Chapter 6
"Are you injured?" Michael opened his eyes, looking toward her.
Emily clutched her arm, but couldn't hide it from Michael's scrutiny.
The fabric of her blouse was already stained with blood.
"You're coming with me to the hospital," Michael stated. It wasn't a suggestion but a command.
Emily wanted to refuse. This minor wound would heal in a couple of days with rest. No need for a hospital visit.
Michael saw her hesitation. "We'll have your stomach condition examined too."
"But..."
"You need to keep working to earn money, don't you? If your stomach gets worse, won't you lose more in the long run?"
That made sense. Emily nodded. "Then... thank you, Mr. Wilson."
Suddenly, Emily looked up. "Where are you injured, Mr. Wilson? Was it from being hit by the car?"
She remembered seeing blood at the corner of his lips earlier.
Yet the man before her appeared perfectly composed, his shirt collar immaculate.
His entire demeanor radiated authority and control, showing no signs of injury.
Michael gave a noncommittal response. "Internal injuries."
The car fell into an eerie silence again.
Emily finally voiced the question she'd been holding back. "Mr. Wilson, those men today... they weren't your target, were they?"
"What do you think?" Michael toyed with a jade ring on his finger, his expression unreadable.
Emily gathered her courage. "It was the man with the scar on his face."
Michael's eyes flashed with approval as he glanced at her. "Correct."
"It was a trap, designed to draw him out. I had planned to force him into the open quickly."
"But I didn't anticipate twice the number of men I expected. Your metal pipe came in handy."
Emily understood now.
Her bright eyes filled with speculation. "So... there were no bullets in the gun, were there?"
If there had been, Michael wouldn't have needed to engage in hand-to-hand combat at all.
Michael nodded. "Firing at them would have been a waste."
He said this without even looking up, his bone-deep composure reinforcing Emily's suspicions. "Mr. Wilson, actually, when I invited you to dinner today, I... "
Emily suddenly remembered the freshly cleaned jacket she'd left at the restaurant. Her face fell with disappointment.
Seeing her distressed expression, Michael found himself quietly amused. "We've arrived at the hospital. Let's go."
The hospital Michael had arranged was naturally a VIP facility, with an entire floor dedicated to exclusive care.
Emily followed him step by step through the examination process.
The diagnosis shocked them both.
"Ms. Harrison, your gastric mucosa is bleeding. You need to be hospitalized for observation."
Emily hadn't realized her condition was so serious.
She frowned, realizing this was another expense.
But she had no choice. If her health collapsed completely, who would care for her mother?
That was partly why she'd been avoiding hospitals in the first place.
Michael's condition turned out to be even more severe.
"Initial examination shows internal organ contusions. Although the external wounds aren't serious, there's risk of internal bleeding. You'll need at least a week of hospital observation with complete rest—no strenuous activity."
Michael listened to the doctor's diagnosis without changing expression. He simply instructed his assistant, "Arrange hospitalization."
The assistant glanced at the examination report and quietly asked, "Ms. Harrison also needs hospital observation. Should we arrange the same ward?"
Michael's gaze swept over Emily's blood-stained sleeve, recalling her trembling yet stubborn figure in the alley. His fingers traced the ring. "Your decision."
The answer was ambiguous, but the assistant immediately understood. "The VIP section has a vacant double ward available."
He was already making arrangements on his phone.
Emily heard "double ward " and quickly looked up. "Mr. Wilson, a regular ward would be..."
"This floor has its own security," Michael interrupted, his voice cold and unyielding. "Today's attackers might have accomplices."
Emily fell silent, a chill running down her spine.
The assistant added timely, "Ms. Harrison, don't worry. The double ward won't incur any additional cost."
This was half-true at best, but enough to make the young woman release her lip, which she'd been biting anxiously.
When the nurse came with a wheelchair, Michael was already walking toward the elevator. His posture remained as straight as a pine tree, but the hand gripping the elevator doorframe revealed bulging veins—the only sign of his intense pain.
Emily stared at his whitened knuckles, suddenly remembering the metallic scent of blood she'd detected when he shielded her. So his injuries were this severe, yet he hadn't made even a single sound of discomfort.
In the ward, Emily changed into a patient gown and lay in bed with an IV drip.
She drifted off to sleep.
When she woke, she heard voices conversing outside.
"What are you doing here? Go home."
It was Michael's voice.
Emily instantly opened her eyes and perked up her ears.
She tiptoed to the door and peered through the small window.
"Michael, we're about to get married. Why do you always speak to me so harshly?" A woman's voice filled with hurt and reproach.
"Don't call me that." Michael's voice came through, laden with disgust.
As the woman turned her head, Emily caught a clear view of her.
She wore a mint-green dress, her almond eyes glistening with unshed tears.
So this was Caitlin—Michael's fiancée.
Caitlin placed something on a chair outside. "Michael, don't be angry. When I heard you were injured, I rushed over to take care of you. This is a nutritious soup—please drink some, won't you?"
"You can leave the soup. The care isn't necessary." Michael's tone remained distant, and Caitlin seemed genuinely hurt.
"Michael, when my dad heard about your accident, he wanted to come to the hospital too." Caitlin studied Michael's expression carefully, weighing her words before continuing, "He's been so worried lately, unable to eat or sleep properly—it's about that project..."
The project had run out of funding, and Rand Corporation didn't have enough capital.
But if Michael spoke up, it would take just one word to solve all problems—the project would belong to the Rand Corporation without any issues.
So when Caitlin heard Michael was hospitalized, she immediately brought a thermos of soup.
She had planned to care for him, then tactfully bring up the financial situation.
But Michael remained as cold as ever, clearly unwilling to let her stay. "Business matters belong in the office."
"You claim to be concerned about my injuries, yet you stand here discussing work?" Michael's voice dripped with sarcasm.
Caitlin's heart skipped a beat.
Seeing Michael's expression even colder than usual, she felt a twinge of fear.
Still, she tried once more, "Michael, you know I'm not that kind of person. In my heart..."
Michael had no patience for her declarations. "Take the thermos with you."
Caitlin bit her lip, looking at Michael with frustration.
Finally, she picked up the thermos and left, wounded pride evident in her stride.
Michael prepared to enter the ward.
Emily darted back to bed, closing her eyes.
She'd just witnessed quite the drama—best to pretend she hadn't heard a thing.
Michael lay down on the adjacent bed.
Thinking Emily was asleep, he finally released a pained exhale.
With her eyes still closed, Emily thought to herself, 'Being hit that hard by a Jeep—even if he'd dodged the worst of it—must be excruciating.'
Michael wasn't made of steel, after all.
"Stop pretending to be asleep." Just as Emily was lost in thought, a voice cut through the silence, making her hair stand on end.
"Mr... Mr. Wilson..."