Chapter 113: Getting Checked Up

Sunlight seeped through the curtains, drawing soft streaks across the marble floor of Hana’s condo. The city was already awake below, though up here, the morning felt quiet.Timothy stirred on the couch, his jacket draped over him like a makeshift blanket. He blinked a few times, adjusting to the light. His phone buzzed quietly beside him, unread messages, meeting reminders, and a dozen missed calls from his executives. He ignored them all for now.

His gaze shifted toward the bedroom door, left slightly open. Hana was still asleep. He could hear her faint breathing, steady but shallow. He had stayed because she asked him to, and because he couldn’t bring himself to leave knowing she was still burning with fever last night.

Timothy stood quietly, moving to the kitchen to prepare a glass of water. When he returned to check on her, he found Hana sitting weakly at the edge of the bed, one hand pressed against her temple.

"You’re awake," he said softly.

She looked up at him, her voice barely above a whisper. "You stayed..."

"I told you I would," he said, setting the glass beside her. "How do you feel?"

She gave a faint smile that didn’t reach her eyes. "Still dizzy. My head feels heavy."

Timothy placed the back of his hand on her forehead again. It was still hot. "Your fever hasn’t gone down."

Hana exhaled, half in frustration, half in resignation. "I thought it would after sleeping..."

He shook his head. "No, you’re getting worse. We’re going to St. Luke’s."

"Tim," she began weakly, "that’s not necessary—"

"It is," he interrupted gently. "You’re not fine. I’m not taking chances."

Hana looked at him for a long moment, then nodded silently. "Alright."

He grabbed his phone and walked toward the window. "Mendez, bring the helicopter back to Trion Towers," he said through his earpiece. "We’re heading to St. Luke’s."

"Understood, sir. ETA, twenty minutes," came the pilot’s clear reply.

"Take a bath," Timothy said, "then get dressed. I’ll get your things ready."

Hana hesitated, her voice faint. "You really don’t have to—"

"I do," he interrupted gently, meeting her eyes. "You can argue with me later, but right now, we’re getting you to a doctor."

Something in his tone made her nod without another word. She rose slowly from the bed, still lightheaded, and walked toward the bathroom. Timothy stayed nearby just in case, listening to the sound of the running shower a minute later.

While she bathed, he quietly moved around her unit, packing a few essentials, her phone, charger, a change of clothes, some medication from the counter. He folded them neatly into her small shoulder bag, then sent a quick message to his executive assistant: Reschedule all meetings for today. Personal emergency.

The reply came instantly: Understood, sir.

Timothy helped her sit by the couch again, slipping her shoes on for her before she could protest. "You really don’t have to,"

"Yeah, I know," he said softly, a small smile flickering at the corner of his mouth. "But I want to."

Before she could respond, the low, distant hum of rotor blades began to echo from above. The sound grew stronger with every second the helicopter had returned.

Timothy helped her stand, supporting her with a hand at her back. "Come on," he said quietly. "Let’s get you checked."

***

The elevator ride was silent. Hana leaned slightly against his arm, her breathing shallow but steady. When the doors opened onto the rooftop, the ACH175 stood waiting.

Mendez, the pilot, gave a crisp nod as they approached. "Hospital clearance secured, sir. St. Luke’s helipad is ready for landing."

"Good," Timothy replied, steadying Hana as they climbed aboard.

The cabin door sealed shut, and the helicopter lifted off. The ground fell away, BGC shrinking beneath them as clouds rolled past the windows. Timothy glanced at her, she sat quietly beside him, eyes half-closed, her skin still pale. He reached out, taking her hand without a word.

She looked up weakly, her voice almost a whisper through the headset. "You didn’t have to go through all this trouble."

Timothy’s tone was low but certain. "It’s not trouble."

As the aircraft banked toward Quezon City, the white facade of St. Luke’s Medical Center came into view.

The helicopter touched down gently on the rooftop helipad of St. Luke’s Medical Center, the whirring blades slowing to a steady hum as the landing crew approached.

Timothy unbuckled his harness and helped Hana with hers. "Easy," he said softly as he guided her out of the cabin. The downwash from the rotor whipped through her hair and clothes, but he kept one arm firmly around her shoulder to steady her.

Two hospital staff in white coats and masks met them halfway, pushing a stretcher. A nurse looked up, instantly recognizing him. "Mr. Guerrero? We’ve been informed of your arrival. This way, please."

"It’s not critical," Timothy said, motioning to the stretcher. "She can walk."

"Understood, sir. We’ll escort you to the private wing," the nurse replied politely.

After a short elevator ride, they arrived at one of the hospital’s executive suites. A doctor in his late forties, wearing a stethoscope and an ID badge that read Dr. Romero, Internal Medicine, was already waiting.

"Good morning, Mr. Guerrero," he greeted professionally before turning his attention to Hana. "This must be Ms. Seo?"

Timothy nodded. "Yes. She’s been running a fever since last night. It hasn’t gone down despite rest."

Dr. Romero gave a calm nod. "Let’s get your vitals checked first."

The nurse guided Hana to sit on the bed, wrapping the blood pressure cuff around her arm and taking her temperature. Timothy watched silently from a few feet away, arms crossed, his expression unreadable but tense.

"Blood pressure is slightly low, sir," the nurse said, glancing at the monitor. "Temperature, thirty-eight point six."

Dr. Romero nodded thoughtfully and began his examination, asking Hana a few gentle questions. "Have you been eating regularly? Any nausea, chills, or body aches?"

"Mostly fatigue," Hana admitted. "I barely slept last night."

"Any dizziness or shortness of breath?"


"Just dizziness earlier this morning."

The doctor finished checking her pulse and noted something on his tablet before looking up. "It doesn’t seem serious," he said reassuringly. "Likely a viral infection, exhaustion and lack of rest worsened it. I’ll prescribe antipyretics and fluids. She just needs proper sleep and nutrition for a few days."

Timothy exhaled quietly, relief washing over his features. "So no hospitalization?"

Dr. Romero smiled faintly. "Not unless her fever spikes above thirty-nine or lasts beyond seventy-two hours. I’d recommend home rest and light meals. I’ll have the nurse administer a paracetamol injection to bring the fever down, and we’ll send you home with medications."

Hana nodded weakly. "Thank you, doctor."

Timothy turned to the nurse. "I’ll handle the billing and prescriptions. Please make sure she’s comfortable first."

"Yes, sir," the nurse replied with a polite bow before heading off to prepare the medicine.