Page 84 of Saved By the CEO

“I know.”

His eyes flash. “Then why didn’t you?”

Because I’m scared I’m going to start wanting the treatment more than the cure.

And because I thought it was a ghost.

I look down at the thin hospital blanket.

“I couldn’t do it again like that.”

His expression changes, but his voice stays low. “Like what?”

I shake my head, then close my eyes for a second. The fever makes everything too bright, too close, too honest. “I know we have to do it,” I say, my voice starting to wobble a little as thewords spill out. “I know that. But it has to be different this time. It has to be clinical. No—no making it feel like something else. Just the treatment.” I open my eyes and force myself to look at him.

Andrew’s face has gone completely still.

Somewhere outside the door, a cart rolls by. A nurse speaks softly to someone down the hall.

For a second, I think he might ask what I mean. Instead, he gives one short nod.

“If that’s what you need.”

Dr. Shaw comes back in, and after that, everything becomes procedure.

Consent, first. Apparently, there’s a form now. An actual form RHV partners have to fill out, because nothing says life-threatening fever like paperwork. Dr. Shaw brings it over on a clipboard and asks if I understand what is about to happen. If I agree to proceed. If I know I can stop at any point. I answer yes because I do understand. I do agree. I want to live. I also want to crawl out of my own body and leave it for someone else to manage, but unfortunately, that does not appear to be one of the available options. So I take the pen and sign my name at the bottom.

The room is prepared, and Dr. Shaw explains what will happen in a voice so calm and professional it almost makes the whole thing worse. Andrew listens without interrupting, his face closed, his hands at his sides.

The actual treatment is exactly what I asked for.

It’s clinical and efficient.

His touch stays precise, controlled, impersonal. He asks once if I’m okay, and I say yes and then stare at the ceiling until the white tiles blur.

It takes a while, but eventually my body responds.

The fever breaks in stages. First the worst of the heat loosens its grip on my skull. Then the pressure behind my eyes eases, and the monitor beside the bed steadies into a calmer rhythm.

Physically, it worked.

Emotionally, it is one of the worst things I have ever done.

When it’s over, Andrew steps back immediately. Exactly the way I asked him to.

Dr. Shaw returns, checks the monitors, says the numbers are improving, says I’ll need to stay the night for observation. Her voice is gentle, but I can barely hear her over the ringing silence between Andrew and me.

After she leaves again, he stands near the door. “Your fever is coming down,” he says.

“Yeah.”

His anger is gone now, or at least buried. What’s left looks almost worse.

“Don’t do that again.”

I swallow. “Okay.”

He reaches for the door handle. “I mean it, Carly.” He doesn’t wait for me to respond. The door closes softly behind him as he leaves the room.