The deep, velvety voice on the other end of the line carried a hint of concern.

"Celeste, is something troubling you?"

Amy exhaled softly. "It's about Benjamin. But I can manage for now."

Sebastian's tone turned firm. "If it ever becomes too much, promise you'll call me."

"I will."

The moment she ended the call, a small hand pressed a warm mug into hers.

"Amy, drink this."

Oliver, wise beyond his years, looked up at her with solemn eyes. "Papa always says warm water helps when you're sick. You'll feel better soon."

A tender warmth spread through her chest as she accepted the mug.

"Thank you, sweetheart."

Minutes later, the doorbell chimed. Before Amy could move, Oliver darted forward.

"That must be Papa. You should rest, Amy. I'll get it."

Touched by his thoughtfulness, she didn’t argue.

Sure enough, Sebastian stood at the door, his sharp gaze immediately assessing the situation.

Oliver whispered urgently, "Papa, Amy has a fever. Did you bring medicine?"

Sebastian arched a brow. "Obviously. I’m not completely useless."

Only then did Oliver relax, nodding in approval.

Amy’s face was pale, exhaustion etched into every line. Sebastian’s eyes flicked to the digital thermometer on the table.

He picked it up and scanned her forehead.

102.6 degrees.

His usual composed demeanor vanished. "Celeste, this isn’t just a mild fever. We need to get you to a hospital."

Before she could respond, her phone rang.

Samantha’s name flashed on the screen.

She answered.

"Celeste… I messed up." Samantha’s voice trembled with panic.

Amy stiffened. "What happened?"

"I found someone who claimed they could secure the venue. They wanted to meet at a club. When I got there, these entitled brats started drinking and wouldn’t take no for an answer. They got handsy, and I—I lost it. I smashed a bottle over one of their heads."

Chaos erupted in the background—shouting, the crash of glass.

"You stupid bitch! Do you know who you just hit? You’re not leaving here alive!"

Amy’s grip tightened on the phone. "Where are you?"

Samantha rattled off an address.

"Stay calm. I’m coming."

She hung up and moved toward the door, but the room spun violently. She barely caught herself against the wall.

Sebastian caught her wrist, his fingers brushing against burning skin.

"You can barely stand, and you think you’re going anywhere?"

Amy swallowed hard, her face ashen. "I can’t leave Samantha there. She’s in real danger."

Sebastian studied her for a moment before sighing. "Fine. But I’m coming with you."

Amy glanced at Oliver. "What about him?"

"I’ll have Frederick take him home."

Oliver nodded eagerly. "Don’t worry, Amy. I’ll be good."

Sebastian’s jaw tightened as he guided her toward the door. "Let’s go before you collapse."

The world swayed beneath her feet, but one thought anchored her—Samantha needed her. And nothing, not even a fever, would stop her.