The thought of Sophia possibly leaving made Ethan's chest tighten abruptly.

It felt like someone was dragging a blunt knife slowly across his heart.

He pressed the call button by his bedside.

His assistant hurried in.

"Arrange the private jet," Ethan said in a low voice.

The assistant paled. "Mr. Sullivan, your current condition isn't suitable for flying. The doctor said you need rest for the concussion—high altitude could worsen it. And the wound on your arm—"

"Then prepare the car," Ethan cut him off.

The assistant broke into a sweat. "The ancient city in the northwest is too far—at least a six-hour drive. The bumpy ride would be even worse for your injuries."

Ethan slammed his fist onto the nightstand.

The glass rattled loudly.

The assistant spoke carefully, "Ms. Laurent cares about you. She waited in the hallway all day until things were settled—"

"You don’t understand." Ethan pressed his fingers to his temples.

He knew Sophia better than anyone.

Usually gentle as a kitten, but once she made up her mind, nothing could change it.

Like during the divorce.

It had taken him half a year to soften her stance.

And now, one impulsive moment had ruined everything.

Ethan stared at the blocked contact on his phone, his knuckles turning white.

When he saw those photos, he had truly lost control.

But more than anger, it was fear.

Fear that she would really leave.

"Get out," he said wearily, waving a hand.

Not long after the assistant left, an argument erupted outside the hospital room.

"Let me in~" Isabella clutched a bouquet, stomping her foot at the door. "Ethan is hurt—I made soup for him—"

The bodyguard blocked the entrance impassively. "Mr. Sullivan said no visitors."

"How am I a visitor?" She pouted, pulling out a stack of cash. "Just let me in for a bit."

The bodyguard glanced at the security camera and took half a step back.

Then came the sharp click of heels down the hallway.

Zoe strode over with a thermos, her short hair neatly slicked back.

Their eyes met, sparks flying.

"Oh, Director Riveron, here to curry favor too?" Isabella gave a mocking once-over to the thermos in Zoe’s hand.

Zoe smirked. "At least I can get in."

"Really?" Isabella raised an eyebrow.

Zoe turned to the bodyguard. "I need to see Mr. Sullivan."

The bodyguard shook his head. "New rule this morning—no female visitors."

Zoe’s face darkened instantly.

Isabella burst out laughing. "Does someone’s face sting?"

Zoe suddenly raised her hand.

Slap!

A sharp crack echoed as her palm struck Isabella’s cheek.

"You’re dead!" Isabella shrieked, lunging at her.

The two heiresses instantly tangled into a mess.

Nails, hair, handbags—everything became a weapon.

Passing patients stopped to stare, some pulling out phones to record.

Natalie walked by carrying a large bouquet of sunflowers, curling her lip in disdain.

She pushed open the hospital room door and dropped the flowers on the table.

"Bro, your two admirers are brawling outside."

Ethan didn’t even look up. "Dad’s mess to deal with."

Natalie grinned. "Proof you’re still in demand."

"When you’re older—"

"Stop!" Natalie made a cutting motion. "Send the bodyguard to break it up."

Ethan finally glanced up. "You figured it out?"

"Going after Sophia?" Natalie pressed a hand on his shoulder. "In your state, you’d end up in the ICU the second you step out."

Ethan fell silent.

"I’ll go." Natalie thumped her chest. "Women understand each other better."

Ethan gave her a skeptical look. "You sure?"

"Better than a wounded soldier." She pulled out her phone and wiggled it. "Besides, I’ve got a secret weapon."