The Illegitimate Flame: Bride of Ashes
Chapter 167- Are you crazy?

Chapter 167: Chapter 167- Are you crazy?

"Angela, you and Shaun stay here. I’m going to check on Janet." Samantha gave Angela a quick nod toward the OR before turning and heading down the corridor toward the patient ward.

"Don’t worry," Shaun said, slinging an arm around Angela’s shoulder, easily reading the worry etched on her face. "No matter what happens to Trista, this daughter-in-law is ours for sure."

His tone was light, but his meaning was serious. He wasn’t afraid of taking on the burden—Angela’s hidden worries were written all over her face, and he was already carrying them with her.

"You’re the best, hubby." Angela smiled through her tears, sniffling as her heart warmed.

They both knew Janet had another battle ahead, and it was obvious Charles wouldn’t be the one to truly care for Trista.

That responsibility would fall on them.

"Then how about showing some appreciation?" Shaun grinned shamelessly, pointing to the corner of his lips and winking at her.

Angela blushed furiously, elbowing his firm chest with a glare. "Be serious!"

"I am serious," Shaun said with a smirk. "If I weren’t, how do you explain Callum and Candy?"

Angela’s face turned even redder. Before she could respond, Shaun leaned in and stole a kiss from her flushed lips.

"Idiot." Angela shoved him away with a glare, but her steps had lightness to them now. The fear and tension from earlier had begun to ease, thanks to Shaun’s presence.

When Janet woke, it was already dawn.

Her first instinct was to reach for her belly—only for a sharp, stabbing pain to shoot through her abdomen, stealing the breath from her lungs.

She sucked in a cold gasp.

Her eyes fluttered open—

And found Charles holding her hand tightly.

"Janet, you’re awake!"

Charles’s voice was tight with relief and worry.

"Does it hurt? I’ll get the doctor!" He quickly pressed the nurse call button as she winced, her brows knitting in pain, her lips pale and trembling.

Moments later, the medical team entered and began checking her condition.

"No signs of infection," the doctor said after the exam. "She’ll still be in pain for a few days, but that’s normal. Mr. Elwin, there’s no need to worry."

He nodded respectfully to Charles before leaving the room with the nurse.

"I’m fine... Where’s Trista?"

Janet’s voice was hoarse but urgent.

The pain she had just endured was forgotten—her mind was only on her child. Her hands clawed at Charles’s shirt, pulling him closer, eyes wide with desperation.

She had kept her promise.

She had survived.

But what about their daughter?

Seeing the anxiety and worry so plainly written across her pale face, Charles’s chest tightened. He didn’t like it. He didn’t like how she was hurting herself—how she had no regard for her own body, her own pain.

How her eyes held nothing but Trista.

"Janet, don’t panic. Trista’s fine. She’s been moved to the neonatal ward," he said, gently prying her hands from his shirt and holding them more gently.

"You need to take it slow. You’re too weak right now to be moving like this."

"Is she really okay? No complications? She wasn’t supposed to be born for another three months!"

Janet’s eyes welled with tears. Her chest ached as she imagined how tiny her baby must be, how fragile. She wanted to see her, just once.

Just one glance.

But she couldn’t even do that.

She couldn’t even see her baby.

"She’s doing well, I promise," Charles said firmly. "But listen to me—right now, you need to focus on your recovery. When you’re strong enough, I’m sending you to Italy for the brain surgery."

His tone left no room for argument. This time, no matter how stubborn she was, he wouldn’t give in.

Reyn had already located Dr. Corrine.

The renowned neurosurgeon had agreed to operate—

But he wouldn’t come to L.A.

Which meant... Janet would have to go to Italy.

"No, Charles, you don’t understand..." Janet’s voice trembled as she clutched his sleeve, her eyes wide, unfocused. "Trista came from me... she’s a part of me. I love her. I need to know how she is. Please... let me see her, just once..."

Even though she couldn’t see her daughter, she trusted Charles wouldn’t lie to her.

"Okay, okay," Charles said gently, brushing her damp hair back. "But stop moving. I’ll take you there myself."

He knew if he didn’t let her see Trista, she’d never rest.

His handsome face was pale—his body still weak from the blood transfusion he had just given Trista. But of course, Janet couldn’t see that.

Charles carefully scooped her into his arms.

His embrace was steady and strong, and as he carried her down the corridor, Janet leaned her cheek against his chest, listening to the beat of his heart, her own racing in anticipation.

They were getting closer.

Closer to the incubator.

Closer to her.

She couldn’t see anything. But somewhere deep within her, she could feel it.

She could feel her daughter’s presence—fragile, tiny, but alive.

When Charles stopped in front of the glass of the NICU, he pointed toward the tiny figure lying within. His voice was hoarse, cracking with emotion.

"She looks like you... Big eyes. Straight nose. Tiny lips. Fair skin... just like yours..."

Looking at the fragile little figure under the oxygen mask, Charles’s voice caught in his throat.

He’d spent so long pretending she didn’t matter—pushing her away, pretending he couldn’t feel anything.

But now, face-to-face with the tiny girl, pale beyond normal, struggling to breathe...

His heart clenched in pain.

After a night of emergency care, Trista had finally pulled through.

But she weighed less than two kilos.

Her tiny arms and belly were full of needle marks.

The doctor said she would need to stay in the incubator for at least two months.

A healthy baby might only need a few days—but Trista was different.

Even her cries were faint, soft and fluttering, like whispers.

Only the moment she had been born—when she let out that first loud cry—did Janet know, in her hazy consciousness, that Trista was alive.

"Really? She’s really okay...?"

Janet pressed her palms to the glass, fingers trembling, tears pooling in her eyes.

"I want so badly to see her... Charles, what if something happens to her? I don’t think I can go through treatment if she..."

Her voice broke.

If Trista didn’t make it... what was the point of anything?

"You’ll see her. I promise. Once your vision returns, you’ll see her every day," Charles said firmly.

"She’s doing well now. Can we go back to your room?"

He couldn’t hold her gaze, not entirely. Her eyes—those once clear, shining eyes—were now clouded, expressionless.

He turned his face away, guilt rising in his chest.

His knees buckled slightly, and he staggered, but he didn’t let her fall.

Before she could answer, he turned and carried her back toward the ward.

He couldn’t bear to stay there any longer.

That tiny body lying behind the glass... that was his daughter.

No matter how hard his heart had been—he wasn’t made of stone.

"Charles..." Janet whispered as she curled weakly into his chest. "Will there really be a day... when I can see her? And... you?"

Something inside her whispered that something was off.

She couldn’t explain it. Couldn’t see it.

But she could feel it—something looming just out of reach, something Charles wasn’t saying.

"There will," Charles whispered. "I’ll wait for you. No matter how long it takes—I’ll wait."

He laid her gently back on the bed just as the nurse came in to hook up her IV. He leaned in, pressed a soft kiss to her forehead—

Then staggered back.

His vision blurred.

Shaun, who had just entered, caught him before he collapsed.

"Are you crazy?" he hissed, dragging Charles out of the room. "You just donated blood and haven’t closed your eyes once. You wanna die now?!"

Even Shaun couldn’t bear to watch anymore.

Charles had completely forgotten himself—lost everything but Janet.