ACT 6, SCENE 4 — FEVER DREAMS
Late Night — Nearly 3 AM
The storm still raged.
Sarah's body burned up. The shock, the adrenaline crash
from her earlier fall—all of it hit her now. Her fever spiked. On
the bed, she curled tighter beneath her blanket, eyes heavy
and burning, her limbs aching. Her voice was gone. Her
hands clutched the fabric desperately, but the cold refused to leave her bones.
Meanwhile, in his study, Andrew was still on a call regarding the Dubai merger. His fingers tapped unconsciously on his lap—mind distracted, always on her. He opened the security feed and saw her, trembling.
"She's shivering."
He stood abruptly, knocking the chair back.
"Lian, handle this," he ordered curtly before striding toward her room, long purposeful steps echoing through the hallway. The Dubai call was forgotten. He dialed another number:
"Elena—bring soup and medicine. Now. Quick."
---
Sarah woke to fire under her skin. The ceiling swam. The room lurched as she tried to sit up. A cool hand pressed against her forehead.
"You're burning up," Andrew's voice murmured, rough with sleep.
She blinked. Since when had he been in the armchair? His glasses were askew, tie gone, hair tousled.
"You stayed?" she croaked.
His jaw clenched. "I told you I would."
He helped her sit upright, propped pillows behind her back, and wrapped the blanket around her shoulders. He took a bowl from the nightstand, blew on the spoon, and fed her slowly. Then he pressed medicine to her lips.
That's when he froze. Her journal was open on the table.
Title: Things I Will Never Say (To Him)
> You are the knife and the wound.
The shadow I press my back to at night.
If I let myself want you, will I vanish?
You make it impossible to hate you.
I convince myself. Lie to myself.
You are not real. But the locket? Proof.
What if it's a dream? What if I'm alone again?
I don't want to vanish.
–S.
Andrew's eyes scanned the lines. She lunged—too slow.
"No—!"
He read them aloud, voice low, unreadable. Silence followed.
Mortified, Sarah hid her face in the sheets. "Kill me now."
Andrew set the journal down with unnatural care. "You think I'd let you vanish?"
A hysterical laugh escaped her lips. "You kidnapped me!"
"And you held onto my sleeve," he shot back.
She flushed deeper. "I was dizzy!"
"Liar."
The word hung between them, charged.
Then Andrew did something unexpected. He knelt beside the bed, bringing himself to her eye level.
"Sarah," he murmured, "write me into your next poem. As the man who waits—not the shadow."
Her breath hitched. He pulled a lavender fountain pen from his pocket—her favorite—and pressed it into her palm.
"For the things you will say... when you're ready."
Then he stood, adjusting his glasses like armor. "Sleep. I'll be here."
---
Next Morning. Dawn.
Sarah woke to sunlight and the addictive scent of coffee and cologne. The armchair was empty—but indented. A black jacket was slung over it. Her journal was closed—too neatly. A steaming mug sat on her nightstand. One sugar. How did he know?
A post-it note read:
> "Gone to handle Dubai. Don't set the mansion on fire.
–A."
She touched the ink. Still warm.
A knock. Elena entered with a tray—and a smirk.
"Lord Andrew left orders: tea, toast, and..." She placed a small velvet box beside the tray. "For your writing."
Sarah blinked. Another gift?
Inside were lavender ink cartridges for the fountain pen.
She sipped the tea, stunned.
Elena leaned in, whispering, "He stayed till sunrise. When I brought his coffee, he was reading your poems—with tears in his eyes, Miss."
Sarah choked. "He was—?"
Elena exited. Sarah flipped open her journal again—and gasped.
Beneath her poem, in unfamiliar sharp handwriting:
> You won't vanish.
I'd follow you in the dark.
–A.K.
Her heart skipped.
Then—a soft rustle at the door.
Andrew stood there. Shirt half-done. Hair damp from a shower.
"You lied," she said, brows furrowed.
"You noticed," he murmured.
"You read my—"
"Yes."
He stepped closer, his shadow stretching over her. "And you let me."
A blush crept up her neck.
"The Dubai call?"
"Cancelled," he said. "I told them my heart wasn't in it."
The air crackled.
Then—
The doorbell rang.
A voice called out from below:
"Sarah? Andrew? You two hiding?"
It was Sam.
Andrew's eye twitched. "I am murdering him."
Sarah laughed—bright, startled.
Andrew stared like she'd hung the moon.
Sam's voice grew louder. "Are they upstairs? I bet they are—"
Andrew snapped: "Five seconds. Sarah—hide, or be seen."
She grabbed his tie, yanked him into the bathroom, and locked the door.
Then walked out into the room.
TO BE CONTINUED...
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