Chapter 23

Rani’s Point Of View

It was still dark when my eyes fluttered open, the faint glow of dawn barely touching the edges of the curtains. I didn’t even know why I’d woken up until I heard it, low muffled groans coming from beside me. It wasn’t loud, but it was constant, like a wounded animal trying not to be heard. I blinked the sleep from my eyes and slowly turned toward the sound.

Lamia.

She was curled into herself under our thick comforter, trembling. Her arms were wrapped tightly around her stomach, her shoulders hunched, her breath uneven. Every few seconds, she let out another soft, strained whimper like her body was too stubborn to fully cry out in pain. The usual sharpness in her features was gone, her lips were dry, and her brows furrowed tightly even in sleep. She looked small. Vulnerable. Like nothing I had ever associated with Lamia Al-Gaddafi.

I sat up, confused, then gently reached toward her.

The second my palm pressed against her forehead, I sucked in a sharp breath.

She was burning.

“Shit…” I whispered, my eyes widening. Her skin was scalding hot under my hand. The kind of heat that felt unnatural. The kind of heat that meant something was seriously wrong.

She shifted slightly at my touch, but she didn’t wake up. She was shivering despite being wrapped in layers of blankets, and I realized with a sinking feeling in my stomach, she must’ve gotten this from standing out there. At the gate. Soaked. For hours. Waiting for me.

I stared down at her for a long moment, stunned.

She really did wait. From one in the afternoon until six. In the rain. With those expensive paper bags still in her hands. Just to see me. Just for our anniversary.

And now she was here, burning up, wrapped in the same blanket we used to silently sleep under for months, and not even asking for help.

I sat there, the guilt pressing down on my chest. My fingers brushed against her cheek, wiping away strands of damp hair stuck to her skin. Her jaw clenched in her sleep, and a small groan escaped her again.

Damn you, Lamia, I thought. And damn me too. Because no matter how much we hated each other, no matter how twisted this marriage had become, I couldn’t ignore this.

I got up, heart racing, and reached for my phone. Fever meds. Cool towel. Doctor. I didn’t know what I was doing exactly, but I had to do something. Because for once, Lamia wasn’t the unbothered, calculating Al-Gaddafi everyone feared.

She was just a sick woman in our bed,shivering and burning, who waited too long in the rain just to wish me a happy anniversary.

My bare feet hit the floor with a muted thud as I practically leapt off the bed, my heart thundering like a drumline inside my chest. I didn’t bother putting on a robe or even slippers… I just ran. Out of our room. Down the stairs of the penthouse. Each step echoed in the quiet darkness, a haunting rhythm that followed my panic.

The whole place was still asleep. Not a sound from Nina or the maids. The soft hum of the refrigerator was the only thing that kept me company as I sprinted into the kitchen, flicking on the light. My eyes searched the cabinets with manic energy, grabbing the first clean, fluffy towel I could find from the laundry rack Manang Sally folded.

“Damn it, where’s a big bowl…” I muttered, opening one cabinet after another until I found a deep ceramic basin we used for parties. I yanked it out without care, the sound of ceramic scraping wood almost startling in the silence.

I turned on the faucet and let the cold water rush in, steam from my thoughts rising more violently than the actual tap. Lamia was shivering upstairs like she’d been left on a frozen tundra, and here I was, rushing like a lunatic, my mind spinning in circles.

A fever that high? From the rain? From waiting?

From me.

The moment that thought hit me, my jaw clenched. Because she wasn’t just some woman I lived with in forced proximity anymore. She was the mother of my son. My… wife. And no matter how much I threw those divorce papers around, deep down I knew, Faisal didn’t deserve to lose either of us.

I shut the tap once the bowl was almost full and grabbed the towel, folding it in half, pressing it into the water just to test the temperature. My fingers shook, not from fear, but from the rush. From the fact that I could still see her curled up and sweating under those sheets, silent and miserable, too proud to say anything.

Lamia Al-Gaddafi. That woman could command boardrooms, put politicians in their place, and stare down tycoons without blinking. But she couldn’t tell me she was sick?

I cursed under my breath, grabbing the bowl and towel in both arms, careful not to spill as I bolted out of the kitchen, back up the stairs. My feet slapped against the marble again, my breath heavy, eyes locked on the hallway ahead.

God, Lamia, I thought as I reached the door.

You absolute fool.

But I was worse, wasn’t I?

Because even as I clutched that bowl and wet towel to my chest, all I could think about was how I should’ve come home sooner.

I kicked the bedroom door open with my foot, not even caring how loud it slammed back into the wall. My arms were shaking from holding the heavy bowl and soaked towel, but I didn’t stop… not for a second. The air was still too cold, the room thick with artificial chill. I turned my head to the side, jaw tight, and stormed toward the thermostat.

Click.

With one press, the air conditioning powered down, and the hum that had been cutting through the silence died. The sudden quiet made Lamia’s soft groans even more audible.

I turned toward the bed, chest tightening.

There she was, still curled under the blanket, her body visibly trembling, lips slightly parted. Her skin, usually glowing with that obnoxious kind of rich-girl perfection, looked pale and blotchy now. There was sweat dampening her hairline, and the way her arms were wrapped tightly around herself…

God. She was burning up and still freezing.

I rushed to the bedside and gently placed the bowl on the nightstand, the ceramic clinking quietly against the wood. My hand hovered above the blanket before I peeled it back slowly. Lamia stirred, murmuring something incoherent under her breath.

“Shhh,” I muttered as I dipped the towel in the cold water, wrung it out, and pressed it to her forehead. “Relax. You’re okay.”

Her body jerked slightly at the contact, like even that was too much for her right now. I placed my other hand gently on her arm, grounding her. “It’s me. Just me.”

She didn’t speak, just exhaled shakily as I began to dab her face, her neck, then down to her collarbones where the fever made her skin radiate like an oven. The towel was warm again too quickly, so I dipped it once more, repeating the process.

I wasn’t a nurse. Hell, I didn’t even like Lamia. At least… I told myself I didn’t. But here I was, knees tucked on the bed beside her, cooling her down with trembling hands like some desperate wife in a drama series.

Because the truth was? Despite all the screaming, all the shattered glass and venom in our voices, this woman was Faisal’s mother. My partner in this nightmare-turned-life. The one who remembered our anniversary when I didn’t. The one who waited outside my gate in the pouring rain for five hours, soaked and holding gifts I never saw.

My throat ached at the thought.

I brushed her hair off her face carefully, watching her lashes flutter, her breathing still shallow.

“Stupid,” I whispered under my breath. “You’re so damn stupid.”

But my voice cracked at the end. And my hand never left her.

I stayed there for I don’t even know how long, maybe ten minutes, maybe an hour, repeating the same motions like some ritual I didn’t realize I’d memorized, dip the towel, wring it, dab her face, her neck, down to her shoulders. Repeat. Her fever wasn’t going down yet, but her body didn’t flinch anymore at the contact. It felt like she was sinking into the bed, surrendering to the weight of everything, this day, this illness, maybe even me.

My legs were going numb from kneeling on the bed, but I didn’t dare move. I couldn’t. Because in this moment, for some unexplainable reason, I felt responsible for her.

She shifted suddenly, a soft breath leaving her lips, and her head turned slightly toward me. Her skin was still hot, but her lashes fluttered as if she was on the edge of waking.

I leaned in closer.

Her lips barely moved, but I heard it. “Rani…”

I froze. My heart slammed against my ribcage.

She wasn’t fully conscious. She didn’t even open her eyes. But she said my name like it was something sacred. Something that grounded her.

And I hated the way it made me feel.

I sat there a while longer, just watching her. The lines on her face softened, her brows no longer furrowed in discomfort. She looked younger when she was like this. Peaceful. Vulnerable. And maybe that’s what made it worse, because Lamia Al-Gaddafi was never vulnerable.

When I finally stood up, I made sure she was still tucked under the thick blanket. I adjusted the damp towel on her forehead and grabbed my phone. 6:12 AM.

The sky was still gray outside, the city not fully awake. But I was wide awake now rattled, unsettled, and unable to escape the sight of her like that.

I took one last look at her before whispering, “Try not to die. I don’t have the patience to plan a funeral.”

Then I walked toward the door, dragging my heavy limbs with me, but just before I stepped out.

I was already in the hallway outside our bedroom, my bare feet cold against the polished floor, when I unlocked my phone and saw the endless flood of meetings, site visits, and briefings lined up on my calendar. An entire day that was supposed to be back-to-back.

My thumb hovered over Elise’s name for just a moment before I pressed call.

She answered on the second ring, as sharp as ever. “Ma’am Rani, good morning po. You have a 9 AM briefing with…”

“Elise, cancel everything,” I said, already pacing slowly toward the kitchen. “Clear my whole day. All of it.”

There was a beat of confusion. “Ma’am? Lahat? You have a closed-door meeting with the Cebu investors at 2 PM and…”

“I said everything.” My voice was firmer now, leaving no room for argument. “Say there’s an emergency. A family emergency.”

Another pause. “Yes, Ma’am. I’ll handle it.”

I hung up without saying thank you. I never really said it, did I? But Elise knew me. She’d manage.

I placed my phone down on the marble counter and let out a long breath. The penthouse was quiet, the kind of quiet that presses on your chest. The sky outside the windows had shifted to a muted blue, still pale from dawn, and the weight of the day ahead should’ve been suffocating. But right now, all I could think of was the fever radiating off Lamia’s skin. The way she whispered my name like I meant something.

She may have ruined so much between us, she may still be the same arrogant, impossible woman I couldn’t stand most days, but she was also the woman holding Faisal when he first laughed, the one who tried to cook once and nearly set the kitchen on fire just to prove she could.

And she was burning up in our bed. Alone.

I turned back toward the room. The door was slightly ajar, and I could see the outline of her figure still curled beneath the blankets.

Fine.

I could push the world back for one day.

Just this once.

I was just about to turn back upstairs with the new towel and bowl of water when I spotted Manang Sally in the kitchen, already fussing over her usual early-morning prep. She wore her old apron, the one with little faded sunflowers on it, and she looked up at me with surprise when she saw me still in my sleepwear, hair a mess and face bare.

“Ma’am Rani?” she said gently, placing the chopping board aside. “Ang aga niyo po.”

I placed the bowl on the counter and pressed the towel over it, trying to keep the warmth in. “Lamia has a fever,” I said, voice low but brisk. “She was out all day yesterday, soaked in the rain, and now she’s shivering under the blanket like she’s freezing to death.”

“Diyos ko,” she gasped, placing a hand over her chest. “Eh bakit po kasi pinabayaan niyang mabasa siya…”

“She’s stupid, that’s why,” I snapped, then sighed. “But still. Can you make something warm for her? Lugaw. Or sopas. Whatever you think will help.”

Manang Sally nodded instantly, already walking to the fridge. “Sige po, Ma’am. Magluluto po ako ng sopas.”

“Thank you, Manang,” I said, almost grumbling, though the relief in my chest was real. “I’ll be upstairs. Just bring it up when it’s done.”

As I turned, bowl and towel in hand, my bare feet padded quietly against the tile floor. I was already climbing the stairs again, my mind racing with everything and nothing. A sick wife I wasn’t supposed to care about. A canceled day full of important business. A strange ache forming somewhere in the middle of my chest, unwelcome and unfamiliar.

“Why do I always end up cleaning up your mess?” I muttered under my breath.

But I didn’t stop walking. I didn’t stop caring.

And somehow, that made me angrier than anything else.

——

It had been one full hours since I started monitoring her fever. Two hours of placing the towel over her burning forehead again and again. Two hours of changing it every twenty minutes, checking her temperature with the back of my hand, brushing back the strands of hair plastered to her face. Two hours of refusing to acknowledge the part of me that was genuinely worried.

I sat on the edge of the bed with my legs crossed, still in my robe, scrolling aimlessly through my phone, ignoring every ping and message Elise sent. I already told her not to bother me today. My life could wait.

Suddenly, I heard a faint groan. I glanced over, and her brows furrowed weakly, her lips parting.

“Lamia?” I leaned forward, setting my phone aside and placing my hand gently on her shoulder.

Her eyelids fluttered open slowly. She looked dazed, eyes glassy with the fever, lips pale. “Rani…” Her voice was a rasp, almost like she’d swallowed sand.

“You’re awake,” I muttered, pressing the towel against her forehead again. “Took you long enough.”

She tried to sit up, and instantly her body shook under the blanket. I rolled my eyes and put a hand on her shoulder, firmly pushing her back. “Don’t be stupid. Stay down.”

“I need to…” she started, her voice faint and stubborn as always.

“You need to shut up and stop being dramatic,” I cut in, standing. “You can’t even sit without trembling like a newborn giraffe.”

I reached for the glass of water and gently placed it against her lips. She drank slowly, her gaze never leaving mine. There was something in her eyes, gratitude? embarrassment? I refused to read too deeply into it.

“I made Manang Sally cook sopas,” I said after a pause, settling back down beside her. “You’re going to eat later even if I have to spoon-feed it to you myself.”

She gave a weak, almost amused breath. “You’re scolding me while taking care of me?”

I scoffed. “Someone has to. You’re clearly incapable of basic survival.”

She tried to smile, but it faltered. Her hand, slow and weak, reached for mine under the blanket. I didn’t pull away. I didn’t even flinch. I just sat there in silence, letting her warm fingers barely grip mine.

We didn’t love each other. We weren’t even friends. But there, in that moment, with the fever and the silence between us, there was something fragile and unspoken sitting heavy in the air.

And I stayed.

There was a soft knock on the door, followed by Manang Sally’s unmistakable voice. “Ma’am Rani? Luto na po ang sopas. Ipakain niyo na po habang mainit pa.”

I stood up from the edge of the bed, careful not to disturb Lamia too much. She was still curled under the thick blanket, her face paler than I’ve ever seen it, hair damp with sweat, and her lips slightly chapped. Her eyes fluttered open for a second as I walked to the door and opened it just enough to receive the tray.

“Thank you, Manang. Ilagay mo na lang sa side table,” I whispered, stepping aside. Manang Sally entered quietly, placing the tray beside the bed with a knowing look. I didn’t need to say anything, she could already tell I was staying home for the day.

She gave me a soft pat on the arm before leaving the room, closing the door gently behind her.

I looked down at the bowl of sopas, still steaming lightly in its porcelain dish. Chicken, elbow macaroni, and that perfect creamy broth, comfort food for the soul. I picked it up, walking back to the bed.

“Alright,” I said, placing the tray on my lap as I sat beside her. “Time to eat. You’ll feel better once you get something warm into your system.”

Lamia turned her head slightly toward me, a frown weakly tugging on her lips. “I don’t think I can sit up.”

“Oh my God,” I sighed dramatically. “Seriously, Al-Gaddafi? Of all the days to be this helpless.”

Her eyes fluttered shut again, clearly exhausted. I hesitated for a moment, then set the tray aside and slowly slipped my hand behind her back, helping her rise enough to rest against the pillows. She winced slightly as her head lolled to the side.

“Okay, okay. Don’t move too much. Just lean back,” I muttered, adjusting the pillow behind her and grabbing the spoon. I blew on it before raising it to her lips.

She looked at me like I was speaking Greek. “You’re… feeding me?”

I raised an eyebrow. “No, I just like holding spoons near dying people’s mouths.”

She gave the faintest chuckle, her dry lips parting just enough for me to feed her the first spoonful. I watched her take it slowly, chewing with visible effort.

“It’s good,” she murmured after swallowing. “Manang Sally really makes the best sopas.”

“Of course it’s good. You think I’d serve you basura?” I scooped another spoonful and fed her again, less dramatically this time.

Lamia blinked slowly. “You didn’t have to stay home.”

I shrugged. “I had an emergency. And you are the emergency. So congratulations, you finally became important.”

She smiled softly, then coughed a little. I quickly set the spoon down and grabbed the glass of water, helping her drink.

“Thanks,” she rasped after sipping.

“I swear, Lamia,” I said, shaking my head as I gave her another spoonful, “you’re so high-maintenance even when you’re sick. I have meetings, calls, actual billion-peso deals to close, and here I am… feeding sopas to my feverish, stubborn, exasperating… wife.”

The word slipped out before I could even filter it.

She looked at me for a moment. “Still your wife, huh?”

I rolled my eyes. “Don’t get ideas. I’m only saying that for legal accuracy.”

“Sure,” she whispered, a ghost of a smirk on her lips. “Legal accuracy.”

I ignored the heat rising to my cheeks and continued feeding her, spoon by spoon, until the bowl was empty. She was quiet the whole time, her eyes fixed on me like I was something fragile.

But I wasn’t. I was Rani Hidalgo.

And yet… there I was, wiping the corners of her mouth with a napkin like I gave a damn.

Because maybe… just maybe… I did.

——

After the last spoonful, I set the empty bowl back on the tray, careful not to make a sound that might startle her. Lamia had leaned back against the pillows, her breath shallow but steady, her fevered cheeks glowing against the cold hue of our room. I sat there in silence for a moment, looking at her, not in pity, but in something else I couldn’t name.

She looked smaller like this. Vulnerable. And I hated that part of me, the part that felt something soft, something dangerous… started to ache again.

“I should put this downstairs,” I muttered, grabbing the tray and standing up, if only to escape the weight in my chest. But before I could even take a step, her voice stopped me.

“Rani…”

I paused and turned to her.

Her eyes were half-lidded, glazed with sleep and heat, but she still managed to look at me. “Thank you… for staying.”

I stood there for a beat too long, then gave a slow shrug. “You’re welcome. But don’t make a habit out of it. I cancel billion-peso deals for no one.”

She let out a weak chuckle, the sound low and scratchy. “Got it. No more fevers on weekdays.”

“Preferably,” I replied dryly, walking over to the door and setting the tray down outside. When I returned to the room, the light rain outside had softened into a gentle hush. The air felt cooler now that I’d turned off the AC, but I still grabbed another blanket from the closet just in case.

She was drifting again when I approached the bed.

“You should lie down too,” Lamia mumbled without opening her eyes. “It’s early.”

“Wow. Concerned about my sleep now?” I raised an eyebrow as I pulled the covers higher over her body.

“Just stating facts. You look tired,” she whispered.

“Of course I’m tired. I’ve been playing nurse to a literal human furnace.”

I moved around to my side of the bed and sat down with a sigh, staring at her profile in the dim light. Lamia’s breathing was still a little uneven, but she looked calmer. Less strained.

“I really did wait for you,” she said, eyes still closed. “At Santa Rosa. I wanted to surprise you.”

“I know,” I replied, my voice lower. “Kiyang told me. You were soaked, holding some fancy paper bags. Why do you always go over the top?”

She smiled faintly. “Because it’s you. And I never learned how to do things halfway.”

I blinked at her. My stomach tightened.

“This isn’t your redemption arc, Lamia,” I muttered, lying down beside her. “One anniversary gift and some orchids don’t undo what happened.”

“I know,” she murmured, voice heavy with sleep. “But I’ll keep showing up. For Faisal… and maybe, someday, for you.”

I rolled to my side, facing away from her.

The silence stretched between us, but not unkindly. Not like before. Just the soft rhythm of her breath, the muffled drizzle outside, and the electric hum of something unnamed sparking quietly in the dark.

And even as I closed my eyes, I could still feel her warmth lingering behind me like a second heartbeat.

——

I slipped out of bed quietly, careful not to make the mattress creak or stir Lamia’s sleep. She was resting now, still feverish, still weak but her breathing was more even. The storm outside had dulled to a gentle drizzle, the sky that soft, moody gray of early morning.

I needed a break. Not from her. From the feeling she’d stirred.

My bare feet padded across the warm floor of the penthouse as I made my way to Faisal’s nursery. The moment I opened the door, a sweet wave of baby scent and soft lullaby tones greeted me. Nina was still asleep on the massive couch near his crib, curled under a light blanket, but Faisal… my baby boy was wide awake, standing inside his crib like a little prince, chubby hands gripping the rails and eyes wide as if he had been waiting for me.

I couldn’t help but smile.

“Hey, my love,” I whispered, scooping him up with both arms. He immediately snuggled into me, warm and solid and so real. “Missed mama already, hmm?”

He cooed back, pressing his forehead to my chest. My heart swelled.

We walked slowly through the dim penthouse, my arms wrapped around him, his tiny hand reaching up to tangle in my hair. The scent of rain still lingered through the balcony doors. I exhaled, steadying myself.

When I opened the door to our bedroom again, Lamia hadn’t moved. Still curled under the blankets. Still pale. Still burning.

I crossed the room quietly, lowering Faisal onto the middle of the bed. He crawled toward Lamia immediately, nestling near her shoulder, and I watched as she stirred.

Her eyes fluttered open. And when she saw our son beside her, she let out the faintest sound, a hum that’s barely audible.

“Hi, Faisal,” she murmured, her lips dry, voice hoarse.

Faisal babbled something incoherent in response, and I couldn’t help the small smirk that pulled at my lips as I grabbed a pillow and sat near them, back resting on the headboard.

“This is your nurse number two,” I said to Lamia, brushing my hand across Faisal’s head. “He charges in drool and tantrums.”

Lamia’s tired eyes met mine for a moment. “He’s the best medicine.”

I didn’t reply. I just kept looking at the two of them, one sick, one smiling, and let myself exist in that moment. Just us. Just the three of us.

Even if I didn’t know where we were heading.

Even if I wasn’t sure what was coming next.

This… this I could hold onto, for now.

Lamia looked so fragile beside Faisal, like a porcelain statue left out in the cold. Her face was flushed, strands of her hair clinging to her damp forehead. But even with her weakness, her arm instinctively wrapped around our son the moment I placed him on the bed beside her. His little body curled into hers like a magnet finding its match, and that image alone nearly undid me.

Faisal let out a sleepy whimper, one tiny hand patting Lamia’s cheek in the clumsy, curious way only babies can. His eyes blinked up at her with innocent confusion, and he made a soft sound, somewhere between a sigh and a coo. He couldn’t talk yet, but the worry in his chubby little face was loud enough.

Lamia smiled weakly and whispered something incoherent as she pressed her lips to the top of his head. Her eyes were heavy-lidded, her skin pale and burning with fever, but her grip on him never loosened.

I sat on the edge of the bed, elbows resting on my knees, watching them in silence. For a brief moment, all the noise in my head quieted.

“I didn’t think you’d be this kind of mother,” I said suddenly, barely above a whisper.

Lamia turned her head slightly toward me, brows furrowing. “What kind?”

I shrugged. “The soft kind.”

Despite the fever, a crooked smile tugged at the corner of her lips. “He changed everything. All the plans, all the rules. I thought I could schedule motherhood like a quarterly report. Then he arrived and shattered the whole structure.”

“You’re still annoying, you know,” I muttered. “Even with a fever, you manage to make everything sound dramatic.”

“And yet here you are,” she murmured, voice raspy. “Still sitting next to me. Still bringing him to me.”

I scoffed, brushing a strand of hair from Faisal’s forehead. “Don’t flatter yourself. It’s for him. Not you.”

Lamia chuckled faintly, then winced from the effort. “Even if it’s just for him… thank you.”

I didn’t respond. The lump in my throat made it hard to breathe, let alone speak.

Her gaze didn’t leave me. “You didn’t have to bring him in here. Or take care of me. Or… cancel your meetings.”

“Don’t misread it,” I snapped gently. “You have a fever. And I’m not heartless.”

Lamia’s lashes fluttered as she blinked slowly. “I waited outside your mansion last night,” she whispered. “I brought all your favorites.”

I looked away, jaw tightening.

“I saw the bags,” I muttered. “Kiyang told me you were soaked.”

“I really wanted to be with you and Faisal yesterday,” Lamia continued, her voice weaker now. “I know it doesn’t fix anything. But it’s our second anniversary. I wanted to try.”

I closed my eyes for a moment. “We’re not in love, Lamia. We never were. This… this thing between us is broken.”

“I know,” she whispered. “But we have him. And maybe we’re not a love story, Rani… but we’re still a family. I won’t give up on that. Not now. Not ever.”

I stood and scooped Faisal back into my arms. He stirred but didn’t wake, his little face tucked into the crook of my neck. I leaned over, gently adjusted Lamia’s blanket, and turned off the bedside lamp.

“Sleep,” I said quietly. “You’re still burning.”

Lamia gave the faintest nod.

As I walked toward the nursery, I glanced back once. She was already asleep, one hand still resting on the pillow where our son had been. Despite everything, the chaos, the bitterness, the grief, I felt something unspoken pulling at me.

Maybe we weren’t in love.

But somehow, in our own broken, twisted way… we belonged to each other.

And for today, that was enough.

——

Night had settled over the penthouse like a velvet curtain, the city lights from BGC painting pale streaks across our floor-to-ceiling windows. I’d just finished giving Faisal his warm milk and laying him back down in the nursery, when I quietly returned to our room to check on Lamia.

She was half-asleep again, curled up and buried beneath the blankets, her hair a tangled mess and her skin still carrying the stubborn flush of fever. But her eyes fluttered open when she heard me enter. There was that dazed look again… half confusion, half determination.

“You need to eat something,” I said simply, stepping closer to the bed. “You haven’t had anything since the sopas earlier.”

“I’m fine,” she muttered groggily, her voice still hoarse and raw. “Just tired.”

I crossed my arms, then planted a hand on my hip. “You are not fine. And if you think I’m going to let you starve yourself and pass out again on this floor, you really don’t know me.”

She chuckled weakly. “That’s the Rani I know. Always with the threats.”

“Try me.”

Lamia sighed and slowly pushed the blanket off her. “Okay, okay… diva.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” I said, extending a hand to her. “Come on. I’ll help you walk.”

Her hand was warm, too warm, as she placed it in mine. Carefully, I helped her sit up, wrapping my arm around her waist while her other arm rested over my shoulders. She was still wobbly, her body heavy with fatigue, but she leaned into me without protest.

We walked slowly out of the bedroom and into the hallway, her steps small and deliberate. I could feel how hard she was trying to hold herself together.

“Slow,” I reminded. “You’re not winning any races tonight.”

“You always say that,” she murmured, eyes flicking sideways at me. “You think I’m always rushing.”

“Because you are,” I replied, leading her carefully down the stairs. “Always sprinting into disasters.”

“Touché.”

The dining area was quiet when we arrived, just the soft clinking of Manang Sally clearing dishes from the kitchen. The long table was set with warm food waiting under silver covers. The scent of sinigang filled the air, tangy and comforting.

I helped Lamia sit down on one of the cushioned chairs at the head of the table. She exhaled like she’d run a marathon. I walked to the other end, removing the covers from the soup and rice before returning to her with a full bowl.

“You want me to feed you again?” I teased, setting the bowl in front of her.

Lamia looked up at me, a ghost of a smile playing on her lips. “Only if you want to.”

I rolled my eyes and slid the spoon toward her hand. “Try me again and I’ll pour this on your lap.”

With a quiet laugh, she took the spoon with a bit more strength than earlier and began eating slowly. Her cheeks flushed further with each bite, her body clearly fighting off the fever inch by inch.

I sat across from her in silence, watching every movement she made, unsure what it was I was really feeling. Pity? Concern? A twisted sense of responsibility?

Or was it something heavier?

“You know…” Lamia began between bites, “I still can’t get over that I didn’t get to be with your on our second anniversary, because last year I was drowning myself to work and didn’t care about you at all.”

I looked at her sharply. “You waited in the rain. For six hours. With gifts.”

She looked down at her bowl. “I deserved worse.”

“You do,” I agreed without hesitation. “But it doesn’t mean I want you sick and soaked like a stray cat.”

Lamia snorted softly. “So romantic, Rani. Really. You sure you’re not secretly in love with me?”

I rolled my eyes so hard I saw stars. “Please. I’d rather fall in love with my paperwork.”

Her soft laugh filled the room again, followed by a little cough. She looked tired, but fed, and a little less like death.

And for now… that was enough.

Maybe tomorrow we’d fight again. Maybe next week, we’d go back to pretending we hated each other completely.

After making sure Lamia had at least half her bowl of sinigang, I finally allowed myself to exhale. My own stomach was starting to protest. I hadn’t eaten since lunch in Laguna yesterday, and honestly? All I’d had that day was half a pastry and too much caffeine. I reached forward, served myself a bowl, and sat across from her again, finally letting myself just… be.

The spoon was warm in my fingers as I took my first bite. The sour broth hit just right, cutting through the fatigue that had been clinging to me since dawn. Manang Sally never missed.

Across from me, Lamia was chewing slowly, her lashes low, like the warmth of food was anchoring her to the moment. Her color was returning bit by bit, and the slight sheen of sweat on her temple told me the fever was breaking.

She glanced at me over her bowl. “You eat like you’re in a commercial.”

I raised a brow mid-bite. “Excuse me?”

She managed a tiny smile. “All proper. Like every bite is rehearsed.”

I chewed and swallowed, wiping my lips with the napkin. “Unlike you, who slurps like a street vendor in a K-drama.”

Lamia laughed, weakly but genuinely. It made me pause. That laugh. The way it filled the room like it wasn’t always such a battleground between us.

For a moment, the silence between us wasn’t strained. It was easy. Familiar.

“Thank you,” she said quietly, eyes back on her bowl.

“For what?” I asked, playing it cool, because I wasn’t in the mood for sentimentality.

“For… taking care of me.” Her fingers curled slightly around her spoon. “You could’ve just ignored me tonight. Let me sweat through it. But you didn’t.”

I sipped the broth, keeping my face unreadable. “I’m not heartless, Lamia. Not yet.”

“No. You’re just allergic to feelings,” she teased softly.

I rolled my eyes. “I’m selective.”

She leaned back slightly in her chair, spoon down now. “Selective, huh? You have a weakness for two people.”

I didn’t answer, just looked at her, waiting.

She smiled faintly. “Faisal. And me.”

I scoffed. “You’re delusional.”

“I’m not wrong.”

“You are,” I said, setting my spoon down. “Just because I didn’t want you to collapse tonight doesn’t mean I’ve forgiven you. You don’t get to rewrite everything just because you’re running a fever and bought flowers.”

Her smile faded slightly, and she nodded. “I know.”

“You hurt me,” I added, my voice sharper than I meant. “You and your damn past. I lost…” I stopped myself, shutting my mouth as my heart punched against my ribs.

Lamia didn’t say anything. She didn’t need to.

She knew.

She just sat there, weak and quiet, but with those eyes, those ever-defiant eyes, not looking away from mine.

“I just…” I breathed, pushing my chair back slightly. “I’m eating. That’s it.”

Lamia nodded again. “Still… thank you.”

I didn’t reply. I just stared at her for a beat, then finished the rest of my soup in silence.

It was maddening, the way the world felt suspended in that moment. How we were two people who hated each other… yet kept ending up here. Around the same table. Eating dinner. Still tethered by this fragile thing called family.

Still pretending not to see the cracks.

After a few more bites, I reached over and refilled her water glass. She didn’t ask for it, but I did it anyway.

Because I’m a diva. Not a monster.

The clink of dishes and the warmth of sinigang still lingered in the air as we slowly made our way back to the bedroom. I walked beside Lamia, not quite holding her but close enough that if she faltered, I could catch her without hesitation. She moved slowly, still not steady on her feet, but she didn’t complain. She never did when she was sick. As if weakness was something she couldn’t afford. As if even now, she had something to prove.

The lights in the hallway were dimmed, casting a soft golden hue against the walls. Faisal’s room was quiet. I checked as we passed it, our son was sound asleep in his crib, one arm flopped over his plush whale. Peaceful. Oblivious. And I was grateful. I gently pulled the door to a close before continuing.

When we stepped into our bedroom, Lamia let out a faint breath and immediately leaned her back against the wall. She was shivering again. Even after soup and medicine. Her arms were wrapped tightly around herself, her skin pale beneath her caramel undertone.

“Go to bed,” I said, walking past her and toward the vanity. I started undoing my earrings, tossing them into the small dish by the mirror. “You need to sweat it out.”

She stayed by the wall, stubborn as always.

“Lamia,” I said again, this time turning to face her. “The bed’s not going to bite. Go. Lie down. Don’t make me carry you.”

That made her eyes flick toward me, something amused in them… but tired. She didn’t respond. Instead, she dragged herself forward and finally climbed onto her side of the bed, falling onto the pillow with a groan. Her hair splayed messily across the sheet, her arms still curled around her stomach. I hated how fragile she looked right now. Hated it because Lamia Al-Gaddafi was anything but fragile. She was fire and marble and daggers… until she wasn’t.

“You’re freezing,” I muttered, walking toward the AC remote and turning it off completely.

“I’m fine,” she murmured.

“You’re not. Don’t start.”

Her eyes fluttered open just enough to meet mine. “You like bossing me around.”

“I like not having to plan a funeral,” I snapped back, fluffing the pillows behind her without meeting her eyes. “Now shut up and sleep.”

She blinked slowly, as if trying to fight the heaviness behind her lids. “You’re staying?”

“I sleep here too, remember?” I deadpanned, pulling the chair from the corner to sit beside her. “Not like I can magically transport myself to another dimension.”

Her lips curved faintly, and I hated the way it made something soft twist inside me. I hated how this woman could still manage to look beautiful in the middle of a fever.

“I meant… you’re staying beside me,” she clarified, her voice hoarse.

I leaned back in the chair, arms crossed. “Don’t get used to it.”

“Too late,” she whispered, before her eyes finally gave in and closed.

I sat there for a long while, just watching the rise and fall of her chest beneath the covers. Her breathing was uneven, and every now and then she’d let out a faint sigh, like her body was fighting something deeper than fever.

And I hated it. Hated how I remembered what her laugh sounded like when she wasn’t sick. Hated how I remembered the sound of her screaming when I collapsed on the floor… that day. The day everything between us broke.

She didn’t deserve kindness. Not after what happened. Not after the blood. Not after Peterson.

But here I was.

Still wiping her sweat. Still tucking her in.

Still staying.

I stood eventually, pulled off my sweater, and turned off the bedside lamp. I climbed into bed, on my side. As far as possible. No touching. No words.

And yet, when her arm accidentally brushed against mine under the blanket, I didn’t move it away.

Let her rest. Just for tonight.

We were still married, after all. Even if all we had left was silence and a fever.