DAY FORTY-THREE Monday, June 25, 2018

I am now the sole owner of Seattle Grace Hospital. Before my three-hundred-million-dollar buyout, I had to negotiate my terms with each member that had a seat on the hospital board. With the cost of fifty million dollars per person, I have earned the trust, responsibility—and most importantly—control of all six board members.

A total of fourteen, agonizing days passed as Ros and I fought our way through the hospital's barriers, being quite the obstacles to overcome. Luckily for me, I was unrelenting in my determination of hospital takeover, in spite of Ros's refusals toward the beginning. When I came knocking at Seattle Grace's doors, they neither seek a buyer nor foresaw themselves selling their souls to GEH, as they slammed the door on my face. But everything comes with a price, and with my money, it wasn't something I couldn't afford—especially with one girl kept in mind.

Throughout my two weeks, though, my thoughts of Ana never ceased. The burdening weights of worrying for someone you care about are things that never broke from me, just like my will to control every part of the hospital. I know the ins and outs of Seattle Grace: the current technology they own, the salaries of every staff member, the funding in each department, the database log of every patient entering the hospital…I have it all but the information I require.

According to HIPAA, the federal Health Insurance Portability and Accountability Act, the "privilege" of doctor-patient confidentiality has been enforced for decades. Medical history, lifestyle choices, bills, prescriptions, lab results, medical opinions from other physicians, appointment histories, results of operations and medical procedures, genetic testing, participation in research projects—all of this and much, much more—are kept hidden away from the public eye.

Did I try tapping into Ana's file?

Without blinking.

Can I?

Unfortunately not.

From what I have discovered on my journey to the peak of Seattle Grace's mountain, secrecy is a common running theme within these walls—secrets layered upon secrets upon more secrets. I had my engineers, Fred and Barney, try tapping into the hospital's records and files, but even they couldn't break the millions of firewalls, blocking them from accessing the hospital's database. These secrets are heavily guarded by Seattle Grace's own IT department, one miscalculation I overlooked in the contract.

Was what I was doing illegally done? Yes. Was I going to misuse the information? Of course not. The more that I know, the more I can understand and help.

Ana's body, lying across the bathroom—I haven't been able to sleep normally ever since that horrendous evening. She's replaced my nightmares, and I can vividly see her lifeless corpse, pale and alone, in my mind. The memory sends a cold, dreading darkness in my body, and every time the picture casts itself in my head, I am caught in the void of emptiness that paralyzes and chokes me in place.

I have the mind to see Dr. Flynn, and I've placed many reminders to the forefront of my consciousness in hopes of attending a session with the good doctor, but after all the shit that has been taking over my life, I find that I need to regain some of the control I lost before seeking a simple talk with John.

There's only so much that he can do.

There's only so much I can do.

And the only person that can fix any of this is Ana.

As soon as Dr. Shepherd came back from his trip to D.C., there hasn't been any progress—none of which I could see. From what I can interpret, Ana and Derek are in their own world versus the rest of us. I was specifically not invited into any of their sessions. In fact, I was prohibited and forbidden to enter. And in those moments, I couldn't remember any of it because of how angry I became.

I've also pleaded with Grace many times to help me, but she tells me that she isn't invited either, constantly reminding me that there isn't much to do but "wait" and "be patient."

What the fuck does that mean?

Why does everyone keep telling me that?

What am I waiting for? Why are we waiting?

I feel like all of us are stuck in limbo—a purgatory where I can't rest or escape from because everyone is holding me into the unknown darkness.

It's as though the people in my life are pretending none of this happened. Everyone is fine with where they are but me.

I'm losing my God-damn, fucking mind.

During the two weeks that have passed, Ana still hasn't gotten the surgery. False promises, stalling, useless words of reassurance—they were the vinyl records playing back to me on a constant loop.

I couldn't take it any longer. Not anymore.

So, what did I do?

Complete. Hostile. Takeover.

Today is the day where I free rein my unrestricted, unlimited power. My control.

It is this Monday morning—after dotting the I's and crossing T's the night before—where I can finally tap into everything that I own, slaying this beast I've been fighting once and for all. I am going to conquer, and nobody will be standing my way.

Seattle Grace's hospital grounds have become my second home. Not by choice, however. The amount of times I've come here have surpassed the many times I've been to my own parents' home. I knew every inch of this place way before I even bought the whole damn thing. It's routine for me:

Through the double doors of the hospital. Passing first-floor reception. Toward the elevators. Heading up to the fourth floor of neurology. And then to Ana's room.

I'm repeating each step like clockwork, up until the final task. Instead of turning into Ana's room, I storm right into the head of neurology's office.

"Mr. Grey," Dr. Shepherd greets me with disinterest, not bothering to bring his gaze toward mine when I enter. "How may I—"

"You're doing the surgery."

He sighs and reluctantly finally gives me his attention.

"What?" he asks disinterestedly. "We've already been over this—"

"As of today, Grey Enterprises Holdings, Incorporated is now your CEO, CFO, and COO," I interject. "Fairly and simply, you answer to me."

Dr. Shepherd pulls his head back, blinking rapidly. "W-What? What about the board?" he stammers, shaking his head to the news. "Why did you… How did…"

"Like I said—you're doing the surgery," I repeat, my glare piercing down into his shocked expression.

I make a quick scan of his desk, staring at all the disorganized files, folders, and paperwork towering onto his desk.

"You don't seem to be busy now," I mutter pointedly, crossing my arms. I only know this because I had Welch tap into Dr. Shepherd's schedule, finding that the surgeon is free for the next four hours. "So, when would you like to schedule this procedure? This evening? Afternoon? I'd prefer now, but I'm sure you'll have to prepare Ana."

Dr. Shepherd stands abruptly from his leather seat, continuing to shake his head with irritation and shock. "I'm going to the board," he says lowly in almost a threatening manner, as if that means something to me.

No way, asshole. No more running.

I block his way from escaping, towering over him, which causes him take one step back.

"I've told you," I growl impatiently. "The board is gone. I own this hospital, now. I. Own. You."

The mask on his face dissipates more and more, shock morphing into irritation before revealing the anger underneath. He runs his hand through his jet-black hair, heavily styled in his hair products. His icy-blue eyes glower up at me, and then he crosses his arms in defense—a stance of challenge.

"You can't force someone into doing something they don't want to do, Mr. Grey," he mutters finally.

Are you shitting me right now?

"Do your job, Shepherd," I snap, taking a step closer. "Or you're done."

He laughs without amusement or mirth, keeping a challenging eye on my cold gray. "Do it," he retorts wryly. "Go ahead, Grey. Fire me."

I blink at him, trying my best not to shake. I'm in between anger and desperation. All I've done can't all be for nothing.

"You're willing to end your career—"

"None of this matters if you don't give people their consent, Christian," Dr. Shepherd interjects. "You won't be able to get anything done unless you respect it."

"What do you want?" I ask urgently, getting straight to negotiation. "More money? More funding for your department? A higher position?"

He sighs. "You aren't listening—"

"What is it that you want?" Cut the bullshit, Derek. "Just tell me, and I can give it to you."

"I don't want your money!" he exclaims in an angry yell. "I may not be loaded like you, but I am perfectly fine with what I have now, Mr. Grey. So, stop insulting me by throwing your money in my face."

I don't believe it. There has to be something he wants. I just need to find it.

He shakes his head at me with disapproval, his face filled with irritation again.

"You think you can just buy people. Buy me like you did with this hospital," he mutters with disgust. "I'm not like that. I didn't get into this field for the money. Unlike you, I not only care about the patients I treat but also respect them."

"Is that what you call this?" I spit. "You call what you're doing caring and respecting Ana?"

Dr. Shepherd freezes in places, pausing to take in what I say before narrowing his eyes at me.

"What are you accusing me—"

"You're killing her!" I rage loudly through my teeth, hearing my voice bounce off the walls of his office. "You know that, right? Sitting around and doing nothing? You. Are. Killing her. Slowly."

"Excuse me?" He pulls his face back in mortification and confusion. "I'm not killing anyone!"

"Not yet!" I shake my head at him, clenching my fists to my sides as I try holding it together. "But you will when you force her to wait for you. And if she dies on your hands? I'm coming after you."

"I'm doing everything I can to fucking help her. What are you doing?" he snarls at me angrily with his face coming in closer to mine. "Taking her to parties? Pretending like none of this is happening? You are supposed to be helping her. For God's sake, you are her support system!"

"I am! I've given her all that she needs from me! You're the one that's supposed to finish the job."

"Buying a hospital isn't going to speed the process." He rubs his face distressingly, sighing with exhaustion. "I'm tired of men like you thinking you own the whole place. Flashing wads of cash into doctor's faces like it'll do something. Do you even know how a hospital works?"

I wish Ana were here. She would be able to calm me down.

"Pushing her surgery aside does what for her exactly?" I one final step forward, feeling my fingers dig into my palms. There is a stinging bite in my palms. "All this rescheduling. Casting her aside like she means nothing to you. Not like your cases in D.C… You're not doing shit to fix something you say is so simple."

Dr. Shepherd brings his hand away from his face, staring wearily at me with furrowed brows.

"What are you talking about?"

"As dumb as you are, playing dumb doesn't suit you, Derek," I scoff before glaring at him. "At least take accountability for the intent of your actions."

He lifts his brows at me, throwing his hands in the air as a gesture of resignation. "Do you need to be admitted? Psychology is on the sixth floor, Grey."

I bring up my hand to his face with a pointed finger before closing my hand into a tight fist. "You talk about consent like you understand what that is, yet you're forcing her into a position she doesn't want to be in."

I take a deep breath to calm myself before continuing, bringing my hand back to my side.

"Please, Dr. Shepherd. I need you to help her. She's…" I swallow slowly, taking a second to choose my next words carefully. I force myself to focus on Ana, reconfiguring my thoughts as I close my eyes.

I can see her smile clearly in my head. I can hear her laugh. Her giggle. The soft way she murmurs "I'm okay." When all of my attention is given to the only girl I've ever truly cared about, the vivid projection of her being remains in my mind—sweet, compassionate, and kind.

I reluctantly open my eyes, trying to soften my glare before sighing heavily.

"She deserves to live," I say sternly.

His face shifts into remorse, empathy and sadness filling his blue eyes momentarily.

"Despite how we got off and how we speak to each other—I like you, Grey. I do," he replies quietly, foreshadowing the news I know I don't want to hear. "But I can't do much from this side."

I rake my hair with both my hands.

"You said a brain aneurysm was easy! Something you accomplished as an intern!" I yell, flashing a glare once again. "I've seen your success rates. I just can't understand why you don't want to help her!"

This feels like a personal vendetta, like he's trying to hurt her.

Dr. Shepherd furrows his brows at me again, deciphering what I'm trying to say as if I'm speaking gibberish. This only provokes me even more.

Stop fucking looking at me and… "Just fix her!" I take his cup filled with pens and throw it against the wall, a small dent breaking the paint.

He widens his eyes in surprise, but it somehow doesn't surprise him enough to my liking.

"Stop rescheduling her surgery. Stop pushing her away. Stop ignoring her and fucking fix her already!" I shout, my words echoing in his office.

He and I are staring at each other like idiots, but I feel the anger consuming me. I am hot with fury, feeling as though steam is running out of every pore on my body.

"Is that what she told you?" he asks suspiciously, narrowing his eyes at me.

I freeze to his words. The hot wrath fueling my body runs liquefies my body into a ball of fire, but I slowly start to simmer down as the seconds pass, taking in what he said.

"My God… You still don't know." he scoffs with disbelieved shock, shaking his head with what seems like mocking disapproval. "

The hot anger in my body drops down to a chilling cold, and I can feel my body spiral randomly with the darkness that comes up.

"Know what?" I ask lowly, stepping in closer as if I heard him wrong.

"Wow," Dr. Shepherd mutters.

He continues shaking his head, furrowing his brows down at his desk as he begins collecting his files into his hand. His eyes never cease of an emotion I can't decipher, while he continues picking up his paperwork.

"What?" I ask, bending my head to the side to get into his vision. "What is it?"

It's agonizing to watch. Dr. Shepherd works slowly, collecting all his folders and papers neatly to one side as he cleans his desk. He approaches the mess I made, collecting his steel cup and placing his writing utensils back in its cup.

"Tell me," I demand, slamming my fist onto his desk. It rattles to the quake of my impact.

He places his cup back where it belongs on his desk and faces me once more.

"You know, I was wondering why you kept harassing me… Over and over… I thought…'As annoying as this asshole is, he truly cares about her,'" he comments with half of a smile, an expression that doesn't reach his eyes. "But you know just about nothing. Nothing at all. It's…frustratingly…incredible."

He looks at me like I'm a new, obscure species, marveling me in almost a patronizing way.

"I'm doing everything in my power to help Miss Steele," he murmurs, reaching for his front drawer and pulling out a file. "Maybe it's you that can help after all. But you can't do that when you're blind and in the dark." He hands the pale yellow folder to me. "At this point? I couldn't give a shit if I got in trouble for this, especially if it gets you off my ass," he snorts, shrugging his shoulders. "Here you go…boss."

I stare at him and then the folder, reaching out and taking it off his hands.

"What is this?" I don't have to ask to know.

STEELE, ANASTASIA reads clearly to the side of the folder in bolded letters.

"I'm not pushing anything aside," he reveals, making my thoughts stop in its tracks. "Anastasia is the one pushing me away."

Dr. Shepherd walks past me, and right when I think he is about to leave me alone, he says one last thing.

"I told you, Christian. Consent is a two-way street," he says finally over his shoulder. "It isn't just…me."

He leaves me by myself, giving me the chance to finally uncover the secrets of Anastasia Steele when I open the folder.

It's been about an hour, and I am still in Dr. Shepherd's office.

I am sitting at his desk, numb as I to understand what I've seen and read. I'm choosing not to understand any of it. I need the truth from the one person who can be honest with me—the one person I thought could be honest with me. And she's residing only a few feet from his office.

The cold numbness begins fading away, being replaced by undiluted anger. The heat gives me the energy and will to move. I get up from my seat, walk out of the office, and stride into the room that prisons the girl with the answers I need.

My hand is at the door handle, and I'm contemplating my next move.

How do I approach this?

What do I say?

Calmly, I open the door, finding Ana's back turned toward me as I walk in. She's where she always is when I enter, like routine, staring out at the panoramic window. Seattle is as clear as day, just like my mind is beginning to be.

What does she see? What is she thinking about?

I'm unaware of the time. It must be mid-day at this point.

"There you are." Her voice is soft and happy, the smile being heard in its tone.

Is this just a fake ploy? A part of her character she plays?

Is this truly who she is?

"I was wondering when you'd be coming," she adds. "I thought punctuality was your thing, Mr. Grey?" she teases me, but I remain unamused.

Ana finally turns to me with a smile, warming and beaming with a light in her expression. She blocks the sun's rays in a miraculous way, a halo shining from behind her as her hair glows with its warm color. Whenever I come to see her, I'd take a second to admire the brilliance of such beauty.

Not this time.

Her powder-blue eyes notice the folder on my hand, and she smiles curiously at me.

"What do you have there?" she inquires, returning her eye contact with me.

I stare down at the folder, feeling shocked with myself at the predicament I'm in.

Is this real? This can't all be a lie.

I toss the folder on the bed, flinging the contents onto the bed as it scatters and spills.

"Why don't you tell me?" My accusation isn't a question. It's an order.

The tone in my voice has lost all of its humor. All of its warmth and hope. It's empty and cold, and I realize it's the first time I've ever spoken like this to her in such a manner.

I can finally see clearly. The bigger picture. And it isn't a pretty sight, after all. As beautiful and warm Anastasia is on the surface, what lies underneath is far more unsightly.

She isn't okay. None of this has been okay.

Ana furrows her brows in curiosity, and then—soon after—her warmth fades away. Her face becomes blank, almost reflecting back the cold numbness on mine. She knows what I know, but what she is going to do next is still something I'm trying to figure out.

She slowly approaches the folder and picks it up, caressing the sides as her eyes scan the entire thing. I instantly catch the moment when her eyes freeze upon her name, solidifying everything I have assumed up until this point as she places the scans and paperwork back into place.

"What do you think it this is?" she murmurs softly, keeping her eyes away from me.

She is well-aware of what she is holding, but she wants me to say it out loud.

No. "You. Tell. Me," I repeat authoritatively, enunciating each word sternly and coldly.

Anastasia remains quiet, carefully putting the folder back on the bed. Although there isn't an open window or a draft, the patient room I've reserved for her has dropped in its temperature. She looks at me, calm and relaxed.

She's waiting, just like me, for everything to change. Once she and I move forward, there isn't any turning back.

We are only a few feet away from each other, but Ana has never felt farther than me than she has in this moment. And as the distance between us separates more and more, my mind briefly drifts back to the night we met.

"What's your story, Christian?"

"Story?"

"Yes, your story. Your family. Your childhood. How you got into this bar with me at this very moment."

The ambiguity of what she says. The mystery of who she is.

"I'd have to make you sign an NDA if you wanted to obtain that information."

"Oh, it can't be that bad," she giggles.

"Oh, it really is."

The constant loop every situation plays out. The repetitious cycle she and I have been going back and forth about.

"What if I told you that telling me would be granting a dying girl's wish?"

The secrets.

The hiding.

All of it.

"Let's just pretend that I don't have much longer to live," she says dramatically, "and that my last…dying…wish…is to learn everything about you."

It was right in front of me all along. It took me so long, but I finally understand.

"You're sick," I tell her, announcing the news for the both of us. "You're sick, aren't you?"

Her expressions remain unmoved, but there is a bleak smile curling at the corners of her lips.

"I always have been," Ana replies calmly.

"No, Ana. Not like that."

She's hiding again. She's doing all she can to hold the truth she's been keeping from me, but it's too late.

I take a few steps toward her but she stops me with a hand, shaking her head and preventing me from going on.

"I want the truth. Now," I demand, clenching my fists to my side. "I want to know everything. All of it."

She opens her mouth in response, as if she is objecting, but I cut her off.

"I don't want bullshit lies. And I don't want to be led on anymore," I add. When I tell her my honesty, I can see the hurt filling her eyes. "I, at least, deserve that much, Anastasia."

She breaks her gaze with mine and runs her hand through her hair slowly, taking a slow deep breath.

As much as I'd like to bring her and I back to our one night—two people, "a guy and a girl in a bar"—I can't. She and I were never those people. Even when we desperately want to be.

This girl. "For fuck's sake, Anastasia—"

"I don't have a brain aneurysm," she breathes out calmly. "I never did.

Finally, some answers.

Her truth is like a weight being lifted off my shoulders, but the heaviness returns at a whole other magnitude when she crushes me with her next statement, my dark world swallowing me whole.

"I'm dying, Christian," Ana reveals. "I have end-stage metastatic melanoma, and it's spread to my brain, liver, and skin."


A/N: It took a while. But isn't that part of the slow burn? Some people were getting frustrated with me, but I just had to brush off their comments and shrug at them. I hope you enjoyed the read!

Next update is Wednesday! Please review and let me know what you think!