Chapter 125

Angela POV

"Mrs. Shaw?"

My head snapped up at the doctor's words, a correction poised on my lips before I swallowed it back.

"I'm Dr. Keller," the woman continued, extending a folder. "I have Mr. Shaw's preliminary diagnosis."

I accepted the medical report with steady hands despite my inner turmoil. An hour had passed since Sean had collapsed in the hotel doorway, since I'd called an ambulance while his unconscious form lay heavy against me.

"Mr. Shaw is suffering from severe gastric ulcers," Dr. Keller explained. "The fainting episode was triggered by a combination of acute symptoms, malnutrition, exhaustion, and psychological stress."

"Malnutrition?" I couldn't mask my surprise. The words seemed incongruous with the Sean Shaw I remembered-powerful, invincible, a man who commanded boardrooms and bent industries to his will. "That can't be right."

Dr. Keller's expression softened slightly. "I understand your disbelief, but the tests are quite clear. Mr. Shaw's condition indicates prolonged nutritional deficiency, coupled with excessive alcohol consumption-particularly whiskey, which is especially harsh on the gastric lining."

My mind flashed to Olivia's stories about Sean at The Rain, drinking alone night after night. The image seemed so at odds with the man I had known.

"What happens now?" I asked, refocusing on the present.

"We strongly recommend immediate hospitalization. Without proper treatment, Mr. Shaw risks serious complications, including gastric perforation."

"Of course. Whatever is necessary for his recovery."

"I must emphasize," Dr. Keller added, her tone growing grave, "that your partner must completely abstain from alcohol. Even a single drink could trigger severe consequences given the current state of his gastric lining."

Partner. Five years divorced, yet here I was, mistaken for his wife.

"I'll make sure he understands," I replied instead.

"Excellent. If you'd proceed to the front desk, they'll help you with the admission paperwork and fees."

"The deposit for our VIP suite comes to $30,000, with additional daily charges," the receptionist explained, her voice pleasant but firm. "How would you like to handle payment today?"

I opened my wallet, already knowing the futility of the gesture. My emergency cash wouldn't cover even a fraction of the amount, and my credit card was approaching its limit after the recent business expenses.

For a brief moment, I considered calling Christopher, but quickly dismissed the thought. Explaining Sean's condition to him would lead to questions I wasn't prepared to answer.

"One moment," I murmured, turning to where Sean's personal effects had been stored in a clear hospital bag.

I extracted his wallet-expensive Italian leather, the same style he'd always preferred. Opening it revealed a meticulously organized row of credit cards, placed in the exact order I remembered from our marriage. Nothing had changed in five years, not even this small habit.

My fingers hesitated over the black American Express Centurion card before decisively pulling it out. As I handed it to the receptionist, a new worry surfaced: the PIN code.

What would Sean use now? He'd always been methodical about security, changing passwords regularly-except for the one he'd used during our marriage. The one tied to our anniversary.

He must have changed it by now, I thought, watching the receptionist slide the card through the reader. Five years is more than enough time to erase such vestiges of a failed marriage.

When prompted, I hesitated before inputting the familiar four digits. My heart raced as I pressed the final number, half-expecting an error message.

Instead, the terminal beeped its acceptance.

"Perfect," the receptionist smiled, printing the receipt. "Everything's processed. Here are the admission forms."

I accepted the papers automatically, my thoughts spinning. He kept the same PIN code. For five years, he kept my birthday as his password.

For someone as meticulously careful as Sean Shaw, this wasn't mere oversight. What did it mean that he'd preserved this one connection to our shared past?

I entered Sean's hospital room just as a nurse finished checking his vital signs. She acknowledged me with a quick nod before exiting quietly.

Alone with him now, I approached the bed slowly. Sean lay unnaturally still, his normally commanding presence diminished by the hospital gown and IV lines. His face was ashen, lips cracked from dehydration, dark circles shadowing his closed eyes.

I sank into the visitor's chair beside him, studying this unfamiliar version of Sean Shaw. Never had I seen him so vulnerable, so human. The man who had once possessed my heart completely now looked almost fragile against the white hospital linens.

What had driven him to this state? The Sean I remembered had been disciplined to a fault, meticulous about his health, controlled in all things. This collapse spoke of a different man entirely-one who had abandoned self-care, who had pushed his body beyond its limits.

I recalled his irritability at the hotel room door, his unsteady stance, the sweat beading on his forehead. Signs I should have recognized immediately but had mistaken for anger or arrogance.

I sighed and pulled out my phone, dialing Marcus's number.

"Angela! Where are you? How did the meeting with Shaw go?" Marcus's eager voice filled my ear.

"I'm at New York-Presbyterian." I hesitated. "Sean collapsed during our meeting. I had to call an ambulance."

"What? Is he alright? Did something happen between you two?" The concern in Marcus's voice shifted quickly to business implications. "This won't affect the investment, will it?"

"Nothing happened," I assured him. "He was already ill when I arrived. Listen, Marcus, do you have contact information for his assistant, Thomas? I need to reach him immediately."

"Thomas? No, I don't have his direct line." Marcus paused. "I could try to get it through some connections at Shaw Group, but it might take time."

"That won't work," I replied, glancing at Sean's still form. "The situation is urgent. I'll check Sean's phone-I need to notify Thomas without involving the rest of the Shaw family directly."

After ending the call, I stared at Sean's iPhone on the side table. The simple black device represented a line I wasn't sure I should cross, despite my practical reasons for needing access.

I picked it up, the weight familiar in my palm. Five years ago, I had known his password-my birthday, an unexpected sentimentality from a man who rarely displayed emotion openly. But surely he would have changed it by now.

This is only to contact Thomas, I reminded myself. Nothing more.

My fingers moved automatically, muscle memory guiding them through the familiar pattern. Before pressing the final digit, I paused, looking up at Sean's unconscious form. With a deep breath, I completed the sequence.

The phone unlocked immediately.

I stared at the home screen, my heart pounding. Five years of separation, anger, and hurt-yet he still used my birthday as his password.

"Five years," I whispered, my voice barely audible in the quiet room. "Why would you still use my birthday after all this time?"

Sean gave no answer, his secrets locked away in unconsciousness while I sat alone with my questions.