Contract Marriage with My Secret Partner in Crime-Chapter 106: Borrowed Time

[146 Days Left to Live]

The room was quiet, almost eerily so. Inside the private mini hospital wing tucked at the far side of Diamond Mansion, Lian lay unmoving on the wide hospital bed. His skin was pale, nearly translucent under the overhead light. An oxygen mask covered half his face, and his breathing came shallow, almost as if his lungs were struggling to remember how.

Beside him, seated with his legs crossed, Larman Diamond looked every inch the calm and composed man he was known to be. But the tight line of his jaw and the way his fingers rhythmically tapped the chair’s armrest betrayed him. The silence stretched until the door opened quietly.

The doctor walked in with an injection in hand, a small vial filled with dark red fluid held securely in a case. Brent, standing at the foot of the bed, immediately stepped forward.

"Inject him. Now," Brent said without looking at the doctor. His voice was curt, controlled, but clearly tense.

The doctor nodded and moved quickly, inserting the needle into the IV line already connected to Lian’s arm. A few moments passed. Larman stood and leaned in slightly, eyes scanning his son’s face for any sign of improvement.

Slowly, the color began to return to Lian’s cheeks. His breathing evened out. The lines of strain on his face eased.

Brent finally let out a breath. Larman exhaled through his nose, eyes still trained on his son.

"His vitals are stabilizing," the doctor confirmed, checking the monitor beside the bed. "The injection worked, for now."

Larman gave a nod to the doctor. A silent gesture. The doctor understood and turned to the door. Larman followed him, leaving Brent behind to watch over Lian.

Moments later, they were inside Larman’s private office. The large windows overlooked the east garden, but Larman paid no attention to it as he sat behind the massive dark-wood desk. He gestured at the doctor.

The doctor bowed his head slightly. "The last injection lasted about a month, sir. This one should, hopefully, do the same. But we cannot guarantee it. The pathogens are unstable. They might adapt."

Larman tapped his fingers against the table again. Not a word, just the tapping sound echoing in the room.

"We still have blood reserves from the two survivors," the doctor continued. "Enough for maybe eight more injections. But..."

He hesitated. His lips parted slightly before he swallowed hard, then spoke with a low, tense voice. "But those two survivors are also in danger now. They can only stay alive if they’re injected with each other’s blood. It’s the only thing keeping their bodies stable at this point."

He paused, glancing at Larman before continuing. "Last time, we were able to save them because they happened to be admitted at Diamond Public Hospital. That gave us a chance to extract blood from both of them without drawing suspicion. But this time... we don’t know how to help them. They’re running out of time. Soon, they’ll start feeling intense pain all over. Their bodies won’t be able to take it. Just like your son, the effect of the blood injection may only last for about a month."

Larman remained quiet. The ticking of the clock on the wall filled the silence. Finally, he asked, "What about your progress on the cure?"

The doctor visibly flinched. "None, sir. We’re working around the clock, but it’s difficult. The original formula for Project Helix was never completed. Even what was injected into the two survivors wasn’t a complete version. The good news is that it was the most advanced one, so at least we have something that can regulate the pathogens and prevent a total outbreak. freeweɓnovēl.coɱ

"But since it was administered separately to two individuals instead of being combined as one, it’s just as risky as your son’s condition. To create the antidote, we had to extract blood from one and administer it to the other, and vice versa—just enough to stabilize, but not enough to cure entirely. For now, we’re reverse-engineering everything from scraps."

Larman leaned back in his chair, his fingers steepled in front of his mouth. "What do you need to make progress? Money? Resources? More people?"

"All of it," the doctor said quickly. "We need higher-grade labs, more researchers who can be trusted, and subjects. The original files from the project would also help if we can locate them."

Larman gave a slow nod. "I want my son alive. And those two. You get what you need. No excuses."

"Understood, sir."

---

Across the city, the air inside a modest apartment was filled with silence. Kendrick sat in front of his laptop, eyes narrowed at the live feed on screen. He was tracking Barmon’s every move. But for days now, there had been no suspicious activity. Barmon wasn’t meeting any new contacts, wasn’t moving any assets. It was like he had vanished under plain sight.

Kendrick rubbed his eyes. The headache had been bothering him since the night before. He hadn’t slept properly. Coffee cups scattered beside the keyboard like abandoned soldiers.

Then, without warning, the pain struck.

His vision blurred. A pressure built in his chest, squeezing tighter and tighter. He gasped, reaching for the edge of the table but missed. His body swayed and hit the floor hard.

Darkness took him.

---

Zephany stood by the door, fixing the cuff of her blouse while checking her bag. She was ready for work. After breakfast with Kendrick earlier, she had gone back to her room to get ready.

She moved to his door and gently knocked.

"Kendrick, I’m heading out now," she called softly. No answer. She frowned. Maybe he was focused again.

"Kendrick?" she tried once more. Still no answer.

Just then, a sharp pain shot through her spine. Her knees buckled. The hallway blurred in front of her eyes. Her hand reached for the wall, but the pain was too intense.

She collapsed.

---

Back at the Diamond Mansion, Larman stared out the window now. Rain had begun to fall lightly. It tapped against the glass softly.

The doctor had left, but his words echoed in the room.

Time was slipping fast.

Larman closed his eyes, gripping the armrest of his chair.

His son was safe for now.

But how long could they keep borrowing time?