Eric had specially chosen The Sky Garden Restaurant for their date tonight.
Unfortunately, Mia Grant still missed out on this romantic, candlelit dinner.
Her symptoms of coughing up blood had never been this severe. But today, pain washed over her entire body. She instinctively curled up, her thin back arching until her vertebrae stood out in sharp relief, looking as if it might snap in two.
Silas Grant’s arms, holding her, were afraid to squeeze too tightly. He had to consciously force his other hand, wiping the corner of her lips, to keep from trembling.
She huddled in his arms, her body trembling uncontrollably. "Brother... I feel so sick..."
"It hurts so much..."
A pang of pain shot through Silas Grant’s own chest. He held her tighter, his lips brushing against the stray hairs plastered to her forehead by sweat. "We’re going to the hospital right now. It’ll stop hurting soon. Just hang on a little longer, Mia."
The man couldn’t maintain his usual composure; a slight tremor had crept into his voice.
The driver immediately changed course and headed for the Hughes Corp’s private hospital.
That night, Mia Grant was forced to check into the hospital.
When Mia Grant came to and opened her eyes again, the hospital room was bustling with people.
She had rarely seen such a scene.
Everyone was there. She watched them quietly for a few seconds, and only when she was sure the atmosphere was harmonious—not the prelude to a total free-for-all—did she silently let out a breath.
Hayes Hughes was by the bed, watching a nurse adjust some equipment. He was the first to notice she was awake. He leaned down and asked softly, "How are you feeling?"
Mia looked at him, bewildered. After a long moment, she asked, "Is it really just the early stage?"
She couldn’t understand the medical reports, but she’d looked it up online during a sleepless night. Everything she read said the pain shouldn’t be this bad in the early stages.
This kind of systemic pain didn’t seem normal.
Mia couldn’t help but wonder, ’What if it’s terminal?’
She was about to turn twenty. Even if she lived to the absolute limit for terminal lung cancer, she’d never make it past thirty.
’Thirty years old... What would I even be doing then?’
’I’d probably have just finished my PhD a few years prior, just starting my career.’
As her thoughts drifted aimlessly, she heard Hayes Hughes’s incredibly firm voice. He confirmed it was only the early stage.
He wanted her to believe him.
He said she would definitely be okay.
Mia thought about it. ’Hayes Hughes wouldn’t lie to me.’
After a long pause, she nodded.
’Whatever. It doesn’t matter whether I believe him or not anymore.’
’Things are already like this, after all.’
’Do I have any way out?’
After the medical staff left, Mia propped herself up against the headboard and stared blankly at the men, who all stared back.
The atmosphere grew progressively stranger.
People tend to look busy when they’re awkward, and Mia was no exception.
In truth, they had already confronted each other in private countless times; they just hadn’t all appeared before her like this.
So, by comparison, they were much calmer.
Even if they were unhappy, they were all mature enough to know this wasn’t the time to bicker about such things.
Mia finished her dinner in complete silence.
It was a very plain and bland meal, like chewing wax.
Eating under their intense, unblinking gazes ruined her appetite even more.
She wasn’t sure if it was because she had coughed up blood, but the metallic taste in her mouth just wouldn’t go away.
She announced she was going to the bathroom to rinse her mouth, using it as an excuse to escape the assault of their gazes.
Inside the bathroom, the System was still commentating on the chaotic scene outside.
Mia didn’t care. She just kept asking, "Why did it hurt so much?"
The System was silent for a long moment before offering an analysis: [Perhaps it’s because you were influenced by the previous world?]
[That possibility can’t be ruled out.]
Mia took a deep breath and set down the mouthwash.
"If I die, I’ll come back to haunt you."
[...]
[What happened to the basic trust between a person and their machine?]
Mia laughed.
"I hope you have some semblance of a conscience."
"After all, I left my parents long ago to wander around with you. I diligently completed every task you gave me and helped ease your burdens. If I were in your shoes, I’d rather die myself than fail to protect my host’s life."
[...] The familiar PUA session begins again.
Mia stayed in the bathroom for over ten minutes. It was only when Silas Grant knocked on the door that she wiped the water from her hands and walked out.
The night was deep and quiet, perfect for a chat.
The last time Mia was hospitalized, they had been there too, but on a rotating schedule.
Fortunately, the VIP room was spacious enough for everyone to have a place to settle in, even with the full roster present.
They called it a chat, but it was basically just Mia talking to herself.
Because whenever she got lost in her own world and started rambling, she hated being interrupted.
She jumped from one topic to the next, as if talking in her sleep.
But they all listened intently.
Mia was like a preschool teacher telling bedtime stories to a group of overgrown children.
The stories had many flaws and were full of holes, but everyone still listened earnestly, without a single question.
Finally, Mia stared at the fresh bouquet of flowers by her bed, thought for a moment, and asked—
"Is there any paper and a pen here?"
That night, Mia shooed them all out. The one who stayed to keep her company was Carla Sinclair.
Unable to sleep, Mia turned on a small lamp and sat up in bed, starting to write.
Carla, afraid she would strain her eyes, switched on the main overhead light.
"Aren’t you going to sleep?" Mia turned her head to look at the companion bed opposite hers.
Carla was already out of bed. "I can’t sleep. You go ahead and write. I’ll get you a glass of water."
Mia nodded.
The VIP room was fully equipped. And for anything it might have lacked, the men had already provided it all at a moment’s notice.
With so many people around, if one person missed something, another would quickly notice and fill in the gap.
So when Carla and Julian Vaughn arrived, they found themselves all keyed up with nothing to do.
It must have been quite an effort for these high and mighty young masters to be so meticulous.
Carla picked out a few pieces of fruit from the mountain-like pile, sliced them up, and brought them over to Mia.
Mia had already been writing for a long time and still hadn’t stopped.
Because it involved her privacy, Carla put down the fruit and hot water and sat on the opposite bed. From that distance, she couldn’t see what was on the paper. It was a polite and safe distance.
Mia noticed this. The tip of her pen paused for a moment, then she resumed writing.
Carla sat with her in silence, her own eyelashes fluttering in time with the soft scratching of Mia’s pen.
After a long while, she heard a soft voice. "Sis."
Carla’s eyes shot open. She froze, and after a brief moment of eye contact, she confirmed Mia was talking to her and quickly stood up. "What is it?"
"Could you ask someone to run out and buy some envelopes for me?"
"I forgot earlier tonight."
’I only remembered to ask for paper and a pen back then.’
Carla nodded immediately, opened the door, and instructed the bodyguards outside to go buy them.
Carla then asked her, "Any requirements for the style or size?"
"No."
"Okay."
By the time the bodyguards returned, Mia had finished writing.
A thick stack of envelopes was passed to Carla. She checked them before handing them to Mia.
Mia thanked her and began stuffing the letters into the envelopes.
It was only then that Carla realized Mia had been writing for so long because she was writing a letter to each of them.
Mia wrote each person’s name on an envelope.
After all that, she rubbed her sore wrist. ’The last time I wrote something this long and this seriously was for my college entrance exam essay.’
Carla had a good guess what she had written, but she couldn’t help but ask.
Mia thought for a moment, then replied, "I suppose you could call them love letters."
Yes. Farewell letters disguised as love letters.