Mornings at the Carrason household usually began with Clarisa's nagging. But this morning, a tense silence enveloped the house. Rayden had been up since dawn. He hadn't cleaned the house as usual, but instead sat at the kitchen table, quietly sorting through Uncle Lhi's leftover herbs on a clean cloth.
When Clarisa entered the kitchen, she stopped in the doorway. Her instinct was to shout her usual insults, but the words caught in her throat. She looked at Rayden—the same man who had been the source of her miracle the night before—and she didn't know what to say.
"How... how's my mother now?" she asked awkwardly, the first sincere question she'd asked Rayden in three years.
"She's passed the critical stage," Rayden replied without looking up from his work. "But her body is still very weak. This concoction must be prepared immediately and delivered to the hospital for the morning dose."
Rania and her father, Matteo, joined her in the kitchen. The three of them—the usually dominant Carrason family—now stood and watched silently as Rayden worked. There was a strange yet captivating sight in the way he handled the herbs. He carefully washed each root, cut the leaves with precision, and placed them in a specific order into his grandmother's old clay pot. He poured water from the teapot in precise amounts without using a measuring cup. All his movements were filled with purpose and confidence.
"Why are you using that pot?" Rania asked curiously. "Our modern pots heat up faster."
"The energy of some of these herbs is destroyed by contact with metal," Rayden replied curtly, lighting a small fire on the stove. His intimate knowledge of such unusual matters deepened the mystery.
As the rich, soothing aroma of herbs began to fill the kitchen, Rania's phone rang. It was a call from the hospital.
"Yes, hello?... Really, nurse?... Thank goodness!" Rania's face beamed with relief. "Grandma's awake. She can talk and ask about all of us."
Clarisa cried tears of joy, this time tears of relief. She stared at Rayden, a complicated gaze filled with gratitude she was reluctant to admit, confusion, and a hint of fear. This man was no longer just a son-in-law; he was her family's savior.
A few hours later, the family gathered in Madame Carrason's ward. Her condition was much better than they had imagined. Although still weak, her eyes were clear and her breathing was steady. The nurses and the Chief Physician who had stopped by treated Rayden with obvious respect, often asking for follow-up instructions.
Maestro Carrason stared at her grandson-in-law for a long time. She took Rayden's hand with her wrinkled fingers. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice weak but sincere. She may not have understood what had happened, but she knew who she should thank.
Amidst the relief, Matteo returned to the room, his face pale, a piece of paper in his hand.
"What's wrong, Dad?" Rania asked.
Matteo didn't answer, just handed the paper to his wife. It was a breakdown of the initial hospital charges. The cost of the ICU stay, overnight emergency procedures, a heart specialist consultation, and medications.
Clarisa's eyes widened when she saw the string of numbers at the bottom of the paper. "One... one and a half billion?" her voice trembled. "Is this just the initial cost? What can we do?"
The joy in the room instantly vanished, replaced by a gray cloud of despair. Their logistics company had been struggling for the past few months. Spending that much money so quickly could destroy the family business that had taken decades to build.
"We managed to save Mom's life..." Matteo said in a heavy voice. "...but I don't know how we're going to pay for all this."
Clarisa began to panic. "What can we do? Our assets are tied up in the bank. Our last project lost money. We're finished... completely finished."
Rania stared at the bill blankly. She knew her family's financial situation. That figure was a verdict of bankruptcy. They had traded one crisis for another, no less dire.
Amidst the Carrason family's panic and despair, only one person remained calm.
Rayden Armon stood slightly behind them, glancing at the astronomical figure on the bill. His expression remained unchanged. His face remained impassive, his eyes deep and unreadable. It was as if the figure of one and a half billion meant no more to him than the price of a cup of coffee.
He said nothing, but his absolute composure in the face of financial disaster felt even more strange and mysterious than the miracle he had performed the night before.