The Billionaire Regretted Losing His Invisible Wife novel Chapter 156

Chapter 178 Treasure the time with your BFF

Chapter 178

Mia’s POV

I took her hand, squeezing gently. “Mom sent chicken soup. The magical cure-all kind that she used to make when we were kids.

”

“Your mom is a saint,” Scarlett sighed, sinking back into her pillows. “Morton’s been amazing, but he’s clueless about the

whole sick day thing. Keeps asking if I need a specialist or if we should go to the emergency room.”

“He’s worried about you,” I observed.

Something soft flickered across her fever-flushed face. “Yeah. It’s… nice.”

This was new territory for Scarlett, who had always fiercely maintained her independence.

“When did you start feeling sick?” I asked, changing the subject before she could retreat behind her usual sardonic defenses.

“Yesterday afternoon,” she admitted. “Just a headache at first. I thought it was from staring at spreadsheets too long. Then around dinner time, I started feeling achy all over. By bedtime, Morton said I was burning up.”

“And you didn’t call me?”

She had the grace to look slightly abashed. “You had just visited the children’s center and dealt with those reporters. I figured you had enough on your plate.”

I frowned. “How did you know about the reporters? I didn’t mention that when we spoke.”

Scarlett hesitated. “Thomas called Morton.”

Of course. I should have known their network of communication would be active.

Before I could pursue that line of questioning, Morton returned with a tray bearing three steaming mugs and a small plate of crackers.

“Ginger tea with honey,” he announced, setting the tray on the nightstand. “Dr. Klein recommended it for your throat.”

Scarlett smiled up at him with surprising softness. “Thank you.”

I watched their interaction with fascination.

“Can you help me sit up a bit?” Scarlett asked, and Morton immediately moved to adjust her pillows, his hands gentle as he supported her back.

“Better?” he asked when she was settled.

She nodded, accepting the mug he offered with careful hands. “Much.”

Their fingers brushed during the exchange, and neither pulled away too quickly.

“I brought soup,” I said, breaking the moment before I started imagining wedding bells. “Mom’s special recipe. Should I heat some up for you?”

“Maybe in a little bit,” Scarlett replied, bringing the tea to her lips for a cautious sip. “The tea is helping my throat.”

Morton settled on the edge of the bed beside her, “Did you take more medicine?” he asked, placing a hand on her forehead to gauge her temperature.

She nodded. “About an hour ago. It’s helping, I think.”

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“Your fever’s down a little,” he confirmed, relief evident in his voice.

“Told you it was just a bug, she mumbled, though she leaned slightly into his touch, contradicting her dismissive words.

Gas, perhaps sensing he was being ignored, whined softly from his position at my feet

“Is that Gas?” Scarlett peered over the edge of the bed. “You brought my favorite furry nephew!”

“He insisted,” I said, scratching behind his ears. “Wanted to check on his Aunt Scarlett.”

“Come here, handsome,” she cooed, patting the bed beside her.

Gas looked to me for permission, his tail wagging hopefully.

“Not on the bed, buddy,” I said firmly. “Scarlett’s sick. We don’t want you catching anything.”

“Dogs don’t catch human viruses,” Scarlett protested, but her voice lacked its usual force. “Do they?”

“Probably not, but let’s not risk it,” I said reasonably. “Besides, if he jumps up there, he’ll never want to get down, and you need your rest.”

She sighed, conceding the point. “Fine. But he gets extra treats next time you both visit.”

Gas, seeming to understand he was being discussed, wagged his tail enthusiastically.

Morton cleared his throat. “Perhaps I should check on dinner while you ladies catch up,” he suggested tactfully, rising from the bed. “I put a roast in the slow cooker earlier.”

“You’re cooking?” I asked, unable to hide my surprise. Morton James had always struck me as the type who considered “cooking “to mean instructing his chef over the phone.

He smiled slightly. “I have a few skills beyond spreadsheets and stock portfolios. Nothing fancy, but Scarlett needs proper

nutrition.”

“He’s been watching cooking videos on YouTube,” Scarlett informed me with an amused flutter of her eyelashes. “It’s adorable. Yesterday he made chicken noodle soup from scratch.”

“It was mediocre at best,” Morton admitted with surprising humility. “But practice makes perfect.”

As he left the room, closing the door softly behind him, “He’s a good man,” I said.

Scarlett snorted, then immediately regretted it, pressing a hand to her sinuses. “Ouch. Don’t make me laugh. Or snort. Or express any emotion that involves facial movement.”

“Sorry.”

Scarlett is sick, and I don’t want to bring up my bullshit to upset her anymore. So I don’t want to say anything more about Kyle or Thomas today.

“You can get sick too, Scar. When was the last time you got sick?” I touched her cheek.

She sighed, sinking back against her pillows. “Honestly? Like crap. My throat feels like I swallowed broken glass, my head is pounding, and I’m alternating between freezing and burning up.”

“Classic flu symptoms,” I nodded sympathetically. “Did Dr. Klein prescribe anything besides fever reducers?”

“Some antivirals, in case it turns out to be actual influenza,” she replied. “And strict instructions to rest and stay hydrated. Boring, but apparently effective.”

“And Morton’s been playing nurse?”

A small, almost shy smile lifted the corners of her mouth. “He’s been amazing, actually. Cancelled all his meetings, made me

Chaptic on the the time with yo

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soup, hasn’t complained once about tny whining.”

“You, whining? I can’t imagine.”

“Shut up,” she mumbled, though there was no heat in it. “I’m a terrible patient. I know this about myself.”

“The worst,” I agreed cheerfully. “Remember when you had your wisdom teeth out in college? I thought our RA was going to evict us both from the dorm.”

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