How to Train Your Ex-Billionaire novel Chapter 210

"Then why don't you just hire another caregiver?"

"There are no more available from the service, and I can't find one on such short notice." Yvan groaned. "Can you please come and help me for a bit? And bring me some soup on the way? Once the anesthesia wears off, I can manage on my own."

"Yvan, I swear I'm going to be the death of you!" Winifred seethed before hanging up.

In the end, she bought some soup and took it to the gastroenterology department.

Yvan had already finished his gastroscopy and was lying in bed with an IV. The moment he saw Winifred, his eyes lit up.

"Yvan, are you some kind of human jinx?" Winifred slammed the soup down on the table. "First, you make me bring you to the hospital in the middle of the night, causing me to lose sleep. Now you've managed to get your caregiver to break a bone."

She had just asked around and confirmed that the caregiver assigned to Yvan had indeed fallen and fractured his tailbone.

Yvan pressed his lips together. "I'm sorry to trouble you."

"You don't look sorry at all," Winifred said irritably.

She saw the results sheet on the table and picked it up to read.

"Gastric mucosal injury and perforation," Winifred frowned. "Yvan, when did you develop stomach problems?"

Eating something spicy just once wouldn't cause damage this severe.

Yvan remained silent. After she had left Zion, he had gone three days without eating or drinking, surviving only on cigarettes and alcohol until he collapsed and was hospitalized. That's when his stomach problems had started.

Looking at his weak state, Winifred couldn't help but say, "Look at you. You're young, but you've already wrecked your body like this. Are you planning to die young?"

He must have been neglecting his health, smoking, drinking, and eating irregularly to end up with stomach issues.

"It's just a stomach problem. I'm fine," Yvan defended himself.

"'Fine'? You look like a sickly weakling. What's the difference?" Winifred said angrily.

Yvan lowered his eyes and said nothing.

Filled with frustration, Winifred roughly set up the small overbed table, raised the head of the bed, and not-so-gently placed the soup on it, opening the lid. "Eat up. soup is all you can have."

He couldn't bear the thought of another man possessing Winifred. Not even a kiss. Not even if that man was a good person, not even if Winifred liked him.

Under no circumstances.

He grabbed Winifred's shirt, pleading, "Can you not go?"

"Why shouldn't I go?" Winifred glanced at him. "Yvan, you were the one who said you wanted me to be happy. Marcus and I get along great. He makes me happy."

"I can make you happy too," Yvan said, looking at her. "And I have more money than him. I can buy you anything you want."

Winifred pulled her shirt out of his hand. "The only thing you have on him is money. But he's younger, and has more stamina. Look at you, a sickly weakling. How can you even compare?"

Yvan's face turned ashen.

"My body isn't bad. Feel it if you don't believe me." Yvan grabbed her hand and guided it to his chest and stomach. "The muscle definition isn’t there yet, but my physique isn’t bad. I'll take better care of myself from now on. Just give me some time, and I'll get an eight-pack for you."

Winifred was both mortified and furious, trying to pull her hand away. "Yvan, can’t you get it? It changes nothing. I don’t like you anymore — muscles or not."