Chapter 5 Only One Month

The bathroom door clicked shut. The sound of running water filled the silence.

Aurora leaned back against the sofa, eyes closed, her heart still pounding violently.

The doorbell rang.

Once. Twice. Three times. Persistent, as if whoever was outside knew someone was home.

Aurora hesitated, then walked over and opened the door.

A woman stood in the hallway—light blue coat, flawless makeup. It was Tiffany, the same woman who'd been standing beside Michael in the news broadcast.

She looked exactly as she always had: perpetually fragile, perpetually pitiful.

Years ago, Aurora's father, Nathan Rivera, had an affair with Tiffany's mother. Now her own husband was involved with Tiffany. The irony was almost poetic.

Tiffany clearly hadn't expected Aurora to answer. She froze for a split second before her smile snapped back into place. "Where's Michael?"

Before Aurora could respond, footsteps sounded behind her.

Michael emerged from the bathroom, bare-chested, water droplets trailing down the defined lines of his abdomen. A towel hung low around his waist. His hair was damp, falling across his forehead.

He saw who was at the door and stopped mid-step.

Tiffany's gaze traveled from Michael to Aurora, then back again. Her smile cracked, piece by piece.

She stumbled backward and bolted toward the elevator.

The apartment fell so silent that the sound of water droplets hitting the floor was audible.

Michael's expression darkened. He stared at Aurora, his voice dangerously low.

Before Aurora could answer, he grabbed his robe from the sofa, threw it on, and rushed out.

Aurora followed him into the hallway. The elevator indicator had stopped on the third floor and hadn't moved since.

Michael veered into the stairwell, his footsteps echoing violently as he descended. Aurora steadied herself against the wall and followed a few steps before stopping at the landing.

On the platform between the third and fourth floors, Tiffany sat on the ground, one hand braced against the step, the other clutching her right ankle. Tear tracks still glistened on her face.

Michael dropped to his knees so fast that they slammed into the concrete step with a dull thud. He didn't seem to notice. His hands moved carefully, gently lifting her ankle to examine it.

"What happened? I told you to stay in the hospital."

There was a panic in his voice that Aurora had never heard before.

In three years of marriage, even when Julia spiked a fever in the middle of the night, the most he'd done was frown and mutter, "Why didn't you call sooner?"

Tiffany sniffled, her smile tinged with both grievance and coquettishness. "I missed you. I've been stuck in that hospital bed for days, and you haven't come to see me once. I just wanted to stop by for a minute."

Her gaze drifted to the robe Michael had thrown on so carelessly, and her voice dropped.

"I didn't know you'd brought someone here. Isn't this... our place?"

The words hit Aurora like ice water poured over her head.

Aurora stood half a flight above them, her fingers digging into the rough paint on the wall. The pain of her nails breaking against the surface somehow cleared her mind.

This apartment belonged to Michael and Tiffany.

He'd brought her here simply because it was close.

There had never been any special meaning to it.

Aurora felt ridiculous. Moments ago, when he'd carried her in his arms, she'd actually felt her heart stir—had actually thought he cared, even just a little.

She descended the stairs. Her footsteps startled the two people on the landing.

Tiffany looked up first. A flash of wariness crossed her eyes, but her face quickly arranged itself into a polite, apologetic smile.

"I... I didn't mean to show up like this. I'm sorry. Did I make you misunderstand something?"

Aurora stopped in front of her, her gaze calm.

"There's no misunderstanding."

Her tone was light, as if she were discussing something that had nothing to do with her. "Michael only has room in his heart for you. He just happened to help me out today."

Michael's head snapped up.

The overhead light cast shadows across Aurora's face. There was no resentment, no jealousy, not even sadness—just a strange, unfamiliar calm that he couldn't place.

Aurora stepped past them, her voice flat. "I'm leaving now."

She didn't wait for the elevator. She pushed open the stairwell door and started down, her heels striking the metal steps in sharp, rapid succession.

Michael instinctively stood up and took half a step toward the door.

A hand tugged at the hem of his robe.

Tiffany looked up at him, eyes red-rimmed. "Michael, did she misunderstand us? You should go explain. Don't worry about me."

She bit her lip and added softly, "I can manage on my own."

Michael looked down at her slightly swollen ankle, then glanced at the closed stairwell door.

The sound of Aurora's footsteps grew fainter and fainter.

"Don't worry about her." He bent down and scooped Tiffany into his arms. "Let's get you back to the hospital."

Tiffany nestled into his shoulder, her lashes concealing the fleeting smile in her eyes.

Evergreen Hospital. VIP ward.

By the time Michael set Tiffany down on the hospital bed, the attending physician had already been summoned by the nurse.

After re-examining her ankle, the doctor gestured for Michael to step into the hallway.

"Mr. Johnson, the ankle is just a minor sprain—nothing serious. But I need to confirm Ms. Rivera's condition with you again." The doctor adjusted his glasses, choosing his words carefully. "The brain tumor is located in an extremely precarious position, right against the brainstem. With current medical technology, surgical removal is not an option."

Michael's lips pressed into a hard line.

"How much time does she have?"

The doctor was silent for two seconds. "Conservatively... a month."

The hallway remained quiet for a long time.

When Michael returned to the room, his face betrayed nothing. But Tiffany saw the bloodshot veins in his eyes immediately.

"The doctor told you?" She leaned back against the headboard, her hair spilling over her shoulders. She looked so fragile, as if a gust of wind could carry her away. "I've known for a while."

Michael was silent for a moment before sitting down beside the bed. "I'll contact the best medical teams abroad."

"Michael." Tiffany interrupted him, taking his hand. "Don't put yourself through this."

She lowered her gaze to their intertwined fingers, her voice soft.

"When my family forced me to go abroad and kept me away from you, those years felt worse than death. I finally came back, and now... this."

She smiled bitterly, pausing before continuing. "There's something else I never told you."

She pulled her phone from under the pillow, opened a folder, and handed it to him.

"Three years ago, when you were in that car accident and the company was nearly taken over by the board—do you remember someone anonymously sent your team a batch of design proposals?"

Michael's brow furrowed slightly. Of course he remembered.

That accident had left him in a coma for nearly two weeks. By the time he woke up, the company was in chaos. Several core projects had stalled, bidding proposals were incomplete, and partners were threatening to pull their investments.

At the most critical moment, a set of design drawings had been anonymously sent to the company email. The quality was exceptional. Those designs had helped Johnson Group secure the three most crucial projects that year, salvaging the entire situation.