Overbearing CEO's Contract Love
Chapter 268: Precautions

Chapter 268: Precautions

Bathed in sunlight, Emma Hart stood watching an elderly artist paint, occasionally stretching out her hand to see the splashes of colorful light through her fingers. While some say the sunlight is white, others claim it’s warm-toned, but to Emma, the sunlight appeared as a splendid burst of colors, vibrant and full of warmth.

Unbeknownst to her, Emma had been quietly observing the painter for over an hour when someone approached with a tray of fruits and supplements, greeting her warmly. "Miss Emma, there you are!" exclaimed a woman wearing a nurse’s cap, eagerly handing over the supplements. "Please, Miss Emma, eat these quickly."

Accepting the items with slight embarrassment, Emma appreciated the woman’s meticulous care. She swallowed what seemed like a tablet and then took the water the woman handed her. "Thank you," she said with a polite nod.

The nurse lingered, and Emma, seeking a moment of solitude, hinted, "You can go on with your tasks." Yet, the nurse stood there smiling, probably hoping to curry favor with Emma in front of Damian Sterling, possibly to earn a promotion to head nurse.

"I’m not busy, Miss Emma. Just let me know if you need anything," the nurse said, not quite grasping Emma’s subtle cue to leave. Her innocent face barely concealed her cunning intentions.

Emma, accustomed to such behavior from her travels with Damian Sterling, was not particularly surprised. "Really, that’s not necessary," she repeated earnestly, trying to convey her disinterest in further assistance without sounding harsh.

"I’m really fine, Miss Emma. I’ll just stand here; you go ahead with what you were doing," the nurse persisted innocently, still not catching on.

Internally, Emma felt a wave of frustration. As tranquil as the scene before her was—the artificial lake rippling gently amidst the surrounding skyscrapers, offering a semblance of peace—it lost its charm with the nurse’s unwelcome presence.

Finally, resigning herself to the inevitable, Emma thought, ’Well, I’ve been here most of the afternoon anyway. Might as well head back.’ Perhaps the hospital room would offer the quiet she craved.

Watching the elderly man paint intently beside her, Emma Hart murmured appreciatively, "It’s nice to have no one meddling."

The old man turned to her with a smile and suggested gently, "Better head back now, young lady."

Just as she turned to leave, her phone rang—it was her troublesome brother Max calling. Emma considered ignoring the call, but the thought of him potentially in trouble tugged at her heartstrings; she couldn’t just stand by.

"Hey, sis!" Max’s voice bubbled with excitement, surprisingly devoid of any worry, and even sounded cheerful.

"How are you doing? Did those people come looking for you again?" Emma asked, her voice laden with concern, unsure of how to handle any bad news he might share. After all, she hadn’t managed to secure the deed to the property yet; maybe her brother could buy a few more days.

To her surprise, Max’s voice came through gratefully, "Sis! I knew I could always count on you! Nothing’s too tough for you!"

What was happening? Since when had she become such a model sister?

"What’s going on?" Emma questioned, half-wondering if her brother had taken a hit to the head.

"Don’t play coy, sis! My account just grew by three hundred thousand; who else but you could do that? Okay, gotta go now!" Max hurriedly ended the call.

Three hundred thousand! Emma stood bewildered, not having the means to send such an amount at the flick of a wrist.

Who could have given her brother three hundred thousand? Could it be Damian Sterling? But she had just argued with him, and he had told her to earn her own money. Or maybe Oliver Westmore? But she hadn’t shared her troubles with Oliver.

Anxiously pacing back and forth in the hospital room with her phone in hand, someone knocked and entered, bringing a variety of nutritious and supposedly delicious soups. "Miss Emma, it’s time for your nourishment."

What a nuisance! Looking at the pot full of soup made Emma feel nauseous. No matter how gourmet the cooking or how exotic the ingredients, one could only stomach so much.

For the sake of her unborn child, she resigned herself to endure it.

A nurse approached Emma Hart with a bowl of soup, her hands delicate and her face youthful, showing no signs of fatigue despite the long nights. Even in her oversized pink uniform, the nurse’s petite and fragile frame was apparent. Emma wondered if Damian Sterling’s hospital was recruiting nurses or beauty pageant contestants.

Emma reached out to take the bowl, self-conscious about her own rougher hands, wishing to quickly hide them from view. "Mr. Sterling specifically instructed that you have this soup at this time each day," the nurse informed her.

Damian Sterling again? It seemed that his praises were sung daily, even in his absence. After serving the soup, the nurse pulled out a piece of paper from her pocket, densely filled with various care instructions, which she meticulously reviewed.

"This list was left by Mr. Sterling. It’s regarding your care instructions, Miss Emma, for us to follow," the nurse said with a sweet smile, seemingly devoid of any ulterior motives. After all, who wouldn’t feel a twinge of envy seeing such a handsome man being so attentive to another woman?

Emma took the list from her. It detailed her dietary preferences—nearly no restrictions, good appetite, and just to avoid foods not recommended for pregnant women.

What kind of care instructions were these? Emma felt reduced to nothing more than a glutton. None of the items on the list seemed to be written with genuine care; they all carried an undercurrent of the man’s arrogance.

Emma tossed the list back to the nurse. "This might not even be accurate!"

The nurse covered her mouth, giggling quietly, "It’s quite detailed. It shows Mr. Sterling cares a lot about you."

Everywhere she looked, it seemed Damian Sterling’s sycophants were lurking.

"Maybe he should care more about you," Emma retorted, propping herself up in bed with difficulty. This so-called care was just a way for him to dictate how she lived her life.