Chapter 38
Barefoot, I stood and slipped off my suit jacket, folding it neatly before placing it on the edge of the bed. My fingers moved to unfasten my vest, but I froze when Sloane stepped in front of me. Without a word, she gently pried my hands away and continued the task herself.
My throat tightened. Looking at her this close made something ache deep inside me. My eyes stung as though tears threatened, though I didn't understand why.
I forced a faint smile, tilting my head. "Is Dione asleep already?"
"She is.
" Sloane's voice carried a soft hum, her fingers sliding the vest off my shoulders.
She folded it with the same care, laying it atop my suit.
"She must be exhausted from everything today," she added with a light shrug, exhaling a sigh before meeting my gaze again.
There was a proud curve to her lips, a warmth that nearly undid me. Her hands reached for my tie. With a playful tug, she pulled me down until our faces hovered close. A giggle escaped her as she released the fabric and draped her arms loosely over my shoulders.
"Just so you know," she whispered, hazel eyes locking onto mine, "I'm so proud of you."
Heat spread across my cheeks, and I bit my lower lip to contain the rush of emotion. Her palm cupped my face, thumb stroking gently against my skin.
"You make me proud every single time, Ro," she murmured before brushing her lips against mine. "I can't help it—I'm in awe of your success."
"Sloey..." My voice cracked as I breathed her name, drinking in her expression.
Her smile widened, mischievous now. "How about we shower together?" she teased with a wink.
My eyes widened before I let out a soft scoff, pulling her closer until our bodies brushed. She laughed, tilting her head back, and I pressed a lingering kiss to her neck, then her shoulder blade.
"I won't turn down that offer, honey," I murmured against her skin, grinning.
She giggled, steadying herself as her gaze met mine again. "I love you," she whispered, tugging me into another kiss.
"I love you more," I breathed into her mouth, guiding her toward the bathroom. Her arms wrapped firmly around my neck while my hands claimed her waist. We stumbled our way forward, lips never parting.
Without breaking the kiss, Sloane worked at my necktie, sliding it free, while my fingers found the side zipper of her dress.
I tugged it down, letting the fabric slip to the floor in a soft pool at her feet.
Her hands moved with urgency, unfastening my shirt and casting it aside.
I bent down, deepening the kiss, fumbling at my waistband until I pushed both pants and underwear past my hips. Sloane pulled back just enough for us to breathe, both of us panting, chests rising and falling in sync.
Her eyes darted down, fingertips grazing the faint lines of my abs. My stomach twisted—too close. "Sol—" I caught her wrist, almost harsh, dragging her touch away. "Not there."
She lifted her head, eyes searching mine, curiosity laced with concern. I silenced it by cupping her face in both hands and crushing my lips against hers. She gasped, answering my intensity with her own.
I guided her into the shower, fumbling briefly with the knob until warm water cascaded over us. Steam curled around our bodies as I drew her closer still, tongue sliding against hers in a hungry clash neither of us intended to lose.
Her sharp gasp escaped when my lips abandoned hers to trail along her jawline, down her neck. I nibbled at her skin, savoring the way she arched toward me, marking her with every touch.
"Ro," she groaned, arching into me as my mouth closed around her hardened nipple. Her fingers tangled in my hair, tugging me closer, demanding more.
I slid my hands down, hooking into her panties and tugging them past her hips.
She stepped out of them, helping me, her skin hot under my touch.
My lips left a trail down her stomach until I was on my knees before her, the steam wrapping us in haze.
I pressed a kiss against her core, savoring the sharp gasp it drew from her.
Blinking through the droplets sliding from my lashes, I glanced up. She laughed low in her throat, wiping the water from my eyes with one hand while the other braced against the glass.
I lifted her thigh over my shoulder, anchoring her against me as my mouth found her clit. My hands gripped her hips, pulling her flush against my tongue. I licked, sucked, teasing her swollen bud until her groans filled the shower.
"Oh, fuck," Sloane hissed, her fingers burying deeper in my hair, grinding against my mouth. Her body moved with mine, rolling against my tongue, riding the rhythm I gave her.
"Damn it, Ro. You're hitting every spot," she groaned, tugging me harder, forcing me to devour her.
The ache in me throbbed too hard to ignore. My free hand wrapped around my shaft, stroking myself as I plunged my tongue inside her, every groan vibrating against her core. My breath hitched with each stroke, my body unraveling with hers.
She gasped, suddenly pulling my head back, her thigh slipping from my shoulder.
I looked up at her through wet lashes, lips parted, tongue darting out to taste her still on my mouth.
Rising to my feet, I met her gaze—raw, desperate—while my hand kept stroking my length, slick and aching between us.
She reached for my shaft and stroked it, voice low and urgent. "I want to feel you inside me," Sloane said. "Put it inside me, Ro."
Swallowing hard, I straightened and met her eyes, giving a subtle nod before guiding her around.
I pressed her against the glass partition, its surface fogged with heat and moisture from the shower.
"Spread those legs wider," I murmured, parting her thighs as she bent forward, head lowered, both palms braced against the slick glass.
"That's it.
" My hand stroked along my shaft before I slid inside her waiting heat.
She arched around me, a sharp sound tearing from her throat as the shower beat down on our skin.
The world narrowed to the slick give of her, the hot press of water on our shoulders, and the frenzy of motion.
We moved together until our limbs burned and our pulses pounded in the same desperate rhythm. Everything else fell away.
Later, in the thick dark, a pain jolted me awake—hot, searing, right through the ribs.
My hand flew instinctively to my mouth as Sloane's arm fell away from my belly.
I pushed myself up, the room tilting, and staggered to the bathroom.
The door clicked shut behind me, and I sank to the floor, back against the wood, every breath a knife.
I clamped my hand to my ribs and bit the hem of my sweatshirt until the taste of fabric filled my mouth.
Sweat and tears blurred together on my cheeks.
One breath, then another—each one harder than the last. "It hurts," I whispered, voice raw.
"It hurts so much. Please..." My words dissolved into a prayer.
A second wave hit like a thunderclap.
I doubled over until my forehead grazed cool tile and sobs shook me free.
I tried to control them, tried to stay quiet so I wouldn't wake her, but the pain was relentless and stupid and absolute.
I had no sense of time—only the rhythm of pain and the frantic wish that it would stop.
I gasped for air, chest rising and falling until the stabbing pain finally dulled. Taking a few shaky breaths, I pushed myself upright, nearly losing my balance when I caught my reflection in the mirror.
"You're the worst," I muttered, hands trembling as I gripped the sink for support.
My skin looked even paler than before—like the color was being drained from me, drop by drop.
I twisted the faucet on and splashed cold water over my face, then turned it off and patted myself dry, steadying my breath before forcing myself out of the lavatory.
Back in the bedroom, I swallowed hard at the sight of Sloane's sleeping form, her back turned toward me, her body bathed in the faint glow of the bedside lamp.
A soft, aching smile tugged at my lips as I slipped into bed, sliding close until I could wrap my arms around her.
I pulled her tight against me, burying my face against her shoulder.
"It hurts so much, Sol," I whispered, pressing a kiss to her skin. My voice cracked. "It hurts so bad." The words were more for myself than her, a confession buried in the dark.
Sloane stirred, a soft groan escaping as she instinctively reached back to clasp my hand, pulling me even closer. I breathed her in, her warmth seeping into me, steadying the chaos inside my chest.
"Make me stay," I begged in a broken whisper. "Just a little longer. I know I don't have much time... but please, let me stay a little while longer."
?·???°???°???·?
Sitting in the stark, sterile consultation room of BioSynthix Pharmaceutical and Medical Group, the hum of medical equipment thrummed steadily in the background, mirroring the anxious rhythm of my heartbeat. I was back in the private wing of the hospital once again.
Across from me, Dr. Reinhardt—the same physician who had overseen my treatment for years—adjusted his glasses and met my gaze with that blend of clinical honesty that both comforted and unsettled me.
"Ms. Aurora," he began, voice calm and measured, "I need to be completely transparent with you.
Your leukemia... it's beginning to show signs of aggressive progression.
Your last stem cell therapy has been effective, but you mentioned that it's wearing off more easily than before.
" He paused, letting me absorb the words, and I felt the air leave my lungs.
"I'm afraid the stem cell therapy alone will no longer provide the long-term remission we had hoped for."
My fingers twined tightly in my lap. The sterile blue of the hospital gown felt like a fragile shield I could barely hold together. "I understand," I murmured, though the tightness in my chest betrayed my calm exterior.
Dr. Reinhardt leaned forward slightly, placing a reassuring hand over the chart before him.
"You may still experience improvement over the next few months—your blood counts should stabilize, and you'll feel better physically.
But we need to consider additional therapy options for the long term: targeted treatments, possibly immunotherapy, or even combination therapies.
We'll monitor closely and adjust as needed. "
I leaned back, closing my eyes for a moment. The thought of more invasive procedures made my stomach twist, but I had learned long ago that fear could never dictate my choices. In life—or in anything else—I had to stay in control.
When I opened my eyes, I met his gaze with measured resolve.
"I want to proceed with the stem cell therapy," I said.
"I need... something positive, even if it's temporary.
" I pressed my fingers to the bridge of my nose and exhaled sharply.
"I need time to process the additional options, doctor.
" A faint, tired smile crossed my lips as I let out a slow sigh.
"I've been battling this illness for over thirteen years.
.. more than a decade. And I know my body is starting to betray me.
Any additional changes to my therapy... I need to think about them carefully. "
Dr. Reinhardt nodded solemnly. "Understood. The therapy will be administered over the next few days, and we'll monitor your response carefully. Just remember, even a few months of improved quality of life is valuable. Use that time wisely, Ms. Aurora."
I met his gaze, allowing myself a small, almost imperceptible sigh.
The room seemed to soften around me—a fleeting warmth amid the clinical cold.
For the first time today, I felt a spark of hope: maybe I could prolong my life longer than expected.
It wasn't a cure, nor a promise of forever, but enough for me to move forward, to stay beside my family.
As I left the consultation room and stepped into the crisp air of the BioSynthix corridor, a quiet, determined thought formed in my mind. My hand clenched into a fist. I will make every month, every day, every moment count—even if the future is uncertain.
Back in my private suite, life felt strangely muted. Sloane's messages kept arriving, yet I hadn't found the courage to respond. Even after days of confinement in this sterile room, I was still processing everything.
I let out a soft sigh as I sank back into the reclining chair, arm outstretched, veins ready for the infusion.
The gentle hum of the machines was almost soothing, a rhythm that matched the anxious flutter of my heartbeat.
The cool touch of the IV line felt like a promise of renewal, flowing slowly into my system.
Dr. Reinhardt hovered nearby, monitoring the readings with precise focus. "You might feel a slight warmth or tingling," he said gently. "It's normal—the cells are beginning to integrate."
I merely nodded, already familiar with the sensation after years of repeated therapy.
But my mind drifted elsewhere. Years of managing my illness, of hiding it behind steel walls and careful smiles, had taught me patience—but it had never taught me how to truly feel without caution.
I let my eyes close, letting the soft hum of the machinery anchor my thoughts. Just then, my phone vibrated on the small table beside me. A glance at the screen made my chest tighten—it was Sloane. My fingers hovered, torn between answering or letting it ring out.
"I didn't expect a call today," I whispered to myself as I reached for the phone, staring at the screen.
The call ended, but almost immediately, another came through. I sighed, swiping to answer the video call. "Sloey," I said, lifting the screen toward my face, tilting it carefully away from the machines beside me.
"Ro," Sloane's face appeared, softer than usual, her voice tinged with concern. "I... I thought I should check in. You haven't answered any of my messages," she sighed. "Are you still on your business trip? Where are you right now?"
"I..." I swallowed hard, glancing briefly at Dr. Reinhardt before returning my gaze to Sloane. I faintly smiled. "I'm... out of town, Sol. Meetings, contracts, things that need handling—it's keeping me busy," I said, masking the tension twisting in my chest.
"Is that all?" Sloane frowned, her voice sharpening slightly. "What's that sound? And... you sound off. Are you feeling okay?"
I paused, then forced a small laugh.
"Sloey, I'm fine, really. Just... thinking through a few decisions, reasoning things out for the company.
Nothing you need to worry about." The words came out calm, practiced, hiding the subtle ache from the infusion and the gnawing worry I didn't dare reveal.
Sloane studied me silently, her expression softening into concern. She rubbed her forehead, worry sharpening in her voice. "Honey, you don't sound fine at all. Are you sure it's just work?"
My fingers tightened around the edge of the chair. I wanted to tell my wife the truth—everything—to unburden myself, but I just couldn't. "I promise, Sol," I said, my tone firm. "I'm fine. Focus on your day. I'll be back before you know it."
Sloane raised a brow, clicking her tongue. "Then... at least respond when I message you. Don't leave me unread or seen—you're making me worry."
I smiled, humming softly. "Alright, alright, I'm sorry. I just... got busy, you know." I licked my lower lip, looking at her. "Anyway, once I'm done here, I'll head to Paris. I'll drop by Dione's boarding school... kinda miss our daughter."
Nodding on the screen, Sloane smiled at me. "Alright, make sure you book your visit so the dorm knows you're coming." She paused, studying my face. "I miss you. Take care, alright? I love you."
"I love you more," I said, offering another smile as I ended the call without waiting for her response. I exhaled, leaning back, the faint taste of iron from my veins mingling with the sterile air of the suite.
I placed the phone on the table and noticed Dr. Reinhardt standing nearby, clearing his throat. "Ms. Aurora," he began, his tone measured yet firm. "You can't keep this from her forever. She cares for you—she has the right to know the truth."
I sighed, fixing my gaze on the ceiling. "I can't, doctor. I can't tell her. She'll worry too much... or maybe... leave?" I scoffed. "My wife doesn't need to know this. She doesn't need any of it."
"Your wife will notice the inconsistencies sooner or later, Ms. Aurora," he said quietly. "The sooner she understands what you're going through, the better. Protecting her by hiding the truth... won't protect either of you in the end."
I remained silent for a long moment, letting the weight of his words sink in. The hum of the infusion seemed louder now, filling the room like a ticking reminder. I wasn't fine. But I had my reasons for keeping the truth hidden... at least, for now.