Winter in New York had already turned bone-chilling. Satan coughed softly, trying to suppress the sound, but even his restrained effort echoed with a rasp that made Emily feel uneasy. The kind of deep, hoarse cough that hinted at something far worse. “You shouldn’t be out here in the cold," Emily said. "Dylan already works too hard, and now he has to babysit you, taking care of your health. How much are you paying him to make him willing to play nurse for you?” Satan’s complexion was pale. He wiped the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand and quietly tucked it behind his back. “I’ll give Dylan the best compensation.” But Emily had already noticed his movements. Her gaze followed his hidden hand. “Show me.” “I’m fine.” Emily didn’t buy it. She reached over and pulled his hand from behind his back. “What’s this?” She pointed to the streak of red on his fingertips. “You’re coughing up blood again?” “It’s nothing.” “Coughing up blood is ‘nothing’? What does ‘serious’ look like, then? Get in the car. I’m taking you to the hospital,” she demanded, already moving around the car to the driver’s seat. When Satan hesitated outside the car, she honked impatiently. “Hurry up! You’ve got thousands of employees depending on you. If you collapse, that’s on me.” He smiled slightly, opened the door, and slid into the passenger seat. “Seatbelt,” Emily said sharply. “Right.” “Don’t just say ‘right,’ buckle it!” She glared at him, seeing him still idle, and leaned over to fasten it herself. “It’s your throat that’s injured, not your hands. How is buckling a seatbelt so hard for you?” “Emily,” Satan began. “I’m driving. If you have something to say, spit it out,” she snapped, maneuvering the car into traffic. He watched her with a softened expression, releasing a deep sigh. “You know, these last few days, you’ve been calling me ‘boss,’ treating me all formally like we’re strangers. It hurts more than anything else. But just now, when you got mad at me… I actually felt happy.” “Id.iot,” Emily retorted, rolling her eyes as she drove. “You’ve lost it.” “Maybe,” Satan said, chuckling quietly. “When I woke up after the accident and found out you and our baby were gone, I spiraled into depression. No psychologist could help. I stared at the IV in my hand, wanting to rip it out and just end it all. I thought, if you and the baby were gone, I’d follow. I couldn’t leave you alone, not up there.” “…” “But I couldn’t move, wrapped in bandages, unable to do anything. Lucky me. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be seeing you right now.” “Stop talking.” “Okay.” “Close the window. It’s too cold outside.” “Okay.” “Drink some water.” “Okay.” Emily was losing patience with his meekness. Every demand she made, Satan met without resistance, no matter how trivial. A part of her wanted to test the limits of this newfound compliance—if she asked him to stop chasing after her, would he agree as easily? But she held her tongue. He was still recovering; there was no point in pushing it further. They arrived at the hospital, and Emily immediately ushered Satan into the emergency room, informing the nurse about his condition. The doctors wasted no time, wheeling him into a treatment room, running tests, drawing blood, and surrounding the small hospital bed with medical staff. Emily stood outside the room, unable to help, so she stayed out of the way, leaning against the wall to wait. She didn’t want to interfere with the doctors or hold up their work. “Emily,” came a raspy voice from inside the room. His voice was even more strained now. A doctor quickly interjected, frowning, “Sir, you really can’t speak anymore. Your vocal cords are severely damaged. If you keep talking, they may tear again…” “I know,” Satan replied, his voice hoarse. “I just want to see her, make sure she’s still here.”The doctor sighed. “Are you talking about the woman who came with you?” “Yes.” “I’ll bring her in. But you have to stop talking.” “Okay.” The doctor turned to Emily, beckoning her over. “Miss, he won’t cooperate unless he sees you. Can you come in? Otherwise, he’ll keep talking, and his vocal cords can’t handle that right now.” Emily frowned. “If I go in, won’t I be in the way?” “If you don’t go in, you’ll be the one in the way. He’s stubborn, insisting on talking until he sees you. His vocal cords are already fragile, and this could cause permanent damage.” Emily sighed in frustration but followed the doctor into the room. Satan was lying on the bed, letting the nurses check his vitals. When he saw her enter, his face lit up, and he reached out a hand toward her. Emily stepped back instinctively. His hand hung awkwardly in the air, before he slowly let it drop, defeated. The doctor glanced between them, puzzled. “Wait… you two aren’t a couple?” “No,” Emily said firmly. “No,” Satan echoed, to her surprise. But then he added, “We’re married.” The doctor nodded, clearly misunderstanding. “Got it. A lovers’ spat, huh? Well, ma’am, your husband’s condition is serious. Maybe save the arguing for when he’s better?” Emily was exasperated. “We’re not married.” “Fine, fine,” the doctor said, dismissing her protests. “But this is a hospital, not a courtroom. Right now, it’s about your husband’s health. If he keeps talking, he could lose his voice permanently. You wouldn’t want that, would you?” That shut Emily up. As much as she wanted to correct the misunderstanding, now wasn’t the time. “Alright, your wife’s here now, so will you cooperate with us?” the doctor asked Satan. Satan nodded, finally staying silent.“Good,” the doctor muttered, continuing the examination. “You know, marriage is fate. You two should cherish what you have."