Only You Can Cure Me

Third-Person POV: Sienna stared back at Gael, her deep eyes unwavering in the dim light of the shelter.

"I don't need anything," she said coolly. She adjusted her grip on her thin, damp jacket, refusing to let the freezing wind make her shiver in front of him. "A bet is a bet. I accept the outcome."

Her voice carried no self-pity, only a rigid acceptance of the miserable state she was in. This squalid camp, the biting cold, the throbbing pain in her foot—it was all a direct consequence of her past choices, of losing Declan's twisted games. "I lost this time," she continued, the faint light in the wretched shack reflecting the fierce resolve burning in her gaze. "So I follow the rules. But I won't lose again."

That wasn't just a statement. It was a vow.

Gael met her gaze. He stood mere feet away, the rain dripping from the edge of his dark umbrella. He was struck by the unyielding determination radiating from her frail, battered frame. He was not a man who meddled. He possessed zero interest in petty celebrity drama or the manufactured conflicts of a desert island reality show. If he hadn't carried his own hidden agenda, he would never have set foot on this isolated piece of rock.

Yet, as he watched her now, he felt a strange shift in his chest. Earlier, he had witnessed her step right into the pouring rain, dragging a bleeding foot through muddy pools of her own blood. Her silhouette had looked so delicate, almost fragile enough to snap in the storm. But beneath that fragile exterior lay a spine of steel. No matter what humiliation or hardship the Lancasters threw at her, nothing could break her spirit.

That unbreakable resolve stirred an unfamiliar, instinctual impulse within him. He wanted to shield her. He wanted to hold the umbrella over her head and block out the storm. It was a bizarre sensation for a man famous for his cold, ascetic nature.

Sienna narrowed her eyes, catching the strange intensity in his dark stare. 'Why is he looking at me like that?' she thought, her guard rising.

To her knowledge, Gael Montgomery ignored everyone. He didn't give Chloe the time of day, and he certainly hadn't paid Sienna any attention either. Since his arrival on the island, they had not exchanged a single greeting. So why was this untouchable, aloof superstar trailing her like a shadow into the worst part of the camp?

Sienna pressed her lips together, deciding to shut this down before it escalated. She needed rest, not complications. "Mr. Montgomery, thanks for your kindness," she said, her tone polite but laced with a clear, unmistakable dismissal. She gestured vaguely toward the direction of his luxurious cabin.

Instead of taking the hint and leaving, Gael stood his ground. The corners of his lips curved into a disarming, soft smile. "Actually, I need your help."

Sienna stared at him. She pointed a dirt-smudged finger at her own chest. "You need my help?"

When he gave a brief nod, a dry laugh escaped her throat. "Me? A nobody? What could I possibly do for you?" She emphasized the word 'nobody' to draw a thick line between his elite status and her current rock-bottom reality. She was a contestant living in a leaky shed; he was Vesperia's reigning king.

"I'm sick," Gael stated flatly.

"What?" Sienna frowned, her skepticism peaking.

Gael's expression turned serious, stripping away the casual charm. "I am sick, and I need you to cure me."

Sienna stood speechless for a long moment. She gave his ridiculously handsome, flawlessly sculpted face a careful, professional assessment. Under the dim, flickering light of her ruined shelter, her trained medical eyes caught the subtle anomalies. There were grayish shadows lurking beneath his pale skin, particularly under his eyes, clinging to him like the specter of death. Tracking downward, she noted a faint bluish-white pallor around the edges of his lips.

He wasn't lying. That delicate beauty his fans obsessed over wasn't just genetics or makeup. It was the visible symptom of a deep, systemic failure.

"I have been sick since birth," Gael continued, his voice smooth but carrying the weight of a lifelong burden. "I have seen every specialist. None of them could do a thing."

Sienna rubbed her chin, processing the information. A man of his immense wealth and power had access to the globe's finest medical minds. "With your background, getting a top doctor should be no problem," she countered, testing his claim to see if he was playing some sort of game. "Even someone like Orson Caldwell, the president of the Physician Association. Getting him to treat you would be a phone call away."

She refused to believe he crossed an ocean to find a disgraced reality show contestant just because she picked a few wild herbs in the woods.

Gael chuckled. It was a soft, self-deprecating sound that barely rose above the drumming rain. "I have already been to see Orson. He told me himself that he couldn't help."

Sienna paused, genuine surprise flickering in her eyes. She knew Orson's capabilities better than anyone—he was her mentee in her past life. The old man possessed a brilliant medical mind. If the esteemed president of the Physician Association declared the case hopeless, Gael's illness was not just severe. It was terminal.

But that didn't explain why he was standing in her shed. Her guard shot back up. "If even Orson, the top doctor in the country, can't help you, what makes you think I can?" she challenged.

"Just a gut feeling," Gael replied. He held her gaze, a hint of hidden desperation swimming in his dark eyes.

Sienna internally rolled her eyes. 'His gut feeling is dangerously accurate,' she mused. But acknowledging that would ruin her cover. She had enough enemies without exposing her medical genius to the Montgomery family.

"I am going to rest now," Sienna announced, pivoting away from him. She dismissed his baseless intuition without a second thought. "Feel free to stand in the rain if you want."

She navigated toward the only dry corner of the collapsing shelter, a small patch of dirt that somehow escaped the dripping roof. Pulling her thin jacket tight around her shivering shoulders, she sank to the ground, leaned against the rotting wood, and closed her eyes.

Gael remained standing in the cold dampness. He watched her settle in, his eyes mapping the dirt smudges on her face that failed to mask her vibrant, striking confidence. His thin lips quirked into a subtle smile. He slipped one hand into his pocket and tilted his head back, listening to the relentless downpour battering the frail roof overhead.

Orson's guarded secret echoed in his mind. 'There is only one person in this world who might be able to cure you: my mentor.'

Orson refused to drop a name. He guarded the identity of this anonymous mentor with paranoid intensity. Gael had deployed the formidable, far-reaching network of the Montgomery family just to intercept a single, fragile tip: Orson's mentor would be present on this remote island.

That was the sole reason he accepted the invitation to this ridiculous broadcast. His health was failing fast. Every passing day drained a little more life from his veins. His time was rapidly running out, and as he watched Sienna sleep in the mud, his instincts screamed that she was the key to his survival.

Hours passed. The rain eventually faded into a light drizzle and then stopped.

Night fell over the island, blanketing the dense jungle in heavy darkness. Suddenly, a loud burst of noise shattered the quiet. Bright artificial lights snapped on in the distance, casting long, frantic shadows through the trees. The production team was bustling around, dragging cables and shouting orders, preparing the set for the upcoming broadcast.

The sudden commotion jolted Sienna awake.

"You're awake?"

The mellow, hypnotic voice murmured right beside her ear.

Startled by the sheer, unexpected proximity, Sienna's survival instincts hijacked her brain. She twisted her body and swung her fist in a practiced, lethal strike aimed straight for the source of the voice.

Her knuckles hit nothing but air. A split second later, a long, elegant hand firmly caught her wrist mid-air. The grip was deceptively strong, halting her momentum with effortless grace.

Gael was sitting right next to her. They were sitting shoulder to shoulder in the dark corner of the cramped shed. He was so close that she caught a lungful of his signature scent—a cool, distant cedar fragrance that wrapped around her senses.

Panic flared in Sienna's chest. She had actually slept soundly right next to a complete stranger. She hadn't even heard him cross the dirt floor or sit down beside her. Her physical guard had dropped to a terrifyingly low level, and that vulnerability alarmed her more than the cold or the pain.

She yanked her wrist free from his grasp. Gael let go the moment she pulled back, his expression unbothered.

"The rain stopped," he said softly, gesturing toward the glaring lights outside. "The staff is about to start shooting again."

Sienna scrambled to her feet and took a wide step back, putting a safe distance between them. "Why are you still here?" she demanded, her voice tight with defensive skepticism.

Instead of answering her directly, Gael lowered his dark gaze to her injured foot.

Sienna followed his line of sight. The thick, green paste she had slathered over the gash had dried into a crust. The severe bleeding had stopped, and the edges of the wound looked much calmer than they had an hour ago. She had just put her weight on it while stepping away, and she managed the movement without collapsing.

She knew exactly what he was thinking. He was marveling at the incredible effectiveness of her wild herbs, adding more fuel to his 'gut feeling' that she was the phantom doctor he hunted.

"My injury isn't serious," Sienna stated, her tone flat and dismissive. She silently vowed to herself that she would not act as his genius doctor. She refused to get tangled up in the life-or-death crisis of a Vesperian superstar.

She carefully shifted her weight, testing the bandaged foot against the uneven dirt floor. She could manage to walk, but the moment she applied real pressure, a sharp sting flared deep within the lacerated tissue. Her vast medical expertise calculated the damage in seconds. Even with the potent herbal paste, the deep wound required at least two full days of minimal strain to heal properly.

A grim realization washed over her. This survival show was notorious for its grueling, physically dangerous missions. They were expected to hike rugged terrains, forage for scarce resources, and compete in punishing physical trials just to secure basic food and water.

Sienna stared out at the bustling production crew, her mind racing. She was stranded on a hostile island with a compromised leg, a ruthless ex-fiancé plotting her downfall, and a terminally ill, hyper-observant billionaire refusing to leave her side. She grimly wondered exactly how her foot would hold up through the brutal challenges that lay ahead, and whether her fragile cover would survive the night.