Chapter 88

"Is it impossible for you to stop pushing yourself?" Jamison’s face was stone cold, his voice sharp with anger.

He should have just turned around and walked away, kept his nose out of her business. But he was a doctor. Healing the wounded, saving lives – it was a calling he couldn’t ignore, no matter how much he might dislike the person in front of him.

Ivy’s head spun violently. She shook it, trying to clear the fog, but it was useless.

Jamison let out a cold laugh. “Go ahead, shake it a few more times–maybe you’ll scramble your brains for good.”

Ivy glared at him, wanting to snap back, but the wave of nausea that surged up nearly made her retch.

Jamison frowned, recognizing that her concussion was still serious. He didn’t bother arguing further, just took her arm and started guiding her toward the elevator.

She couldn’t pretend to be fine anymore. The vertigo was unbearable, like she was floating on clouds, her whole body weightless and insubstantial. For a moment, she wondered if she might actually die.

Inside the elevator, she couldn’t even stand on her own. Jamison, disgusted, gripped her arm and tried to keep her upright, but her body had gone limp–like overcooked pasta. She swayed and collapsed against the elevator wall.

“Ivy?” His expression darkened with sudden alarm. “Hey!”

Her eyes squeezed shut, and she didn’t respond.

When the elevator doors slid open, Jamison tried to pull her out, but her knees buckled and she started to slump to the floor.

He had no choice.

With a muttered curse, he hesitated, then bent down and scooped her up in his arms.

It was almost funny, in a way. He disliked this woman so much that even looking at her irritated him, but here he was – carrying her for the second time now. The first time, she’d fainted from cramps. This time, it was a car accident and a concussion. Jamison didn’t know how to untangle his feelings; he just chalked it up to his responsibility as a doctor.

When he reached the door, he realized the lock had been changed. Sighing, he set Ivy down and pressed her thin, icy fingers to the fingerprint scanner, one at a time. She was so painfully light in his arms, her fingers cold and bony, as if all warmth had drained away.

Finally, with a soft click, the lock released. Jamison picked her up again and brought her inside, laying her gently on the couch.

Outside, the rain came down harder. Who knew when her friends would get back? He couldn’t just leave her alone like this.

Standing over her, Jamison’s face remained grim, irritation and hesitation flickering in his eyes.

Thankfully, after a few minutes of rest on the couch, Ivy slowly came to, her mind clearing a little. She opened her eyes and saw him standing there. Her lips moved weakly. “Thank you… My friend will be home soon. You… you can go now.”

Jamison raised an eyebrow, a little surprised. “That’s the first time I’ve heard a thank you from you that actually sounded sincere.”

Ivy closed her eyes again, too exhausted to reply. Her head lolled to the side.

That’s when Jamison noticed the fresh blood seeping through the bandage on her forehead. His gaze hardened instantly. How could her wound still be bleeding after all these hours?

He glanced at the TV stand, hesitated, then walked over and pressed a hidden latch on the wall. Sure enough, a secret compartment opened, revealing exactly what he was looking for.

Ivy, half-conscious, watched him pull a first aid kit from the hiding spot, startled. She hadn’t even known that compartment existed, let alone that it held medical supplies.

This was her apartment, yet Jamison seemed to know it better than she did. The thought unsettled her.

He set the kit on the coffee table, opened it with practiced ease, and began preparing the tools he needed. “Your wound’s still bleeding. I need to take off the bandage and disinfect it again," he said in a low, firm voice, settling onto the sofa as his hands worked quickly.

Ivy was too weak to resist. She simply lay there, silent and still, letting him tend to her as he saw fit.