Chapter9 When Weston Vale carried Ivy Sloane into the car, the skies above Harbor City shifted without warning. Moments ago the day had been clear; now, thick clouds pressed low and heavy, swallowing the light. Weston's chest tightened. Unbidden, an image flashed across his mind, Jewel Whitmore's face, pale and hollow, sealed inside that coffin on the cliff. "Mr. Vale..." Ethan Cole, his assistant, cast a worried glance at the storm outside. "Should we... bring Mrs. Vale out? It's about to pour." Weston's expression hardened. "No. The coffin lid will keep the rain off. If she comes out early, the ritual won't work. When the three days are up, I'll make it up to her." Grayson Sloane, eyes fixed on Ivy's fragile body, snorted. "It's only three days. Why panic?" Ethan bit back the rest of his protest, sinking into silence. At the hospital, doctors and nurses worked frantically over Ivy until she finally stirred awake. Her lashes trembled, eyes filling with tears as her voice came out weak, breathy. "Grayson, Weston... it's all my fault. Jewel has to suffer in that coffin because of me. Maybe we should let her out... I don't deserve this." "Don't talk nonsense." Grayson wiped her tears away with infinite patience. "Her praying for you is the greatest blessing she could ever have. Don't feel guilty." Weston handed her a glass of warm water. His voice was calm, almost indulgent. "Don't cry. You've just had a transplant, your body can't take this much emotion. Jewel's never known hardship in her life. This experience will... toughen her up. It isn't all bad." Ivy's eyes glistened with gratitude, her fingers trembling as she clutched his hand. "Then... Weston, will you stay with me tonight? It's so dark, and I'm terrified..." The storm outside answered for him. Lightning split the sky; thunder cracked so loud the windows rattled. Ivy shrank against the pillows, trembling like a frightened child. "Grayson, please..." she whimpered, looking pitifully at Grayson. "Convince him. I really am so scared." Chapter9 7.50% Grayson chuckled softly, brushing a hand over her black hair with brotherly indulgence. "You're grown, and still afraid of thunder. Aren't you worried people will laugh at you?" He smiled, then glanced at Weston. "I'll make the decision for him. He'll stay with you tonight." Relief lit Ivy's face, her joy immediate and bright. But Weston's gaze lingered on her, and another memory pressed into his mind, Jewel, years ago, curled against him in the middle of a thunderstorm, shivering as she begged him not to leave her side. Now... she was alone, locked in a coffin, the storm crashing all around. Was she trembling the same way? Was she waiting for him to come? A wave of irritation coursed through him, sharp and restless. But he forced it down, his tone steady when he finally answered. "Don't be afraid. I'll stay." Ivy beamed. Night fell. As Weston stood by the window, making a phone call, Ivy slipped a small packet from her pocket. With practiced ease, she poured its contents into the glass of water by her bed. By the time Weston returned, the powder had already dissolved, leaving the water clear, harmless-looking. "You've been on the phone so long," she said sweetly, offering him the glass. "Your throat must be dry. Drink this." Weston, unsuspecting, drained it in one swallow. Moments later, their bodies tangled together, the storm outside raging in tandem with their fevered breaths. Thunder boomed, rain hammered the windows, and the sound of Ivy's breathless cries mingled with Weston's low groans, so loud that passing nurses flushed scarlet and hurried on without looking inside. Chapter9 Discover our latest featured short drama reel. Watch now and enjoy the story!