The Billionaire Who Stole My Heart

ignited the gas, her hands moved on their own, with a proficiency as if she'd done it a million times before.

Brittany opened the fridge, scanning the ingredients with a plan to make chicken and mushroom porridge, along with a few side dishes. She turned on the stove and started rinsing the rice. A clear thought crossed Brittany's mind; she wasn't a cook. Yet, as soon as she Making the porridge was a bit of a hassle, requiring the chicken to be shredded into fine pieces meticulously. Brittany was diligent, spending over an hour preparing the meal. Exiting the kitchen, she found Isaac still sprawled on the couch. His complexion was off, lips slightly pale, one hand clutching his stomach with veins bulging. He was genuinely in discomfort.

Brittany rushed over, "Isaac?" She tapped his shoulder, only to realize he had passed out. Immediately, Brittany grabbed her phone to call a doctor. After hanging up, she crouched in front of the couch, examining the man before her. Sharp brows, piercing eyes, an aura of coldness. Clearly, not the easiest person to get along with.

She turned off the stove, the aroma of the porridge filling the room, but her appetite had vanished. The doctor arrived promptly and diagnosed him with stomach spasms caused by excessive drinking, likely the pain had knocked him out. Hearing "stomach spasms," Brittany felt a sharp sting in her heart, a wave of acute pain spreading out.

be cured fully?" "It requires careful management." After administering an IV and prescribing medication, the doctor left. Brittany had planned to cook him a meal and leave, but with Isaac fainting, she couldn't leave

sleep. She was exhausted from work, had a few drinks, and the effort

didn't leave?" "How could I leave you passed out?" After adjusting the IV, Brittany asked, "Hungry? The porridge is still warm." Isaac lacked appetite, but it had been too long since

nodded. He'd been bedridden long enough to master eating with his left hand. Brittany set up a small table over the bed, handing

soothe the soul. Sitting beside him, Brittany sipped the porridge quietly. An unusual yet familiar taste, as if she'd had it many times before. Isaac silently ate, his movements swift as if to confirm the reality of the moment, not just a fleeting dream. The soup kept its warmth, the porridge steaming hot. Brittany, noticing his discomfort

Brittany jolted, as if grasping at a crucial clue, "Isaac,