Chapter 7 The Persuasion of Stellan

• Stellan hesitated, well aware of Zayla's character. At best, she was strong-willed. At worst, she was stubborn. No amount of coercion would extract a single truth from her if she didn't wish to share. Opting to pivot the conversation, he inquired, "How did your medical examination go today?"
• Zayla pressed her lips together. "It was fine," she replied tersely.
• Undeterred, Stellan persisted, "If you're not inclined to share, that's alright. I can easily access your medical records at the hospital." As the head of the surgery department, it was easy for Stellan to do so. "Either tell me or allow me to verify—it's your call," he pressured Zayla.
• A pregnant pause ensued, the silence on the line palpable. I forgot… Eventually, Zayla conceded defeat, her voice heavy with resignation. "Cancer. Late-stage stomach cancer."
• Stellan was rendered speechless, the weight of the revelation sinking in. The erratic rhythm of his breath on the other end of the line echoed into Zayla's ears. "How... how can this be? You're still so young..." Stellan muttered to himself, his voice gradually choking up. Even across the phone, Zayla could sense his profound sorrow. Knowing someone cared for her before her inevitable end brought her solace.
• "Come to the hospital. Let me conduct another examination," Stellan urged.
• Zayla rebuffed his offer. "No matter how many times I'm examined, the outcome remains unchanged. Stellan, I understand my own body. Perhaps this is just... fate's reckoning..."
• "Nonsense!" Stellan interjected firmly. "Listen to me, Zayla. Stay in the hospital and seek treatment. You can overcome this," his voice quivered with sorrow. As a doctor, he understood the severity of her illness and the excruciating pain she endured. How did Zayla do this to her own body?
• Stellan grappled with how to persuade Zayla. Sometimes, it wasn't a matter of a patient's will to live but rather the whims of fate. Her time was limited, and the hospital's advice was stark. Live for a few more years with hospital treatment, or relinquish treatment and leave her fate to chance. Regardless… she was dying.
• "Zayla, divorce Joaquin. Look at what he's done to you in your four years together."
• Divorcing Joaquin had never entered Zayla's thoughts. He was her everything, the beacon she hoped to cling to for a lifetime, but he seemed beyond her grasp. Zayla gripped the phone tightly, her knuckles whitening with the strain. "I'll consider it." The notion of divorcing Joaquin felt like physically losing a piece of her flesh. How could it possibly be easy?
• Stellan urged her to revisit the hospital the following day. Still, Zayla merely agreed to get him off her back, his words failing to register.
• In addition to being Joaquin's wife, Zayla bore the weight of being the Steele Group's president, constantly burdened with various responsibilities.
• A person's resilience was often compared to a camel, capable of bearing heavy burdens under immense pressure. Yet, sometimes, it was a mere straw that broke the camel's back.
• After ending the call, Zayla tossed her phone nonchalantly onto the bedside table. Her stomach churned with discomfort, making sleep seem elusive that night. Retrieving two bottles of medication from the drawer—one for pain relief, the other for sleep—she swallowed two pills from each before settling onto the bed.
• As the medication took effect, her thoughts grew fuzzy, and she found herself ensnared in a series of unsettling nightmares. It felt akin to sleep paralysis, with a weight pressing down on her chest, suffocating her. Frowning in confusion, she struggled to wake up, only to realize that the oppressive presence wasn't supernatural, but Joaquin.