The moment Amy Sinclair made her request, Theodore Whitmore couldn't suppress the smug satisfaction that briefly crossed his features. He quickly schooled his expression into one of indifference. "Don't think sweet-talking me will make me agree to treat you," he scoffed.

Amy met his gaze, earnest and unwavering. "Dr. Whitmore, what would it take for you to reconsider?"

He studied her for a long moment before responding. "If you're truly serious, you can work here for me—running errands, cleaning, whatever I need. Prove yourself, and I might consider your request."

Without hesitation, Amy nodded.

Theodore arched a brow, surprised. At first, he had assumed she was just another spoiled socialite seeking attention—wealthy women who invented ailments for amusement were nothing new to him.

He decided to test her resolve.

He assigned her the most grueling tasks—scrubbing floors, organizing cluttered shelves, even handling foul-smelling herbs. When she inevitably made mistakes, he berated her harshly, reducing her to tears more than once.

Yet, every morning, she returned, punctual and undeterred.

Six months passed before Theodore finally acknowledged her persistence. Though Amy wasn't the one needing treatment, her dedication was undeniable.

That was when he learned the truth—she wasn't doing this for herself, but for her mother-in-law, Margaret Blackwood.

Rare to find such devotion these days, he mused, his opinion of her shifting.

Through their conversations, he also discovered Amy was married to Alexander Blackwood, CEO of Blackwood Enterprises.

Theodore had managed Margaret's medication for years. Her chronic migraines were stubborn, requiring long-term care—another year or two would see them fully cured.

But lately, Alexander's scandalous public displays with Victoria Langley had reached even Theodore's ears, despite his indifference to gossip.

And not once had Alexander bothered to visit his own mother.

Theodore's temper flared. He told Amy bluntly he would no longer provide the medicine.

"Given how hard you've worked, I'll make one final exception," he said, removing his glasses with a derisive snort. "But your husband must come with you. His mother's health is his responsibility, not yours. Or has he outsourced filial piety too?"

Amy knew Theodore's disdain for the wealthy who thought money solved everything. After a tense silence, she finally spoke. "This is the last time I'll ask, Dr. Whitmore. I'm begging you—not for me, but to save a friend."

His brows shot up. "Save a friend?"

"Yes. My friend crossed someone they shouldn't have."

Theodore, sharp as ever, pieced it together instantly.

"That bastard husband of yours is threatening you?" he spat. "Pathetic! He can't even fetch the medicine himself and resorts to blackmail?"

Amy shook her head. "It's not like that. My friend did provoke him first."

Despite her own grievances with Alexander, she refused to lie. Theodore valued honesty above all, and she wouldn't manipulate him with falsehoods.

After a long silence, Theodore finally met her gaze.

"You want my help?" he said slowly. "Fine. But you must agree to one condition."