"I can't? What do you mean I can't?" Calin's voice cut through the air, sharp with arrogance and thinly veiled irritation.
She stood before the reception leading to the hospital's VIP floor, heels clicking impatiently against the tile. The two security guards stationed there didn't budge.
This wasn't how it went the last time she visited.
"I'm sorry, miss," one of the person in charge said politely but firmly. "If the patient or their immediate family declines a visitor, we cannot grant access unless there's a valid medical or legal reason."
Calin's fingers curled tightly around the bouquet in her hand—elegant roses wrapped in silver foil. She forced a smile, masking the surge of anger rising in her throat.
For as long as she could remember, he had never even been admitted to a hospital.
Was he... seriously injured?
Her grip on the bouquet tightened until a thorn pricked her palm. Ignoring the sting, she pulled out her phone and made a call.
"It's me. Come down," she said curtly, like a queen summoning her subject.
Moments later, a woman in a white coat appeared from the corridor. Her dark hair was pulled back into a no-nonsense ponytail, and her steps were hesitant as she spotted Calin.
Calin's demeanor instantly transformed. A warm, practiced smile bloomed on her face as she strode forward and latched onto the woman's arm.
"Marianne! It's been ages. You look fantastic! I was just in the area for a photoshoot and thought—why not visit my favorite doctor?"
Dr. Marianne Vega blinked, clearly startled by the sudden affection. Her body tensed beneath Calin's touch.
Of all people, Marianne—one of Sergei Ricci's potential fiancées—hadn't expected this visit.
Their backgrounds couldn't be more different: one a CEO of a jewel company, the other a stoic surgeon. But in upper society, affection is the least important—only advantage and benefits.
Although in Marianne's case, this possible engagement wasn't arranged for convenience or power. She had harbored a quiet admiration for Sergei Ricci for years.
"Calin... is there something you need?" Marianne asked cautiously, trying not to sound too stiff.
Calin launched into a story about Sergei, skillfully omitting the part where she had recently hurled a vase at his head and injured him. She smiled sweetly as she spoke, weaving charm and calculated vulnerability into every word.
"Actually," she said after a pause, eyes downcast, "a... friend of mine is in the VIP ward. I heard the injuries were serious, and we didn't part on the best terms. There was a misunderstanding and... I really want to apologize."
She looked up, sorrow glimmering in her eyes like stage lights catching just right.
"I tried to visit, but someone in his family refused me. It feels like they're trying to sow discord—create unnecessary conflict."
Marianne's brow creased. "Why don't you give me his name? I can pass your message."
Calin hesitated, biting her lip with practiced reluctance. "It's... it's personal. I'd rather talk to him myself. Please, Marianne. Can't you help me just this once?"
Marianne looked away, clearly conflicted. Technically, as a surgeon, she had access to the VIP ward—but bypassing family instructions could have consequences.
Still, this might be her chance to curry favor with Sergei by assisting his sister.
And Calin wasn't just anyone. She was a beloved public figure, known for her poise and charitable work.
What harm could it do?
At the same time, Yeri arrived at Shin Keir's hospital ward, following the directions Tristan had texted her.
She knocked softly, cautiously, and waited. No response.
"Is he not here?" she muttered, glancing around. After another moment of silence, she took a deep breath and placed her hand on the doorknob. "I'm going in."
The door creaked open. Inside, the room was as luxurious as a presidential suite, exuding wealth and silence—except for the figure sleeping soundly in the hospital bed.
Apart from the infuriatingly handsome man asleep, the room was empty.
Yeri hesitated. Maybe she should just leave the phone on the bedside table and go. Given the sheer extravagance of this room, the security was probably tighter than a government vault.
Still... she stepped closer.
"Young Master Keir, are you awake?" she whispered, standing beside his bed. No response.
Why was he still asleep? Did his fever worsen? Pneumonia? Or something more serious?
Curiosity edged into concern. She lightly pressed the back of her hand to his forehead. Warm—but not as scalding as before.
Just as she started to pull her hand back, a much larger one caught it.
Startled, Yeri yelped and instinctively jerked away—but instead of releasing her, Shin pulled her toward him.
She lost her balance and crashed into his chest with an undignified thump.
'Damn it, this hooligan did it on purpose,' she thought, glaring at him.
"Don't worry," Shin said with a teasing smile, his voice rough from sleep. "My fever's gone."
"Worried? Me?" Yeri snapped, pushing against his chest. "You nearly got me expelled. If any, I just don't want to be accused of a crime I didn't do. I'm telling you now, If you climb my dorm wall again, I will call the police."
Shin merely smiled, completely unfazed by her outburst.
It was only then that Yeri realized the awkwardness of their position—half-sprawled across him.
"Can you let go now?" she asked sharply.
He released her body but kept her hand, his grip firm.
"Your phone's here." She pointed stiffly at the bedside table. "You look fine, so I'll just—go."
"Don't you want to know how I am?" Shin frowned slightly. "There's still plenty of time before curfew. Don't worry—I'll have someone drive you back."
Yeri hesitated, glancing at the IV line still attached to his hand. Was there something he wasn't saying?
"Fine," she said, sitting in the chair beside him.
Shin remained expressionless, but inwardly, he was relieved. Tristan had been right— he instigated him to put the IV back saying it might actually earn sympathy. Women tended to have soft hearts for the sick.
Normally, Shin would've discharged himself the moment he woke up. But when he heard Yeri was coming to visit, for the first time in his life... he didn't mind staying.
"I caused you trouble at your dorm," he said. "Tell me what you want. I want to repay you."
Yeri's eyes flickered in surprise. Was he serious?
She could demand a property or a sports car—but honestly, she didn't care about those things.
There was something far more valuable she wanted: leverage.
"Anything?" she asked cautiously.
"Of course," he said with a smirk. "Except breaking up."
Yeri nearly choked. Was he a mind reader? That was exactly what she wanted!
"Well... I haven't thought of anything yet. But let's say you owe me one favor," she said, crossing her arms.
"Alright, I owe you one." Shin smiled.
She eyed him skeptically, then noticed something. "Why are you still wearing that... electrician outfit?"
Shin cleared his throat dramatically and raised the hand with the IV. "I can't change. Medical restrictions."
"You could've asked a nurse. Or Brother Tristan."
Shin's smile froze. His eyes narrowed. "Brother Tristan? You call me 'Young Master,' and him 'Brother'?"
Yeri blinked, averting her gaze. "That—I have a reason."
"Oh? Let's hear it." He eyed her intently.
Her brain scrambled for a plausible excuse. In truth, she called Tristan 'brother' to sound respectful, while calling Shin 'Young Master' was her 'passive-aggressive way' of keeping distance.
"Ahem. Brother Tristan is your friend and my senior. I respect him. And as for you... I also respect you! 'Young Master' is noble-sounding! It shows, uh, very very deep respect," she flailed.
Shin sneered. "No, it sounds distant. I don't like it."
"Oh..." Yeri scratched her nose awkwardly.
A tense silence stretched between them.
Yeri suddenly felt that Shin was incredibly childish to compete over something so trivial. Still, she wasn't about to pick a fight with a patient.
"How about an apple? I'll peel one for you," she offered, grabbing a fruit from the basket.
Shin didn't answer, but the way his eyes followed her movements said he was expecting it.
"I'll wash it first," she muttered, heading into the bathroom.
The door clicked open.
Seconds later, a soft knock echoed through the room.
Two women entered—one holding a bouquet of fresh flowers.
"Brother Shin..." Calin whispered, eyes glassy with emotion. Her voice trembled as if he were on his deathbed.
Beside her, Marianne Vega faltered. She hadn't expected this was the man Calin wanted to apologize to.
Marianne's heart skipped a beat as she stared between them.
Calin bit her lip, gathering her courage. She stepped forward with the bouquet. "I brought you some flowers..."
Before she could reach the bed, Shin's voice cracked through the air like ice and fire fusing.
The temperature in the room dropped ten degrees.
Calin flinched. Shin's eyes were razor-sharp, his fury palpable.
"B-Brother Shin... what happened to you? I was so worried about you—"
Marianne's pulse pounded. Maybe helping Calin had been a mistake.
"I'll be waiting outside." She turned to leave, her steps faltering as a sound caught her attention.
Was that... running water?
Her gaze darted toward the bathroom. The door was slightly ajar.
Is someone else in there? she thought.
Inside the bathroom, Yeri stood frozen, clutching the apple still dripping from the faucet. Her breath caught.
That voice—Shin's furious growl. And a woman's pitiful, wronged tone.
A full-blown drama was about to erupt!