**Chapter 6** Vivian's laughter cut through the sterile air of the facility, sharp and unexpected, sending a tremor of surprise through the caregiver's composure. "So tell me," she began, her tone dipped in a playful challenge, "is your establishment even a licensed medical facility?" The caregiver nodded, a nervous twitch of her lips betraying her unease. “And what about my medical records? Are they kept confidential?” Vivian leaned forward, her dark eyes locking onto the caregiver’s. Another hesitant nod followed. “Then tell me,” Vivian pressed, her voice now laced with a steel edge, “Is it indeed documented that I only have six months left, thanks to terminal stomach cancer?” The caregiver hesitated once more, before giving in to the weight of Vivian’s gaze with a reluctant nod. “Perfect!” A satisfied smile stretched across Vivian's face, bright and chilling. “It’s official; no one can challenge that now.” "But you don't actually have stomach cancer," the caregiver attempted to interject, panic glimmering in her eyes. Vivian cut her off, her voice rising like a blade. “Let’s be clear. There are precisely two exits on this grim little road I’m on.” Her demeanor transformed, the once-lighthearted atmosphere crackling with tension. “Option one: I experience a miraculous recovery thanks to all this love and support that’s apparently pouring in. Or option two: your facility gets stuck with the blame for a catastrophic diagnostic blunder and months of misguided treatment.” She turned her body fully toward the caregiver, a fierce intensity emanating from her gaze. “Now tell me, which would you prefer?” The caregiver swallowed hard, her face as white as the walls surrounding them. “I’m so sorry, Miss Simpson. I see that you’ve considered everything with great care,” she managed to say, her voice trembling. Vivian responded with a brief, cold smile that held no warmth. “What’s our next destination, Miss Simpson?” the caregiver asked, attempting to steer the conversation to a safer terrain. With a quick glance at her phone, Vivian replied, “Crobert Hospital.” At the mention of the hospital, the caregiver stiffened, a flicker of alarm crossing her features. “But—” “Relax,” Vivian assured her, nonchalantly swiping her phone. “I’m simply going for pain relief—armed with my medical paperwork.” She typed out a message to Brandon, instructing him to meet her at the hospital later, a small smirk playing on her lips as she hit send. Moments later, her phone buzzed with a reply, “Sure,” from Brandon. Meanwhile, deep within the confines of Crobert Hospital, Millie stood alone in the restroom, her heart racing in her chest. A dull ache gripped her lower abdomen, forcing her to grip the counter for support. In her trembling hand, a tissue bore a distinct crimson stain—a stark and harrowing premonition of a miscarriage. As Vivian navigated the busy streets toward the hospital, the online world reacted with heated fervor to the news of her supposed illness. Threads sprung to life, each one brimming with opinions about her situation. “Honestly, I admire Vivian. She’s unapologetically herself, and the way she sets her boundaries? Remarkable,” one comment read. “Absolutely. As long as she’s not destroying Brandon’s marriage, her feelings are her own affair,” another user chimed in. “I’ve been watching her old videos, especially that livestream from Crest Villa. It’s heartbreaking that she might be gone so soon,” a third added, the sentiments swirling like a storm. “Aren’t we going to talk about Brandon’s wife? She should just step aside and let him be with Vivian. The girl has mere months left, after all,” another post suggested. “I know her! That’s Millie Bennett—she used to have a music career before becoming a full-time housewife,” someone mentioned, the revelations spilling like confessions. Just then, Millie’s phone erupted with notifications, a relentless cascade of messages and calls. Concern dripped from some, while others unleashed their mockery. All centered on Vivian and Brandon, every word a knife that cut deeper into Millie’s already frayed emotions. She scrolled through the headlines, the harsh reality of Vivian’s supposed illness hitting her like a slap. It was a whirlwind of chaos surrounding her husband, and in that moment, the unsettling feeling of dread twisted in her gut, unraveling what little composure she had left.