In the days leading up to the New Year, the air grew noticeably colder. Early in the morning, Quentin stood before a tightly closed window, looking out at the frost-dusted rose garden in the distance. He had one hand in his pocket; the other held Amanda's ringing cell phone.
"Mom," he answered quietly.
"Quentin? Where is Amanda?"
Quentin lowered his eyes, turning to look at the girl curled up beneath the blankets, a fever-reducing patch stuck to her forehead. "My wife is still sleeping," he replied, his voice a low protective rumble. "She's unwell. If there's something you need, you can talk to her later."
Mrs. Solis, sitting in her car, felt her frustration simmer, but her response to Quentin remained as gentle as ever. "It's nothing urgent. Please just arrange a time to come home tomorrow for the New Year. As for Diego... tell Amanda not to worry. I'll handle him."
"Yes, Mom."
Quentin hung up and stared thoughtfully at the device. Just then, Amanda stirred in her sleep.
"Quentin..." she called out. Her voice was raw and raspy, and she broke into a fit of dry coughs.
He was at her side in an instant, pressing his palm to her forehead. "How are you feeling?" He hadn't slept a wink all night, watching over her as her fever spiked at dawn.
Amanda pouted, her eyes glazed with exhaustion. Even breathing felt like exhaling fire. She reached out a hand from under the covers, clutching the hem of his shirt. "I'm miserable," she croaked. "Headache, stuffy nose, sore throat... everything is hot."
Quentin let out a soft chuckle, his eyes softening. He peeled off the old fever patch and began to wipe her cooling skin with a warm, damp towel. "Butler Wayne is bringing up some porridge. Eat a little, take your medicine, and you'll feel better. If the fever doesn't break by noon, I'm taking you to the hospital. No arguments."
Amanda glared at him weakly. "I don't want to go to the hospital."
"Then be a good girl. Eat your porridge and take the medicine." He knew her routine; when she was sick, she acted like a spoiled child, complaining that the medicine was too bitter and refusing to swallow another drop if she felt even slightly nauseous.
Amanda wrinkled her nose and crawled over to rest her head on his lap. "Who called so early?"
"Your mother," he replied, wringing out the towel.
Amanda bolted upright, her sudden movement making her head spin. Quentin reached out to steady her, startled. "What's wrong with you?"
"What did Mom say?" she asked, waving away her dizziness. In the chaos of last night, she had completely forgotten that their parents would inevitably find out about the scandal.
Quentin sighed and pulled her back into his arms, gently patting her back to settle her breathing. "She said not to worry about Diego. She's taking care of it."
Amanda leaned against his chest, her face shriveling like a bitter melon. "My brother is in so much trouble."
At the hospital, Celia stretched and blinked her eyes open, expecting to see her own gray ceiling. Instead, she found herself staring at a sterile white one.
The memories of the previous night "downloaded" into her brain all at once, and she let out a frustrated groan. Glancing over at the sofa, she saw Diego. He was awake.
Hoping to avoid a confrontation, she gingerly slipped out of bed, grabbed her bag, and tried to sneak toward the door.
"It was a waste of time giving you my bed if you're just going to sneak off," Diego remarked smoothly. He stood up, straightened his clothes, and walked over to tap her on the forehead. "I'll take you home."
Celia pouted, unable to look him in the eye. After the "incident" from the night before, her face burned with embarrassment. Diego didn't push her; he simply took her hand and led her to the parking lot.
They walked in a heavy, awkward silence. However, as they reached the cars, they found Mrs. Solis waiting—and she wasn't alone. A tall, handsome man in a crisp white shirt and gold-rimmed glasses stood across from her.
The moment Celia saw him, she jumped like a mouse spotting a cat. "Brother!"
Jason Lugo offered a polite nod to Mrs. Solis. "Ms. Solis, you're as beautiful as ever. It's been a long time."
Mrs. Solis was about to respond when she saw Diego and Celia emerge. Her expression shifted from polite to murderous.
"Cece, come here," Jason commanded. "Dad told me to bring you home."
Celia accepted her fate, slipping her hand out of Diego's and walking timidly to her brother's side. Jason's eyes narrowed as he looked at Diego, his disdain evident. "If there's nothing else, I'm taking my sister home now."
"I'll go with you," Diego offered, stepping forward. "I should see your parents."
Jason snorted. "No need. If you have something to say, come to my law office and book an appointment." Without another word, he pulled Celia away.
Diego stared at their retreating figures, nearly laughing in disbelief. Lawyers for three generations—the Lugos certainly knew how to be cold.
Suddenly, a heavy bag slammed into Diego's shoulder.
"You idiot!" Mrs. Solis shouted, her "gentle" persona completely gone. "Do you have any idea what you've done? Even Celia's family won't forgive you now! You can't find a wife for yourself, but you certainly know how to cause a disaster!"
"Mom!" Diego protested, retreating.
"Don't 'Mom' me! I'm embarrassed to even show my face to the Lugo family because of you!" She realized the situation was even worse now that Jason Lugo—the man Diego had clashed with since childhood—was back in the country.
The more she thought about the headache he had caused, the angrier she got. Mrs. Solis kicked off her heels and began chasing her son through the parking lot.
"I'm going to beat you to death today!"
"Mom, listen to my explanation! Ouch!"
Diego's screams echoed through the parking lot. If he could go back in time, he wouldn't just ignore Elena—he would have strangled her himself before she ever got near that drink.