She nodded weakly, clutching her abdomen as the burning intensified, biting her lip to hold back a cry. "Sir... could you take me to the hospital first?" "Of course!" He swung the cab around and reached the hospital within minutes. The moment Anastasia stepped out, her throat convulsed, and she vomited into a nearby trash can. A tissue appeared in front of her. A familiar voice followed, laced with mocking amusement. "Ms. Abbott, why do you always look like such a mess every time we run into each other?" Anastasia froze. That voice-she knew it. Slowly, she turned. Winston wore a sleek black suit, his shirt collar unbuttoned, no tie in sight, as though he had just slipped away from a late-night party. A faint trace of alcohol clung to him, but it wasn't off-putting-almost intoxicating in its own way. His gaze lingered on her, playful and mocking, his tone cool and unbothered. "Why are you staring at me like that? You don't recognize me?" Anastasia froze, stunned to see Winston of all people here. The last time they had crossed paths had ended in disaster-she had stormed out after slapping him across the face. The memory sent her guard shooting up. Covering her mouth instinctively, she demanded, "What do you want now?" Winston only gave a careless shrug, amusement flickering across his face. "Relax. I haven't done anything to you." He leaned in, his smile curving deeper, voice low. "Or... do you actually want me to do something to you?" Anastasia was in no mood for his games. Nausea twisted her stomach, leaving her too drained to spar with him. She brushed past him toward the hospital doors. But she only managed a few steps before the pain doubled her over. Clutching her stomach and her face draining of color, she could barely breathe. Just as panic set in- wondering if she might collapse right there on the street-a firm hand caught her. Winston's fingers closed around her arm, a flash of genuine concern breaking through his teasing mask. "Can you walk?" he asked. Cold sweat soaked Anastasia's forehead. She forced a faint nod, though her voice refused to come out. 2/3 2:06 pm D The next moment, she was swept off her feet. Without warning. Winston had lifted her into his arms. You- "Save your strength," he cut her off, eyes fixed ahead, his tone sharp like he was scolding a child. "Why pretend you're fine? Do you think you'll get a reward for being stubborn?" Anastasia had no comeback. From his height-casily six-foot-two-he carried an air of raw strength. Pressed against his chest, she couldn't help noticing the curve of his Adam's apple. Too drained to speak, she rested against Winston's chest, delicate and yielding, listening to the steady thrum of his heart. Strangers on the street glanced their way, whispering to each other. To them, the scene could have been pulled from a glossy magazine-an impossibly handsome man carrying a fragile beauty in his arms. Before long, she was laid on a hospital bed and connected to an IV. The nurse, after finishing the injection, offered a gentle reminder, "Miss, your stomach is very sensitive. Don't eat raw seafood and drink cold beer together again, or your body won't be able to take it." B 3/3 2:06 pm DDDD. The Rose Who Chose His Rival Over Him +8 Pearls