MARRIED TO THE RUTHLESS BILLIONAIRE

Hope had become a dangerous thing in the Anderson house. Every time Claire Anderson allowed herself to believe life was finally becoming kinder, life found another way to prove her wrong. So when she reached for her coat that Tuesday morning, she let herself hope for something painfully ordinary. A quiet shift at work. Her mother's doctor's appointment. Dinner together afterward. It wasn't too much to ask. Or so she believed. Then a soft cough drifted from her mother's bedroom. Claire's hand froze on the doorknob. Claire closed her eyes for the briefest moment. Not again. She placed her bag back on the chair and walked toward the half-open bedroom door, slowing her steps before she entered. There was no point in rushing anymore. She had learned that panic frightened her mother far more than the illness ever did. Morning light filtered through the curtains, casting pale ribbons of gold across the room. Sarah Anderson was sitting upright against a pile of pillows, one hand pressed lightly onto her chest while the other searched for the glass of water on the bedside table. "You should've called me," Claire said softly, crossing the room before her mother had the chance to pretend everything was fine. Sarah accepted the glass with an Apologetic smile. "And interrupt your only morning off this week?" Claire folded her arms. "You say that as though I'd choose to sleep over you." "I'd hope you would, at least occasionally." A faint laugh escaped Claire before she Could stop it. "You still underestimate how stubborn your daughter is." "I don't underestimate it," Sarah replied, her eyes twinkling despite the exhaustion. Etched beneath them. "I've survived Twenty-five years of it." For a few precious seconds, the room felt lighter. Claire lived for moments like these. Not because they erased everything else, but because they reminded her that her mother was still there. Still teasing her. Still finding reasons to smile. Illness had stolen enough already. She refused to let it bring laughter too. "You've been skipping breakfast again," Sarah observed, watching Claire straighten the blanket at the foot of the bed. Claire didn't bother asking how she'd figured it out. Mothers simply knew. "I had coffee." "Coffee isn't breakfast." "It is if you believe hard enough." Sarah shook her head quietly. amusement. "When you were little, you used to lecture your father every time he forgot to eat before work." Claire smiled at the memory. Her father would stand in the doorway with his tie hanging crooked around his neck. While she chased him with a slice of toast, insisting superheroes couldn't save cities on an empty stomach. He had always surrendered dramatically, taking exaggerated bites just to make her laugh. Back then, she'd believed fathers were invincible. Life had a cruel way of correcting childhood assumptions. The smile faded before she realized it had. Sarah noticed. She always noticed. "You were thinking about him." Claire lowered her gaze. "I was." Fifteen years. It still sounded impossible. Some mornings she could picture her father's face so clearly that she held herself expecting to hear his keys at the front door. Other days she worried she was forgetting the sound of his voice. That frightened her more than anything. Because people weren't supposed to disappear twice. Once from your life. And then again from your memory. "I dreamed about him last night," Sarah said quietly. Claire looked up. "What happened?" "He was painting the fence." Claire laughed through her surprise. "The fence?" Sarah nodded. "He'd painted exactly one board before deciding he deserved a break." "That sounds like Dad." "He kept insisting he'd finish it tomorrow." Claire smiled. "He never did." No. Sarah's voice softened into something almost wistful. "He never did." Silence settled gently between them, carrying neither discomfort nor grief, only the quiet understanding of two people who had learned to miss the same man in different ways. A shrill ringtone broke the moment. Claire reached into her coat pocket. The caller ID made her stomach tighten. St. James Medical Center. Sarah noticed the change in her expression immediately. "They're calling early." Claire forced herself to answer with a calm voice. "Hello?" "Good morning, Miss Anderson. This is Melissa from Dr. Carter's office. The doctor was hoping you and your mother could Come in a little earlier than scheduled." "Has something happened?" "I'm afraid the doctor would rather discuss the results in person." The call ended politely, but the uneasiness it left behind lingered long after the screen went dark. Claire slipped the phone back into her pocket without moving. She had spent enough time in hospitals to recognize carefully chosen words. "Discuss the results in person." Doctors rarely said that when they had good news. Sarah was studying her. "What did they say?" "They just moved the appointment forward." "And?" Claire offered the brightest smile she could manage. "They probably found an opening in his schedule." It sounded believable. Almost. Sarah didn't challenge the explanation, though something in her eyes suggested she wasn't entirely convinced. Instead, she pushed the blanket aside and reached for her slippers. "We'd better not keep him waiting, then." The drive to St. James Medical Center took less than twenty minutes, though to Claire it felt considerably longer. Traffic crawled through Manhattan with its usual morning impatience. Yellow taxis squeezed into impossible gaps. Cyclists ignored traffic lights. Pedestrians hurried across intersections clutching takeaway coffees as though being late was a personal tragedy. Life moved with relentless certainty. No one looking through the windshield would have guessed that, inside the aging sedan waiting at a red light, a daughter was silently bargaining with a future she could neither predict nor control. She stole a glance at her mother. Sarah was watching the city pass by with absent-minded interest, her fingers tracing invisible circles against the strap of her handbag. She looked peaceful. Claire envied her. Because somewhere between the phone call and the drive across town, dread had quietly settled inside her chest. It wasn't loud. It wasn't dramatic. It simply refused to leave. When the hospital finally came into view, the knot in her stomach tightened. Without realizing it, she reached across the center console and took her mother's hand. Sarah looked over, surprised. "You know," she said with a gentle smile, "Usually I'm the one comforting you." Claire managed a small laugh. "I'm letting you feel useful." "I always feel useful." "I know." Sarah squeezed her fingers. "No matter what Dr. Carter says today... we'll get through it." Claire wanted to believe her. She truly did. But hope has become an expensive thing lately. She wasn't sure how much of it they had left. A moment later, the examination room door opened. A nurse stepped into the waiting area and offered them a gentle smile. "Miss Anderson? Mrs. Anderson? Dr. Carter is ready for you now." Claire stood and helped her mother to her feet. The short walk to the doctor's office felt strangely endless. Dr. Carter looked up as they entered. He didn't greet them with his usual smile. Instead, he quietly closed the file in front of him and folded his hands on the desk. The silence in the room lasted only a few seconds. It felt much longer. Claire's heart began to pound. She had seen doctors wear that expression before. Not when they had good news. When they were searching for the gentlest way to Deliver bad news. Dr. Carter looked from Sarah... to Claire. Then he drew a slow breath. "I'm afraid..." He paused, as though the next words weighed more than he wanted them to. "...the latest test results aren't what we were hoping for.”