The room was dim, lit only by the cold blue glow of my laptop. Medical journals and research papers were scattered across my desk, each one a grim reminder of the battle raging inside me. My gaze lingered on the email from Dr. Richardson in London, the words burning into my mind.

“Mr. Blackwell, the surgery has a 30% chance of success. However, if you don’t undergo the procedure soon, it will be too late. The tumour is aggressive, and immediate action is required.”

Thirty percent. Not much, but it was something. My fingers trembled slightly as I shut my laptop, the sound echoing through the silent room like a verdict.

My phone buzzed on the table—Asher.

“Hello,” I said, forcing calm into my voice.

“Adrian, you didn’t come to the office today. What’s going on?” His tone was sharp, worried.

“I’m fine. Just needed some rest.”

“I’ll drop by later with the reports,” he insisted.

I hesitated. “Asher… I might fly to London soon.”

A long pause followed. Then his voice dropped, low and tense. “Don’t tell me you’re actually considering that surgery.”

“I am,” I admitted. “Richardson said if I delay, I lose my only chance.”

“Adrian, this is reckless. You still have time! What if the surgery fails?”

I exhaled slowly. “Then I die on the table instead of two months from now. Death is inevitable either way, Asher. But at least this way, I’ll go down fighting. I need to make sure Amara gets pregnant before I leave—that’s the only way my family’s legacy survives.”

Silence hummed between us. Then, quietly, Asher said, “Just… think before you throw your life away.”

But I already had.

I leaned back in my chair, staring at the framed wedding photo on my desk. Amara’s smile looked forced—beautiful, but distant. She despised me, and I didn’t blame her. I had been cold, harsh, even cruel at times. But I couldn’t afford compassion, not when weakness could destroy everything. She could never have known about the tumor. She had to see me as the unshakable man she married, not the dying one hiding behind closed doors.

“Adrian!” My mother’s voice echoed from the hallway, bright with excitement.

I snapped my laptop shut and stood quickly just as the door opened. My mother stepped in, Amara trailing behind her with a blank expression.

“Adrian,” my mother said breathlessly, “we just returned from the hospital. Amara is two weeks pregnant!”

For a moment, the world tilted. Relief surged through me like a tide, but beneath it was urgency—a chilling reminder of Dr. Richardson’s words. Immediate action is required.

“That’s… wonderful news,” I said, my voice even.

Amara met my gaze without warmth. “Congratulations,” she murmured flatly.

“I need to make a call,” I muttered and returned to my study before anyone could follow.

Within minutes, I had Dr. Richardson on the line. “It’s Adrian Blackwell. Schedule the surgery for tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” he repeated, startled. “Are you certain, Mr. Blackwell? This is a major decision.”

“I’m certain. I’ll be on a flight tonight.”

“Very well,” he said after a pause. “I’ll alert the team. But please remember the risks.”

“I understand.”

The call ended. I moved quickly, phoning the family lawyer, finalizing documents, and signing everything that needed my name. If the surgery failed, I wanted no lawsuits—no chaos. Just peace for my mother. And for Amara.

By sunset, everything was ready. I packed lightly—just the essentials—and headed downstairs. My mother was speaking softly with Amara and Madam Scarlett when I entered. All three turned to me.

“I have to leave for London,” I said casually. “Business meeting. I’ll be back in a few days.”

Amara’s eyes flickered, a brief spark of satisfaction. “So suddenly? You just found out I’m pregnant.”

“The timing isn’t ideal,” I replied with a small smile, “but the meeting is crucial.”

My mother clasped my hand. “Take care, Adrian. Don’t forget your medications. Dr. Carter’s trying his best, and I’ll keep praying for a miracle.”

I caught Amara rolling her eyes. A bitter amusement tugged at my lips. She’d probably celebrate if I never came back.

I bent to kiss my mother’s cheek. “I’ll be back soon.” Then, turning to Amara, my voice softened. “Take care of yourself—and the baby.”

She didn’t even try to hide her indifference. “Sure. Whatever you say.”

I nodded once, then walked out, closing the door behind me.

Hours later, as the plane cut through the clouds, I stared at the fading city lights below. Every heartbeat felt heavier than the last. I had done what I needed to do. Amara was pregnant. My mother was safe. The legacy was secure.

Now, all that remained was the fight for my life.

I closed my eyes, whispering to the darkness, “Thirty percent. Let’s see if that’s enough.”