Chapter 7: See a Doctor for a Fever, Am I a Doctor?

Chapter 7: Chapter 7: See a Doctor for a Fever, Am I a Doctor?

Lynn Winslow had to insist several times that she was fine before Holly Joyce finally returned to the room next door. As she left, Holly reminded her to speak up if she started to feel unwell.

Lynn Winslow was utterly exhausted. She gave a noncommittal reply and went back to her room.

The next day, Lynn Winslow woke up feeling pinned to her bed, as if in the grip of sleep paralysis. Her forehead was scorching, and the ceaseless coughing and full-body aches told her one thing.

’I really did catch a cold.’

In a daze, she fumbled for her phone. She meant to call Holly Joyce, but on a strange whim, she dialed the number of someone she hadn’t contacted in three years.

Ian Sterling loved to sleep in. Nothing in the world could rouse him. Lynn Winslow hadn’t expected him to pick up and hadn’t even thought about what she would say, but then she heard the sound of the call connecting.

Her mind still fuzzy from the high fever, Lynn Winslow froze. A hoarse voice came through the receiver.

"Who is this?"

Ian Sterling hadn’t slept a wink. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the image of Lynn Winslow falling into the water the day before, and later, the look on her face—pitiful, yet putting on a brave front—as she tried to explain herself.

When the phone rang, he was staring at texts he’d exchanged with Lynn Winslow three years ago. He’d lost count of how many times he’d called or texted her over the past three years—in drunken stupors, or in the dead of night when his emotions overwhelmed him—only to be met with a dead number. Then, one day, the call finally connected, but a man answered. He’d gone mad, tracking down the address linked to the number and ultimately buying the phone number right off the man, tucking the SIM into a phone he rarely used.

"Speak," he snapped, his temper frayed from a sleepless night.

Lynn Winslow murmured, "Ian Sterling... COUGH, COUGH... I have a fever. I feel awful."

Her voice was slow and weak, punctuated by coughs. Anyone could tell she was sick. Ian Sterling’s lips tightened. He thought of the three years he’d spent acting like a fool and forced himself to reply coldly, "If you have a fever, call a doctor. Am I a physician?"

At his words, the tears Lynn Winslow had been holding back since he answered the phone finally spilled, trickling from the corner of one eye to the other. The sting made her squeeze her eyes shut. "You weren’t like this before," she said, her voice thick with bitterness. "You always took care of me when I was sick."

"You said it yourself—’before.’ Am I an idiot? Did you think you could trick me again after three years?" Ian Sterling said through gritted teeth.

Lynn Winslow bit her lip to stifle a sob. With a flick of her finger, she ended the call.

She buried her face in her blankets and cried for a long time. Finally, she forced herself to sit up and call Holly Joyce.

Holly Joyce rushed over, followed by the nanny who had looked after her since childhood.

Holly Joyce fretted, "Oh, my dear Lynn! I blame myself. I should have insisted on checking on you last night."

Lynn Winslow buried her face in her pillow, rubbing it until a patch grew damp. Only then did she turn her head. "It’s not your fault, Holly."

Holly Joyce sighed. "You have a bit of a lung infection. I’ll have someone prepare some medicine for an IV drip." She turned to the worried-looking nanny. "Nanny Zhou, could you ask the chef to brew some pear soup? It will help soothe her lungs."

Nanny Zhou nodded and hurried out of the room.

Holly Joyce gently touched Lynn Winslow’s forehead. Seeing her tear-filled eyes, she sighed again and tried to console her. "When you said you wanted to come to Veridia, Mrs. Sterling was against it. She was afraid you’d get hurt coming back. Look at your eyes, all red from crying. If Mrs. Sterling and Mr. Sterling found out, they’d be heartbroken."

"They haven’t seen me in ages. They’re always flying from one country to another. They won’t feel sorry for me," Lynn Winslow said pitifully, her lips pursed.

"Don’t be silly. Of course Mrs. Sterling and Mr. Sterling would feel sorry for you."

Lynn Winslow didn’t want to talk anymore. A sense of grievance washed over her, wave after wave, and her heart ached as if it were steeping in vinegar.

’What did I do wrong? The plot forced me to break up with him! Why is he blaming me? If he wants to blame someone, he should blame the author! I’m just a supporting character in a novel. What choice do I have?’

A rebellious feeling swirled within her. Lynn Winslow pouted, aggrieved, and roughly wiped away her tears with the back of her hand.

"Oh, my dear Lynn, don’t be so rough with yourself. Can’t you learn a thing or two from that Consort Flora? Even the way she cries is elegant." Holly Joyce could see she was upset and was deliberately trying to tease a smile out of her.

It worked. Lynn Winslow let out a small laugh. Holly Joyce breathed a sigh of relief. Just then, her phone rang, and she stepped outside to take the call.

Lynn Winslow cheered herself up with a pleasant thought. ’When I finally win Ian Sterling back, I’m going to make him suffer.’ The idea made her feel better already.

Holly Joyce returned with the medicine. Nanny Zhou followed, pushing an IV stand, which she placed by the bed. Holly Joyce then set up the drip for Lynn Winslow.

Nanny Zhou gently patted Lynn through the duvet. "Get some more sleep," she cooed softly. "I’ll stay here and watch over you."

Feeling happier, Lynn Winslow’s words became sweeter. "Thank you, Nanny Zhou," she said softly.

Lynn Winslow drifted peacefully to sleep. Meanwhile, Ian Sterling paced his bedroom restlessly, picking up his phone only to set it down again, over and over.

The emotional turmoil turned his eyes bloodshot. Gritting his teeth, he looked up abruptly and hurled his phone at the wall with all his might. The impact left a dent in the plaster, and the phone’s screen shattered into a spiderweb of cracks.

Butler Hughes, who had been specifically assigned by Mrs. Sterling to look after Ian, heard the crash and came running. He knocked on the door, asking anxiously, "Little Ancestor? What happened?"

Ian Sterling didn’t answer, his glare fixed so intensely on the broken phone it seemed he could burn a hole right through it.

Butler Hughes had no choice but to let himself in with the spare key. He saw the tragic state of the phone on the floor, then glanced up at the wall. The dent was deep; it must have been thrown with incredible force.

"Little Ancestor, what in the world has gotten into you?"

Mrs. Sterling had always called her youngest, most rebellious, and most difficult son her "Little Ancestor," which led to everyone in the Sterling household—with the exception of the stern Mr. Sterling—calling Ian by the same nickname.

"Give me your phone," Ian Sterling said, sitting on the floor with his hand outstretched.

After a moment’s hesitation, Butler Hughes handed it over. The moment Ian had the phone, he dialed a number.

"Jasper Jennings."

Jasper Jennings saw the caller ID was for Ian Sterling’s butler, so he answered. He was surprised to hear Ian’s voice on the line.

"Why are you calling me from your butler’s phone?" Jasper asked, confused. "What happened to yours?"

"Smashed it," Ian Sterling said bluntly. "I need you to find out where Lynn Winslow is staying. And while you’re at it, see if she’s had a doctor make a house call."

Jasper Jennings was taken aback for a second before a lazy smile spread across his face. "Why don’t you find out yourself? The people at your beck and call are far more capable than mine. Besides, doesn’t Lynn Winslow have her own private doctor, nanny, and butler?"

Back when Lynn Winslow used to stay at her maternal grandfather’s house, she had brought an entire entourage with her from Morelia—private doctors, butlers, nannies, the works. The expense wasn’t an issue, but everyone had thought it was a bit much.

"Are you going to help me or not!" Ian Sterling demanded, his voice cold.

Hearing that tone, Jasper knew Ian had run out of patience. "Alright, fine. I’ll look into it for you. I’ll call you back."

"Make it quick."

With that, Ian hung up. He looked at Butler Hughes, who was standing to the side. "I’ll give your phone back in a minute. Have someone buy me a new one and transfer everything from my old phone to it. I want an exact copy."

Butler Hughes picked up the shattered remains of Ian’s phone. He was at the door when he turned back and said, "Little Ancestor, please don’t smash mine too."

"If I smash it, I’ll buy you a new one! I’ll buy you ten!"