The Billionaire's Sixty-Day Wife

Chapter 3

Camila's POV

Hospitals are strange places when the person you're worried about is on the other side of the bed.

I've spent years walking these hallways in scrubs, moving from patient to patient, crisis to crisis, always knowing what to do next. But the moment I step onto the cardiac floor as a daughter instead of a nurse, all that confidence disappears.

The automatic doors slide open, and I tighten my grip on the coffee I'd bought for my mother downstairs. It's already gone lukewarm, but she won't care. She'll smile anyway and tell me it's perfect.

She always does.

When I push open her room door, she's sitting up in bed with a magazine in her lap and reading glasses balanced on the end of her nose.

The sight makes something inside my chest ease slightly.

At least she's awake.

At least she's smiling.

"There's my favorite child," she says, looking up from the magazine.

I roll my eyes as I walk over to kiss her cheek. "I'm your only child, which means the competition is suspiciously weak."

She laughs softly and squeezes my hand. "And yet you're still winning."

For a moment, things feel normal.

Not truly normal.

Hospital-normal.

The kind where both people pretend everything is fine because the alternative is too frightening to discuss.

I pull the visitor's chair closer and sit beside her bed, noticing the dark circles beneath her eyes and the way her fingers tremble slightly as she sets the magazine aside. She catches me looking and immediately points a warning finger in my direction.

"Don't."

I already know what she means. "Don't what?"

"Give me that nurse face." Despite everything, I laugh. "I don't have a nurse face."

"You absolutely do, and it usually means you've noticed something I don't want to hear."

The sad part is she's right. My mother has always been able to read me far too easily. "How are you feeling?" I ask, deciding to change the subject.

"Wonderful. They only woke me up three times last night."

"Only three?"

"See? Progress."

I shake my head, smiling despite myself.

God, I miss this.

Not hospitals, not treatments, not fear. Just this. Talking to her and hearing her laugh. Pretending the future isn't hanging over us like a storm cloud.

Her gaze sharpens slightly as she studies me. "Now tell me what happened yesterday."

My stomach immediately tightens because I've been dreading this conversation ever since I left Alejandro's office.

"Nothing happened."

"Camila." The warning in her voice makes me groan. "What?"

"You were meeting with the billionaire."

I hate that that's how she describes him.

The billionaire.

Not Alejandro, not the CEO. As if he's some mythical creature, maybe he is.

"How did it go?" she asks.

I look down at our joined hands because suddenly meeting her eyes feels impossible. "There was a settlement offer."

Her entire face brightens. "That's amazing."

"It wasn't normal."

The smile slowly fades. "What does that mean?"

I let out a long breath because there's really no graceful way to explain this. "His company offered me three times the settlement amount."

Her eyes widen. "Three times?"

I nod. "That's incredible."

"It came with conditions." The room falls quiet.

My mother knows me well enough to recognize that tone. "What kind of conditions?"

I hesitate because saying it out loud still feels ridiculous. Then again, the entire situation is ridiculous. "He wants me to marry him."

The silence that follows is so complete that I can hear the heart monitor across the room.

My mother blinks, once, twice, three times. Then she slowly removes her glasses. "I'm sorry," she says carefully, as if speaking to someone recovering from a head injury. "Could you repeat that?"

I close my eyes. "I knew you'd react like that."

"Camila."

"He wants a fake marriage."

She stares at me and I stare back. Neither of us speaks. Then, completely unexpectedly, she starts laughing.

Not polite laughter, not nervous laughter. Actual laughter. "Mom."

"I'm trying."

"You're failing." That only makes her laugh harder.

For a moment, I forget why we're here. For a moment, she looks like herself again. Healthy, strong and happy.

The sight hurts more than it should. Eventually, she calms down and wipes at the corner of her eye. "Please tell me you said no."

I don't answer immediately, not because I didn't but because I did. But for some reason, the memory of the settlement amount flashes through my mind.

Three times. Enough money to save her. Enough money to fix everything. "I said no," I finally answer.

Relief immediately crosses her face. "Good." I frown. "Good?"

"Yes, good."

The certainty in her voice surprises me. "You need treatment." She squeezes my hand. "And you need self-respect."

The words settle heavily between us because that's the problem. Because I don't know how to choose between them.

A knock interrupts the conversation before either of us can say anything else.

The moment the doctor walks into the room, every instinct I possess as a nurse immediately goes on alert.

I've seen that expression before, too many times.

The careful professionalism.

The measured steps.

The quiet sympathy.

Bad news has a look and he's wearing it.

My mother notices too because her fingers tighten around mine. "Doctor?" she asks.

He offers a small smile before glancing between us. "I'd like to discuss the latest test results."

The knot in my stomach immediately grows tighter. I already know I'm not going to like what comes next.

The doctor pulls up a chair and opens his tablet. "We've reviewed the latest scans, and unfortunately the progression has accelerated faster than expected."

The words hit like a punch. Beside me, my mother's shoulders stiffen. "How much faster?" I ask, forcing my voice to remain steady.

The doctor's hesitation tells me everything.

Too fast, far too fast.

"We need to begin treatment immediately."

Immediately, not next month, not next week.

I listen as he explains options, medications, specialists, timelines, and procedures, but most of it blurs together after that.

Only one thing matters. Treatment starts now or we lose time. Precious time, terrifying time.

"And the cost?" I ask quietly. The doctor looks at me for several seconds before giving us the number.

"Including the new treatment protocol, specialist consultations, medications, and rehabilitation, the estimated cost is six hundred and eighteen thousand dollars."

Six hundred and eighteen thousand.

My brain immediately starts doing the math even though I know it's pointless. I have twelve thousand dollars in savings.

Three credit cards that are nearly maxed out. A small retirement account I've already considered emptying. And a mother who doesn't have the luxury of waiting for miracles.

Six hundred and eighteen thousand dollars might as well have been six million.

My mother stares at the blanket.

The room feels smaller than before like all the air has been pulled out of it.

For months, I've convinced myself that hard work would be enough. That if I picked up enough shifts, made enough sacrifices, and fought hard enough, I'd find a solution.

Now I'm staring directly at a problem I can't solve. And for the first time, I'm forced to admit the truth.

I'm losing.

The realization settles inside my chest like a stone. "Hey."

I look up when my mother squeezes my hand. She smiles softly, even now trying to comfort me when she's the one lying in a hospital bed. "Don't look so scared."

A bitter laugh escapes me. "That's easy for you to say."

"No," she says gently, shaking her head. "It's actually much harder."

My throat tightens because she's right. Because she's the one facing this.

Not me.

My phone suddenly vibrates inside my purse. The sound feels unusually loud in the quiet room.

I pull it out and frown at the screen. Unknown number.

Something in my stomach immediately twists. I don't know why. Maybe because everything feels wrong today. Maybe because deep down, I already know who's calling.

I answer anyway. "Hello?" For a second, there's only silence.

Then a familiar voice slides through the speaker, calm and controlled in a way that immediately makes my pulse quicken.

Alejandro Vega.

I close my eyes.

Of course it's him.

Of course.

Neither of us speaks for a moment, then he finally breaks the silence.

"Have you changed your mind?"