in record time. Quentin carried her into the emergency room, where a nurse quickly took over to examine her. He stood by, feeling uncharacteristically helpless, as the nurse inserted an IV needle into the back of her hand. Finally, he sat down at her bedside.
"How is my wife?"
The nurse adjusted the fluid tube and answered softly, "She's been exhausted for days. Combined with the cold she caught, it led to a high fever. Once the fluids are finished and she regains consciousness, you can take her home."
A few hours later, the first light of dawn began to creep into the room. Amanda's parched throat made her wince as she blinked her eyes open. "What time is it?"
"You had a fever. I brought you to the hospital," Quentin replied softly. He was pressing a cotton ball onto the small mark on her hand where the IV had just been removed.
"Tin?" Amanda blinked several times, trying to clear her blurry vision. In the clinical glow of the overhead lights, his silhouette was both strange and familiar. He was watching her with an intensity that made her heart ache.
"Are you awake?"
Amanda felt as though she had been asleep for years. She looked around the sterile room, then closed her eyes again, seeking a moment of peace. Quentin reached out and touched her forehead; finding it much cooler than before, a wave of genuine relief washed over him. He thanked the nurse and returned to his vigil, watching her until her bleeding stopped. He tossed the cotton ball into the trash.
"It's 5:00 AM," he said.
Amanda frowned and tried to push herself up, but he firmly held her back. "Where do you think you're going?"
"There are only a few scenes left before filming ends. I have to get back to the set."
Quentin's face darkened instantly. He slid his hand behind her neck, forcing her to tilt her head back and meet his gaze. He didn't hide his fury; he looked at her with a cold, commanding stare.
"Do you really believe that if you go back now, I won't immediately shut down that production just to see what you intend to film?"
It was a display of pure, tyrannical arrogance. Amanda, seeing this side of him for the first time, was stunned into silence. She didn't dare utter another word.
The drive back to the hotel was draped in a heavy silence. When they reached her room, Amanda politely but firmly locked him out. She wasn't ready to face him—not after the betrayal at the auction and the confusion in her heart.
Quentin knew she was stubborn. Rather than force his way in, he stood in the hallway and called Vance Walters. "Call Winter. Tell her to come take care of Mandy. She's sick."
It wasn't long before Winter came running down the hallway, looking haggard and anxious. She paused when she saw the big boss standing guard outside the door.
"President Harris... don't you want to go inside and rest?" she asked hesitantly. She couldn't believe Amanda had left her husband standing in the hall like a stray.
Quentin simply shook his head. "Go in and check on her."
Winter didn't dare argue. She nodded and slipped into the room. Inside, Amanda was sprawled across the bed like a "rotting fish," her energy completely spent. Winter rushed over and touched her forehead.
"Miss Amanda! How are you feeling?"
"I'm not dead yet," Amanda grumbled, her eyes half-closed. "I just need to sleep a little longer."
Winter sighed in relief. Finding her forehead cool, she suddenly remembered the man outside. To Winter, Quentin was a hero—the man who had saved Amanda twice—making him infinitely more respectable than the "gentle" but distant Javier.
"Miss Amanda, do you really have the heart to lock your husband out like that?"
Amanda opened one eye and glanced at her. "Leave him alone."
Winter shrank back under the gaze but remained stubborn. "He is your husband! He didn't hesitate to save you twice. Even if you don't care about love, you should care about common courtesy! Why lock him out?"
Amanda reached out and flicked Winter's forehead. "What are you babbling about? He saved me once at the lake. When was the second time?"
Winter winced, rubbing her forehead. In her annoyance, she completely forgot Quentin's strict instructions to keep his involvement quiet. "The last time you fell into the lake, he was the one who saved you then, too!"
The playful look vanished from Amanda's face. She sat bolt upright, staring at Winter in a daze. "Why didn't you tell me then?"
Winter realized her mistake immediately. She lowered her head, looking guilty. "He... he wouldn't let me say anything! I'm going to go buy you some porridge!"
The girl bolted from the room, leaving Amanda alone with a hundred racing thoughts. She lay back down, but sleep was now the furthest thing from her mind.