Antonio’s expression remained cold and unreadable as the torrent of insults and discouragement from the doctors rolled over him like water against stone. He ignored their shouting, their jeers, and their warnings about risking Florence’s life. He moved closer to Florence and carefully adjusted her head, tilting it slightly to better assess her condition. He studied her face, noting the pale tinge of blue around her lips, the subtle rise and fall of her chest, and the labored pulse in her neck. His fingers pressed lightly against her wrist, measuring the rhythm and strength of her pulse. He then traced her temples, feeling the faint heat radiating from her feverish body. Everything told him that time was slipping away and that every second counted. After a long period of meticulous assessment, Antonio withdrew a small container from his bag. It was unassuming with its exterior covered with a rough brown wrapping. Inside, the substance looked like clay, dry and gr

The doctors standing around Florence’s bed exchanged uneasy glances. One by one, their faces drained of color with the reality of what was happening finally sinking in. Florence’s chest rose and fell unevenly and her pulse fluttered weakly beneath the nurse’s trembling fingers. The beeping machines sounded like death tolls, with every irregular rhythm echoing through the sterile air. Antonio’s words had been dismissed as meddling arrogance. After all, what did he know compared to their collective years of medical practice? Yet now, watching Florence’s condition worsen by the second, they realized the cost of their defiance. Antonio had told them not to administer the medication. He had even warned them of the possible outcome. But pride and a deep distrust of him made them ignore his counsel. Now Florence’s body was shutting down, and guilt hung in the air like a suffocating fog. The security team, having been summoned earlier because Antonio was deemed disrupti

For a moment, Florence thought she was dreaming. The ceiling above her wasn’t the familiar one in her bedroom and the sterile smell of disinfectant and faint beeping of monitors confirmed that she was lying on a hospital bed. Her heart skipped as she tried to push herself upright, but weakness held her down.What stunned her even more was Antonio.What was he doing here, and by her side?Florence blinked several times, wondering if her mind was still clouded.“Mr Morris?” she whispered.“What… why are you here?”She also noticed the doctors she had already known standing just beyond him.Turning her gaze from Antonio to them, she demanded, “What am I doing here? And why is he beside my bed?”A couple of the doctors exchanged knowing looks before one of them stepped closer with his lips curling into a reassuring smile. “Miss Gales, it was Mr Morris who saved your life. Without him, we might have lost you.”Florence’s brows knitted. She stared from the doctor to Antonio, utterly bew

Mr. Morris,” Florence finally asked. “This herb you speak of—the one you believe can heal Matilda—what is it called?” Antonio leaned back in his chair, arms folding as his gaze held hers. “It’s called Frostheart Bloom.” Florence’s spoon dropped into her bowl with a faint clink. Her lips parted in disbelief, then curled into a faint, astonished smile. “Frostheart Bloom?” she echoed, almost as though she doubted her own ears. “Are you serious?” Antonio tilted his head, puzzled. “Yes. That’s the herb I need. Why?” Shaking her head slowly, Florence let out a half laugh. “Mr Morris… do you have any idea what you’ve just said? Frostheart Bloom is no ordinary herb. It is one of the rarest in existence. In fact,” she leaned in closer, lowering her voice, “it happens to be one of the items listed for the upcoming Gelrith Grand Elite Auction.” Antonio blinked. The Gelrith Grand Elite Auction. Yes, he had heard of it before. The city’s wealthiest and most influentia

The question left Florence’s lips before she could restrain it.The dining room grew oddly silent after that, as if her words had wrapped themselves around the air. She felt her own pulse quicken, realizing she had crossed into personal territory. Antonio, however, did not flinch. He leaned back slightly in his chair with the faintest smile curving his lips and his dark eyes glimmering with a knowing light.He understood instantly what Florence’s question truly meant. She wasn’t just being conversational—she was probing, measuring possibilities, and planting seeds. Still, he pretended otherwise, choosing instead to take her words at face value. “Of course I would remarry,” he said smoothly with his tone laced with quiet humor. “Why wouldn’t I? If I found the right woman, I wouldn’t wait an eternity. Life is too short for unnecessary delays.”Florence felt her lips part slightly and her heart warming at his response. There was hope in those words, even if he hadn’t directed the