Chapter 1 Impatient?

Maplewood City Sunrise Hospital

"Let go of me! How dare you stop me from seeing my mom! Henry! Let me go!!"

Monica Evans was pinned against the wall, struggling to turn her head and glare at the man behind her.

Before the man could speak, a woman dressed in the latest luxury designer clothing, carrying an exquisite handbag, and wearing heavy makeup walked out.

At first glance, she looked thirty-five, but upon closer inspection, she was barely in her early twenties.

"Monica? Screaming in a hospital is hardly the behavior of a well-bred lady," Laura Evans sneered, tilting her head as she looked at Monica, who was restrained by her father and bodyguards.

"Oh, and Monica, the reason I called you here today is to let you know that the life or death of the person inside depends entirely on your decision. If you agree to marry in my place, then I might consider paying for your mother’s medical treatment!"

"You're disgusting! Dream on, you vile, ugly woman!" Monica spat, her body immobilized but her words sharp as ever.

She and Laura were three years apart, and ever since they were children, every encounter had been a fierce battle. The wins and losses were about even—after all, Laura had her biological father's backing. Meanwhile, Monica only had a father filled with prejudice and favoritism, a man she found utterly despicable.

"Monica, you'd better make up your mind soon. If you refuse, you'll be the one signing your mother's death certificate. A uremia patient like her won’t last much longer!" Laura blew on her nails impatiently, then turned to complain to her mother, Paula Perez, about how ugly her manicure looked this time.

Henry waved his hand, and two more bodyguards entered the hospital room, roughly propping up his unconscious ex-wife, Kathie Mellon. Kathie’s head lolled weakly to the side, and Monica’s heart shattered at the sight.

"Let go of my mom! Henry! How could you?! She was once your wife too!"

Monica couldn't understand how her father, who had seemed so kind when she was little, had turned into someone who hurled insults and even raised his hands against her mother. Eventually, he had driven them out of the house. Monica was only three at the time.

Later, she suddenly gained a sister three years her senior—Laura. For years, Monica couldn't comprehend why people called her a bastard child. It wasn't until she found her grandfather, Eugene Mellon, that she learned the truth.

"Let my mom go! Don't hurt her! I’ll do whatever you want! I'll agree to anything! Just let her go, please!" Monica's pride crumbled in an instant as she watched her mother being tormented.

"If you had just obeyed from the start, we wouldn't have had to make such a scene. After all, we're family," Laura said, her tone icy by the end as she looked down at Monica, who was now kneeling and begging. Her disdain was palpable.

Paula tugged at Laura's sleeve and motioned toward Monica with her chin.

"Monica, this time, it's not about harming you. It’s actually a tremendous opportunity falling into your lap," Laura said, not wanting Monica to back out or run away later. It was better to convince her now.

"An opportunity?" Monica leaned against the wall, her bloodshot eyes sweeping over the cruel Laura, the vicious Paula, and the hypocritical Henry. She would remember this disgusting family. She would never forgive them.

Monica had already pieced together Laura’s proposal while Henry was beating her earlier.

Henry wanted to forge ties with the Robinson family of Maplewood City, but the Robinsons demanded that the Evans family marry off a daughter to serve as a "lucky charm." A fortune-teller hired by the Robinsons had declared that only a daughter of the Evans family could awaken Brandon Robinson from his coma.

Naturally, the task fell to Laura. But Brandon was a "useless cripple"—Laura had no intention of wasting her life tending to a vegetative man. So Henry immediately thought of Monica.

After all, she was still an Evans daughter. If she married Brandon, Laura wouldn’t have to suffer, and the Evans family could still climb the social ladder through the Robinsons. A win-win!

"If you obey and willingly marry Brandon, I’ll not only spare your mother but also pay for her medical treatment. It’s a fair deal, isn’t it?" Henry said condescendingly.

"Fine. I'll marry him."

Once Monica agreed, Henry had her taken back to the Evans mansion to prepare for the wedding. Monica walked upstairs expressionlessly, waiting for the stylist to arrive and dress her in a wedding gown.

Before long, her half-sister Laura appeared at the door, smirking triumphantly.

"Monica, congratulations on marrying into a wealthy family. At least you won’t have to suffer in the slums anymore. I’m so happy for you," Laura sneered. "Sure, Brandon's a vegetable, but at least he's rich. As long as you spend the rest of your life wiping his ass and spoon-feeding him, you won’t end up a beggar. For someone like you, that’s not bad at all."

Monica's eyes burned with fury.

The Evans family fortune had originally belonged to the Mellon family. Henry was nothing more than a smooth-talking manipulator. Shortly after Kathie gave birth to Monica, Eugene was imprisoned and died soon after. With no one left to hold him accountable, Henry openly moved his mistress into the house, embezzled the family assets, and forced Kathie and Monica out with nothing.

And now, Laura had the audacity to gloat in front of her?

Monica couldn’t take it anymore. She raised her hand and slapped Laura hard across the face.

The sharp crack echoed through the room as Laura’s cheek instantly swelled red.

"You dare hit me, you bitch!" Laura shrieked, clutching her face in disbelief.

They had attended the same university, and in the past, Monica had always been meek and submissive around her. But now, she was outright defiant!

Laura looked ready to tear Monica apart, lunging forward to retaliate. But Monica remained eerily calm.

"If you lay a hand on me and leave a mark, the Robinsons might reject me. Then you'll have to marry that vegetable and take care of him yourself."

Laura trembled with rage. "You're threatening me!"

Monica smirked. "I'm not threatening you. I’m just stating facts. You'd better treat me with respect—because right now, you’re the one begging me to marry that vegetable in your place."

Laura's face twisted in fury, but she didn’t dare strike back. Instead, she turned on her heel and stormed off.

Compared to marrying a vegetative man, enduring Monica's insults was still the lesser evil.

But Laura swore to herself—she'd make Monica pay for this later.

Monica, meanwhile, had only struck because she knew Laura wouldn't risk escalating things. While the slap couldn’t undo all the harm they’d done, it at least gave her some satisfaction.

Soon, the stylist arrived and helped Monica into her wedding gown.

Outside, a fleet of cars sent by the Robinson family waited. A black Rolls-Royce Phantom led the procession, followed by a line of Range Rovers. The entire road had been cleared for them.

The driver bowed respectfully as he opened the car door. "Mrs. Robinson, please."

Henry watched the grand display with greedy eyes, putting on a fatherly act. "Monica, take good care of Mr. Robinson after you marry him. Come visit often—your father will miss you."

Monica felt sick to her stomach. She wanted to slap him too, but she couldn't afford to burn bridges—not when her mother's medical bills depended on him.

She stepped into the car without a word, her heart heavy.

Once, she had dreamed of a wedding where she’d marry the man she loved, surrounded by family and friends.

Now, she was being forced to marry a stranger—one who might never wake up.

The car arrived at the Robinson family estate.

Brandon's mother, Angelina Johnson, sat on the sofa, scrutinizing Monica with an approving gaze.

"Now that you’ve married into this family, you are a Robinson. Your duty is to care for Brandon—and ideally, bear him a child as soon as possible," Angelina said coolly. "If you do this, the Robinson family will reward you handsomely. Whatever you desire, we can provide."

Monica clenched her fists.

For a family as wealthy as the Robinsons, even the smallest favor could ensure she and

her mother lived comfortably for generations.

But having a child with a vegetative man? That was absurd.

Still, she didn’t dare argue. She nodded obediently. "I understand, Mother."

Angelina motioned for the butler to escort Monica upstairs.

When the bedroom door opened, Monica saw a handsome man lying motionless on the bed.

His eyes were closed, his lashes long and thick, his nose perfectly straight, his jawline sharp and defined.

She froze, stunned.

She had never seen a man so breathtakingly handsome in her life.

And now, he was her husband.

"Mrs. Robinson, from now on, you will be responsible for Mr. Robinson’s care," the butler instructed. "You must bathe him daily, massage his limbs, and administer his medication and nutrients."

Monica nodded, watching as the butler left. She pulled back the covers, preparing to massage Brandon's legs.

She had been so resistant to marrying him earlier, but now, she couldn’t help but pity him.

She had heard of Brandon before. At twenty-three, he had graduated from the top business school in Phoenixia, started his own company at sixteen, and built a fortune worth billions. The business world was full of legends about his ruthless brilliance.

And yet, a car accident had ruined everything.

"Hello, Brandon. I'm your wife," she murmured softly, her hands kneading his calves. "I’ll take good care of you from now on."

She had often massaged her mother, so she was familiar with the motions. But as her fingers pressed into his muscles, she paused in shock.

Shouldn't a paralyzed person’s muscles atrophy? But Brandon's were firm and well-defined.

Frowning, she hesitantly unbuttoned his shirt.

Eight perfectly sculpted abs and powerful pectoral muscles greeted her, his sun-kissed skin radiating raw masculinity.

Monica blinked, wondering if she was hallucinating. She reached out and touched them—hard as stone.

His body was unreal.

Her fingers trailed downward, tracing the defined muscles of his thighs and calves.

Nothing about him resembled a typical vegetative patient.

Then, her wrist brushed against something hard and hot.

Confused, she glanced down—and immediately flushed crimson when she saw the prominent bulge beneath the sheets.

A vegetative man could still have… that kind of reaction?

"Earlier, I thought Angelina’s demand for a child was ridiculous. But if Brandon can still get aroused… does that mean he’s actually capable?"

She bit her lip, unsure what to do.

Well, he's unconscious. It’s not like he’d know if I touched him…

If she could conceive his child, it would give her and her mother a safety net.

After a brief hesitation, she reached for his throbbing length.

But before she could make contact, a large hand seized her wrist—and yanked her into his arms.