Fiancé’s Assistant Swapped My Pills, I Flipped

Chapter 2

Within minutes, the ice water began to take its toll. My heart felt like it was going to burst out of my chest, and my hands shook so violently I couldn't even make a fist. My lips were already turning purple, and I could feel my limbs growing cold. I could feel my heart straining desperately, every cell starved of oxygen. I tried to cry out for help, but my lips merely quivered, unable to form a single coherent syllable.

I could only watch helplessly as Simon turned to Mr. Hale to take credit. "Mr. Hale, I fed Ms. Shaw some ice water. She should be pulling through soon."

Damian was busy organizing the negotiation files and didn't even look up as he replied, "If she actually cared about the company, she wouldn't be causing a scene right now. The acquisition agreement was supposed to be signed this afternoon. The other party has already been waiting for an hour. If this deal falls through because of another delay, who's going to take responsibility?"

His words were like a spark, instantly igniting complaints from the surrounding subordinates.

One of them tapped his watch and muttered, "If we'd known Ms. Shaw was in such poor health, we never should have let her lead these negotiations in the first place. She's just holding us back."

"Exactly," another chimed in. "It was just a little spicy food. Is it really necessary to sprawl on the floor and refuse to get up? She's clearly just looking for an excuse not to sign."

Their voices echoed through the lavishly decorated private dining room. Leaning against the cold wall, I felt like an abandoned chess piece. Nobody cared whether I was actually on the brink of death; they only cared about signing the contract on time and sucking up to Damian.

With the negotiations forced to a halt, the other company's representatives filed out, leaving only our team in the room. I curled up on the sofa, my clothes completely drenched in cold sweat. The biting chill managed to clear my foggy mind just a little. As the team members began packing up their documents, not a single person came over to check on me. I lay there as the squeezing pain in my chest grew heavier, my breath tasting of rust, which was a clear sign of myocardial ischemia. Without emergency medicine, I wouldn't last much longer.

Just then, a familiar figure flickered across my vision. It was Simon. Instead of packing up files, he walked straight over to Damian, and the quiet murmurs of their conversation drifted into my ears.

"Mr. Hale, she was clearly putting on an act earlier. I bet she just doesn't want to sign and is stalling on purpose," Simon whispered. "Look at her lying there, completely still. Does that look like a real heart condition? She's clearly trying to sabotage your acquisition."

Damian let out a sigh of pure annoyance. "Don't even mention her. What a buzzkill. If I'd known she would be this much trouble, I would have never agreed to the engagement."

"Fine, fine, let's not talk about her. You must be exhausted. I booked us a table at your favorite Japanese place tonight so we can unwind," Simon said, his voice dripping with flattery.

Their knowing, shared laughter followed immediately.

My mind reeled as a loud ringing filled my ears, and a wave of pure hatred born of betrayal surged through my chest. They had been in league this entire time! No wonder Simon targeted me at every turn, and no wonder Damian always took his side. As his fiancée, I had been nothing but a pawn from the very beginning.

I can't die... I cannot die...

I gritted my teeth, pushing myself up with every ounce of strength I had left. The desperate urge for revenge acted like a shot of adrenaline, momentarily dulling the agony of the angina. Slumped over the sofa, I dragged myself inch by inch toward my briefcase. Before leaving for this trip, I had tucked a final bottle of nitroglycerin into a hidden compartment of the bag. It was my contingency plan, and now, my only lifeline. Though my fingers were numb from oxygen deprivation, I ignored the pain, my eyes locked onto the black leather briefcase.

After a grueling five minutes, my fingers finally brushed against the strap. Shaking, I unzipped the hidden compartment and fumbled inside. When my fingertips brushed against the smooth bottle of nitroglycerin, tears nearly welled in my eyes. This was my hope of survival.