As Jameson dwelled on this, the doctor suddenly stepped in. “You’re awake, Mr. Jean.”

Jameson barely spared the doctor a thought at first. But then came the bombshell. “Mr. Jean, your health is in decline. Your heart and kidneys won’t last more than a few years.”

“Wait, my heart?” Jameson thought. “What the hell is wrong with my heart?” His face went ashen. “How can my heart and kidneys be failing?” He had annual checkups. Every report said he was in good shape. How could this happen overnight?

“It’s tied to your long-term use of a rare narcotic,” the doctor said.

Narcotic? He’d never touched drugs in his life.

Jameson grew frantic. “I don’t do drugs. Are you sure you got the wrong guy, doctor?”

“Positive. This drug triggers an intense sexual addiction to a specific person, along with severe dependency. Is there someone in your life with a unique, intoxicating scent? Someone who gives you something to eat before being intimate?”

Jameson’s mind snapped to Natalie. He couldn’t remember when it started, but she’d made him chew a piece of gum before every kiss, claiming she was germophobic and hated the smell of smoke or liquor.

He’d never questioned it. He smoked and drank, so he figured she was just picky. He always chewed the gum.

No wonder he was never bored with Natalie. Every encounter left him electrified. The strange fragrance on her skin always sent his pulse racing. So that was why he couldn’t get enough of her–she’d been drugging him all along.

In an instant, Jameson felt a murderous urge toward Natalie. The woman had resorted to every sleazy trick to stay in his life.

He’d actually wanted to make her his legitimate wife, and she’d drugged him. If he died, she and Jason would inherit his estate.

'My medical reports must have been tampered with. How else could annual checkups have missed this?' he thought.

Thinking of Jason–was he even his son? If Natalie was transgender, she might not have a functional reproductive system. That would mean Jason might not be his biological child.

Rage consumed him, but then came sudden palpitations and dizziness as if death were imminent. He grabbed the doctor’s hand in desperation. “Doctor, is there any hope?”

The doctor replied, “Your kidney can be treated. We can remove the damaged one. But as for your heart, you’ll need a transplant.”

Losing a kidney was already devastating, but a heart transplant?

“How risky is the surgery?” Jameson asked.

“Given your condition, very high. The success rate is under 15%. Years of drug use have severely weakened your heart. Without a transplant, you have at most three years.”

'Three years? And such a slim chance,' Jameson thought.

“Only 15%…” he muttered, face pale and sweaty, struggling to catch his breath through the palpitations.

“But if Dr. Jean performs the operation, your odds of survival increase significantly,” the doctor added.

Jameson fell silent. “D–Dr. Jean?”