The CEO's Clumsy Love

Four years ago, in the hospital corridor, the scent of disinfectant blended with the winter chill, seeping into the marrow and making the bones ache. Mia Xavier lay in the intensive care unit, the ECG monitor's ticking like a countdown; with each beat, Mike Collins' frown deepened. His hand clutching the payment slip had turned pale, knuckles bulging, his voice trembling with urgent pleading: "Mr. Scott, as long as Mia can be saved, I will agree to anything." In the Scott Family's living room, my father called me into the study, his fingertips tapping on the marriage alliance contract on the desk, his tone heavy: "Lucy, I will only lend the surgery fees if you marry into their family." I walked to the window, watching Mike Collins pacing back and forth downstairs. He looked up toward the intensive care unit, the anxiety in his eyes like a flame burning, making my chest tighten. I took a deep breath, turned around, and picked up the pen: "Dad, I'll sign." When Mike Collins received the news and hurried over, I was pushing the signed agreement across the table. He paused, his Adam's apple bobbing as if he wanted to say something, but in the end, he only managed to say, "Lucy Scott, thank you." "No need to thank me," I said, putting the pen back into the holder, "it's just a transaction." This loveless marriage was thus settled. Four years slipped through my fingers like grains of sand, held tight until they all slipped away. When the news finally came that Mia Xavier had awakened from her coma, I was watering the houseplants. Drops of water landed on the leaves, refracting the sunlight outside the window and making my eyes ache. Over these four years, Mike Collins changed greatly. He was no longer the greenhorn who once needed to rely on marriage alliances to navigate life; now, dressed in suit and tie, every gesture bore the calm authority of a business magnate. Yet, his attitude toward the Scott Family had cooled just as much. First, several major projects of the company were suddenly hijacked; partners found various excuses to withdraw their investment. Then the cash flow broke down, with calls from the bank pressing for repayment one after another. An old employee privately told me, "Ms. Scott, this is clearly orchestrated by Mr. Collins behind the scenes; he intends to squeeze the Scott Family to death." I sat in the study, my fingertips tracing over the drafted divorce agreement. The edges of the paper had become frayed from my rubbing, much like this marriage that should have ended long ago. Mia Xavier woke up; my mission was complete, and it was time for me to step away. At half past six in the evening, the sound of a door lock turning came from outside.