CEO loves me with all his soul.-Chapter 153. The Clue He Couldn’t See

Chapter 153: 153. The Clue He Couldn’t See
The first time Adrian had mentioned a headache, it was in passing — over breakfast, while slicing toast for Seraphina. He had winced slightly, massaged his temple with two fingers, and when Ethan looked at him questioningly, he’d smiled like it was nothing.
"Just a little strain," Adrian had said. "Probably from reading too long last night."
Ethan hadn’t pushed — not then.
But that was seven days ago.
And now, as Adrian sat on the edge of the bed in their shared room, shoulders hunched forward, hands pressed tightly to the sides of his head, Ethan stood frozen in the doorway — watching, helpless.
Adrian didn’t notice him at first. His body was trembling slightly, as if the pain was somewhere deeper than just the surface. Ethan crossed the room in three steps.
"Adrian?" His voice was low, cautious.
Adrian opened his eyes slowly. There were deep shadows under them now, purple-grey crescents that didn’t belong to his normally radiant skin. His silver eyes were dimmer, dulled by fatigue and something else — something unspoken.
"I’m fine," Adrian whispered.
"You’re not," Ethan said simply.
"I just— It’s not that bad."
"You’ve had this headache all week."
Adrian tried to stand, but Ethan gently held him in place with both hands on his shoulders.
"Stop pretending it’s nothing," Ethan said, more gently than Adrian expected. "You’ve been getting dizzy. I’ve seen it. You stumbled in the hallway two days ago."
"I thought it was just low sugar."
"You almost dropped Eira when you picked her up this morning."
Adrian flinched. "Don’t remind me."
Ethan stepped back and exhaled slowly. "We’re going to the hospital."
"No—"
"Yes." Ethan’s voice was steel now. "I’ve already packed a bag. Leclair said the kids can stay with them for the night. He and Augustin will handle them. You’re coming with me."
Adrian looked like he might argue again — stubborn to the last — but Ethan was already moving, already zipping up the overnight bag and slipping a coat around Adrian’s shoulders.
"This might be nothing," Ethan added, "but I won’t risk it."
Adrian closed his eyes for a moment, then nodded once. "Okay."
The twins — Seraphina and Aurelius — and little Eira were dropped off mid-afternoon.
Leclair was already waiting in his usual casual-formal blend: soft blue sweater, sharp black slacks, and an unreadable look on his face. Augustin wore a fuzzy hoodie with a cat face and was already on the floor with building blocks before Ethan could even speak.
"I can watch them," Augustin said. "And don’t argue. You guys have helped raise
our
kid too."
"Thanks," Ethan said, bending to hug each of his children.
Seraphina tilted her head. "Papa, where are you taking Daddy?"
"Just a little checkup," Ethan lied with a soft smile. "You be good, okay?"
"Only if you bring us sweets," Aurelius added.
"I’ll bring
healthy
sweets," Adrian muttered behind Ethan.
"Unacceptable," said Eira dramatically.
Augustin laughed. "Go. Before they stage a mutiny."
Ethan nodded. "Thanks. Truly."
By the time they reached the private medical wing Ethan had reserved, Adrian had gone quiet.
The nurse recognized them immediately, offering a room without needing papers. As always, their status opened doors — but neither of them had ever felt more human, more fragile, than now.
They ran blood work. Brain scans. Neuro-mapping. Adrian answered every question with calm precision — except for the one about sleep.
"How long have you been getting less than five hours a night?" the doctor asked.
Adrian looked down. "A few months. Maybe more."
Ethan blinked. "You
never
told me that."
Adrian looked guilty. "I didn’t want to worry you. You had the company. The kids. I thought if I pushed through, it would get better."
"It didn’t," Ethan said flatly.
"No," Adrian whispered. "It didn’t."
The doctor sighed. "The scans don’t show any major structural problems. But there’s something we need to monitor — a small pattern of cerebral inflammation. Could be stress-induced or tied to his Atop physiology."
That word hung in the air.
Atop.
The third gender. Born male, able to bear children, and gifted with rare neurological abilities — and weaknesses. Something Ethan always feared might someday be a target for complications.
Adrian squeezed his hand. "I’m not dying."
"Don’t say that," Ethan snapped, far too quickly. "Don’t even
joke
about that."
"I’m not," Adrian said gently. "I’m saying I’m still here."
The doctor gave them rest orders. A specific diet. A longer neurological observation. Adrian was told he’d need at least one week of complete rest — and another full workup in ten days.
Ethan sat beside him after the doctor left, one hand covering Adrian’s. His fingers trembled slightly.
"I’ve seen you fight the virus," Ethan said softly. "I’ve seen you decode bio-weapons in a day, raise kids, kiss my bruises, cook when you can’t even boil water, and look at me like I’m your whole world."
Adrian smiled weakly. "Because you
are
."
Ethan’s voice dropped lower. "And yet I didn’t notice how much
you
were hurting. That you were breaking a little more every day."
"You notice everything, Ethan. You just... didn’t want to panic."
Ethan exhaled. "I want you to promise something."
Adrian tilted his head. "What?"
"Stop hiding your pain."
Adrian hesitated, then nodded. "Okay. I promise."
Augustin was sprawled on the couch like a defeated general, a crayon in his hair, glitter on his nose, and two paper crowns jammed into his hoodie strings by Seraphina.
Leclair stepped in and paused at the sight.
"...What happened?"
"Chaos. War. Artistic betrayal," Augustin said dramatically.
Seraphina held up a drawing. "I made a comic of our family! Aurelius is a ninja. Eira is a space princess. Uncle Augustin is the villain."
"Hey!"
Leclair chuckled and sat down. "Let’s check on your parents later, alright? But for now, how about dinner?"
"Pizza," all three kids yelled.
Augustin threw a couch pillow at them. "Anarchy. Pure anarchy."
The hospital room was dark now, except for the dim orange lamp near Adrian’s bedside.
Ethan hadn’t moved for hours.
Adrian shifted in his sleep, murmuring softly, then stilled.
Ethan stood and adjusted the blanket around him. He bent down and kissed his temple — gentle, lingering, full of silent worry.
"I love you," he whispered. "And I’m sorry I let you carry all of this alone."
Adrian stirred, eyes fluttering open. "You didn’t let me. I’m just really good at hiding."
"I want you to be bad at hiding. From now on."
Adrian smiled, sleepy. "That’s unfair."
Ethan took his hand and kissed his knuckles. "I’d rather be unfair than lose you."
Adrian blinked up at him, eyes glassy with exhaustion — but peaceful now. "I’m okay. Especially with you here."
Ethan sat down again, hand never letting go.
.
.
The hospital room smelled of disinfectant and chamomile tea. Morning light filtered in through the blinds in thin stripes, washing over the pale cream walls like tentative fingers searching for something familiar.
Adrian stretched with a soft groan, the stiffness in his back pulling him into wakefulness. He blinked up at the ceiling, then slowly turned his head toward the chair beside his bed.
Ethan was still there.
He hadn’t moved since the night before. He sat with one elbow resting on the edge of the bed, chin propped against his fist, black eyes focused on something far away. The fingers of his other hand were laced loosely through Adrian’s, the grip gentle but constant, like he was afraid Adrian would vanish if he let go.
Adrian smiled faintly and cleared his throat.
"You’re still awake?"
Ethan’s gaze snapped to his instantly. "You’re up."
Adrian nodded. "I feel... better. Still a little foggy. But the pain’s gone."
Ethan stood quickly and poured water into a glass, handing it over.
Adrian took it with a soft thanks, sipped, then looked back at Ethan’s face. "You didn’t sleep?"
Ethan shrugged. "Not really."
Adrian frowned. "You look like you’re still expecting something to go wrong."
Ethan hesitated, then sat down again, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.
"I just... I keep thinking I missed something."
Adrian blinked. "Missed what?"
"I don’t know." Ethan rubbed his forehead. "You’ve been tired for months, Adrian. Headaches, nausea, insomnia... and none of it ever seemed serious enough to worry you. But it
should
have. I know you. You’re cautious with everything. So why didn’t you take it seriously?"
Adrian looked down, fingers curling around the blanket. "I guess... I didn’t want to worry you. Or maybe I didn’t want to worry
myself
. I kept brushing it off."
Ethan’s jaw tensed. "Or maybe someone
wanted
you to."
Adrian’s eyes snapped up. "Ethan."
"I don’t mean it as a conspiracy theory," Ethan said quickly. "I’m just saying... something doesn’t feel right. The inflammation in your scans, the neural sensitivity the doctor mentioned, even your past medical files—there’s no clear reason for it. But it doesn’t feel like just stress."
"You think it’s something else?"
"I don’t know. But I want to find out."
Adrian’s smile was tired but affectionate. "You’re being overly cautious."
"I’d rather be paranoid than bury you," Ethan said flatly.
That silenced Adrian for a moment. Then he reached out and gently tugged Ethan closer by his sleeve.
"Hey," he whispered. "I’m okay. Right now, I’m okay."
Ethan leaned his forehead against Adrian’s and exhaled shakily. "Yeah. But I want it to stay that way."