Izabella could be with Casey right now, doing who knew what. The mere thought was enough to twist his insides into knots.
Brett glanced at the clock. It was just past midnight. He reached under his pillow for a hidden picture, a snapshot from his wedding day with Izabella.
In the photo, Izabella was smiling cautiously, her lips slightly pursed, two faint laugh lines on her cheeks, and her eyes soft and gentle.
The photograph was small, and he pressed it against his chest, climbing back into bed alongside the diary he’d pored over countless times.
He drifted off to sleep, dreamless.
But when he woke up at daybreak, his eyes were wet, his face streaked with tears, and his skin tingled with the ghost of the tracks they left behind.
Cancer patients were often frail and vulnerable to illnesses with the slightest misstep, and the most common symptoms for lung cancer were fever and coughing.
Having left the window open all night, the chilly draft coupled with the sight of the picture Casey posted put Brett on the verge of a breakdown. He was running a fever.
The first to notice his condition were the household staff, who quickly notified Adrian and summoned the doctor over to check Brett’s condition, take his temperature, and hook him up to an IV.
While setting up the IV, the doctor noticed Brett’s right hand was clenched tight. Despite the doctor’s best efforts, he couldn’t pry it open.
Before long, Brett opened one eye.
“President Windham, loosen your grip. I need to administer the IV.”
Brett took a moment to register the request before releasing his grip, revealing the picture of Izabella in his palm, which he carefully tucked behind his pillow.
The sight of this pulled at the heartstrings of those around him. They could only sigh, having grown accustomed to such scenes and having witnessed Brett clutching the picture of his late wife countless times.
Upon hearing about Brett’s condition, Liam rushed over after wrapping up his work.
The first thing Brett asked upon seeing him was, “Has the online incident been taken care of?”
“Rest assured, President Windham. No one dares to talk about Ms. Salotti, and the news from the set that day hasn’t leaked.” Even if anyone attempted to spill the beans, Liam had successfully kept them under wraps.
In truth, controlling online public opinion was a formidable task given the billions of netizens, and it’s impossible to control everyone’s comments.
But this time, things went unusually smoothly. As soon as Liam noticed something was off, he began to investigate and found out it wasn’t just him working on it. Nathaniel was also on the case, as were others lending a hand.
With more people on Izabella’s side, handling her affairs naturally became less of a challenge.
“President Windham, do you still plan to visit the set?”
Brett didn’t reply, but his silence spoke volumes. After all, Brett had been diagnosed with a terminal illness. The doctor had said that if he stayed in the hospital for treatment, he could live for another five years. But if he gave up on treatment, he would only have two or three years left.
Brett didn’t want treatment. He knew his days were numbered; he just hoped Izabella could be with him for one year.
He didn’t need too much time. The more time he had, the harder it would be to let go.
So Brett wanted to spend the rest of his time watching Izabella. He would visit the set whenever he had the chance.
Brett had his will drafted a long time ago. After his death, all of his property would belong to Izabella to dispose of as she saw fit.
Liam earnestly suggested, “Ms. Salotti might not appreciate your visits to the set, President Windham. If you really want to go, try not to interfere with her work. As an actress, her main job is to deliver a good performance. Kissing and bed scenes are part and parcel of the script. You can choose to overlook those, but please don’t tamper with the script, or she might end up resenting you.”
After finishing his spiel, Liam noticed that Brett’s hand was clenched into a fist, the veins on the back of his hand bulging, a clear sign of tension.
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