Chapter 23
23:
The atmosphere in the hospital was taut, thick with unease.
Bethel had been rushed into the ER, leaving Brendon outside—pacing, fidgeting, unable to settle.
Only now did the gravity of it all hit Brendon like a punch to the chest. Anxiety clawed at him. The weight of the Dawson legacy rested squarely on his grandmother’s frail shoulders. If she faltered, everything they built would come crashing down.
Brendon’s eyes cut to Christina. “This is your doing,” he said, voice quiet but laced with steel. “I told you—we needed the right time to tell my grandmother. Not like this.”
Christina didn’t argue. She couldn’t. A part of her knew she’d triggered Bethel’s collapse.
“When my grandmother gets through this—and she will—you’re going to follow my lead,” Brendon said firmly. “We can’t afford another shock. We keep her calm. We keep her safe.”
That snapped Christina out of it. She turned sharply, her gaze like ice. “What do you expect me to do? Pretend we’re back together?”
“It’s a performance. Don’t make it more than that,” he said with a sneer. “Even with my grandma in your corner, don’t kid yourself—you’ll never have my heart. The whole acting is strictly for her sake. Don’t get delusional.”
Christina let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “Wow. Your ego’s still the size of a small planet, huh? Relax. If every man on Earth vanished overnight, I’d still never come crawling back to you.”
Her words sliced through him, drawing blood he didn’t want to show. Anger sparked—but then, something else. She must be bluffing. He could see it. Women always masked their feelings behind sharp tongues and cold stares. She was just trying to protect her pride. After all those years of devotion, of her orbiting his world like he was her sun—she couldn’t have just let go. Not completely. Not really. That thought calmed him and even fed a quiet, smug satisfaction.
He exhaled, his scowl melting into a faint, knowing smirk. “Just play your part when my grandma’s around. That’s all I need.”
“Fine,” Christina muttered, her tone clipped, her posture rigid. She agreed—for Bethel. The woman had once lifted her from rock bottom, offering refuge when
Betrayal had left her shattered and alone. Bethel had shown her nothing but warmth and compassion, and for that, she would endure this farce with Brendon.
Brendon felt a rush of satisfaction from her quick agreement. He knew it. She still had feelings for him. How could she not?
“Then hand over the treatment slot with King,” he said, emboldened by her agreement.
Christina’s glare could’ve turned lava to ice. “I’ve already told you—no.”
“You’d really risk my grandma’s life? King could save her!” Brendon shot back, frustration etched across his face. But that wasn’t the truth. He wanted King for Yolanda’s illness.
“Bethel has been stable for years. Her chronic conditions are managed, and her vitals are strong. She doesn’t need King—any competent surgeon can handle this,” Christina said, voice unwavering. She’d made sure of it. For three painstaking years, she had taken care of Bethel—tracked every symptom, followed every treatment. Bethel’s body was stronger now. She had done her homework. The surgery was routine, the risks minimal.
Brendon’s jaw clenched. “So you’re willing to roll the dice with her life? Can you live with that if something goes wrong? Even healthy people die on the table—what about an elderly woman?”
“If you really care about her, you’ll hand over the treatment slot. It’s the only way to ensure she survives.”
Each word dripped with manipulation, cutting into her patience like glass. She knew exactly who he was fighting for—and it wasn’t Bethel. No way was she going to hand him that win.
“I can find another way—” she said, but a shrill scream split the air.
“You bitch!” A hand came flying at her—fast, wild, and furious.
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