The CEO's Contractual Wife (Olivia and Ryan) novel Chapter 38

Chapter 38

Olivia

Ethan arrived around noon, his face flushed and hair slightly disheveled. It was clear he had driven straight from his apartment the moment Nick’s call had come through, barely giving himself a moment to catch his breath.

“Sorry I’m late,” he said, dropping his backpack by the waiting room chairs. “Traffic was insane, and my phone died halfway

here.”

I stood up, wrapping my arms around him in a tight embrace. “You’re here now, and that’s all that matters,” I whispered, feeling a slight sense of relief wash over me as I held onto him.

“How is he?” Ethan asked, pulling back to look at me.

“Stable,” Nick answered from his chair. “They’re running tests. Should know more soon.”

Ethan nodded, then seemed to notice my appearance for the first time. “You look like hell, Liv.”

“Thanks,” I said dryly. “That’s exactly what every woman wants to hear.”

“I just meant—”

“I know what you meant,” I interrupted, smiling to soften my words. “I’ve been here since six this morning.”

“Have you eaten anything?” Ethan asked, always the one to worry about practical matters despite being the youngest.

I shook my head. “Not hungry.”

“Well, I am,” Nick announced, standing up and stretching. “Cafeteria run. Who’s in?”

“God, no,” Ethan grimaced. “Hospital food is worse than my dining hall. There’s a deli across the street. I’ll go grab sandwiches.”

“My hero,” I said,-placing a hand over my heart dramatically.

Ethan grinned. “Turkey on wheat for you?”

“You know me so well.”

“Nick? The usual?”

Nick nodded. “Extra pickles.”

“Back in twenty,” Ethan promised, heading toward the elevators.

When he was gone, Nick turned to me. “You should call your boyfriend. Let him know you might be here a while.”

I winced at the word ‘boyfriend. It felt wrong applied to Alexander. “Already did. He’s arranging for Dad to see the best cardiologist.”

Nick’s eyebrows shot up. “Seriously? That’s… actually really decent of him.”

“He can be decent,” I said, surprising myself with how defensive I sounded.

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“Huh,” Nick said, studying me. “You really like this guy, don’t you?”

I looked away, uncomfortable with the question. “It’s complicated.”

“Love usually is.”

I was saved from responding by a nurse approaching us. “Morgan family? Dr. Weaver will be with you shortly to discuss David Morgan’s condition.”

Nick and I exchanged glances. This must be the cardiologist Alexander had mentioned.

“Thank you,” I said to the nurse. “Our brother just went to get food. Should we wait for him?”

“Dr. Weaver will meet with you in the consultation room,” she said, gesturing down the hall. “Your brother can join you there when he returns.”

We followed her to a room with a round table and several chairs. Mom was already there, looking small and tired.

“Have you heard anything?” she asked as we entered.

“Dr. Weaver is coming to talk to us,” I explained, sitting beside her and taking her hand.

The door opened, and a tall man with salt–and–pepper hair entered. He wore a pristine white coat with “Dr. Marcus Weaver, Chief of Cardiology” embroidered on the pocket.

“Mrs. Morgan,” he said, shaking my mother’s hand. “I’m Dr. Weaver. I’ve been reviewing your husband’s case.”

“These are my children, Nicholas and Olivia,” Mom said. “Our youngest, Ethan, will be here shortly.”

Dr. Weaver nodded at us, then took a seat across the table. “I’ve reviewed your husband’s test results and consulted with his primary physician. The situation is serious but not hopeless.”

I felt Mom’s hand tighten in mine.

“Your husband has severe coronary artery disease,” Dr. Weaver continued. “Three of his major arteries are significantly blocked. We’re looking at triple bypass surgery.”

“When?” Mom asked, her voice remarkably steady.

“I’ve scheduled the procedure for this afternoon,” Dr. Weaver replied. “I don’t want to wait. The sooner we operate, the better his chances for a full recovery.”

“This afternoon?” I repeated, my heart racing. “That’s so soon.”

“It’s necessary,” Dr. Weaver said firmly. “Your father is at high risk for another, potentially fatal heart attack if we delay.”

The door opened, and Ethan walked in, carrying a paper bag that smelled of fresh bread and deli meat. He froze when he saw our faces.

“What did I miss?” he asked, his voice small.

“Dad needs triple bypass surgery,” Nick told him. “Today.”

Ethan set the bag down slowly. “How bad is it?”

Dr. Weaver turned to him. “You must be Ethan. I was just explaining to your family that your father’s condition requires

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immediate intervention. The surgery carries risks, as all surgeries do, but the alternative is far more dangerous.”

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