Lucien’s eyes held a flicker of frost, but his expression remained disturbingly calm. It was the kind of silence that felt like a black hole–vast, endless, and capable of swallowing every trace of emotion.
“Fine, Calista. You’re really something. From now on-”
“From now on, I won’t ask you for anything. I won’t dare to hope for anything from you again. Is that what you wanted to hear, Mr. Fenwick?”
Calista cut him off, her tone devoid of warmth, her gaze unflinching. It was so sharp and final that even Lucien, usually unbothered by confrontation, looked away.
This time, he didn’t argue. He turned and walked away. His tall frame slowly disappeared into the darkness of the parking garage. Only when his footsteps faded into silence did Calista’s knees finally give out.
She collapsed to the ground, clutching her stomach. Her face twisted with pain, and her breathing came in shallow gasps as the cramps grew unbearable.
Just before the pain threatened to knock her unconscious, another figure appeared by the elevator.
Alexander had just finished his shift when he spotted Calista slumped on the floor. Instinct
kicked in, and he rushed forward without hesitation.
“Dr. Lester? What are you doing here?”
Seeing someone familiar, Calista immediately reined in her defenses. She tried to steady her expression, fighting to hide how much pain she was in.
“Shouldn’t I be the one asking that?” Alexander replied, quickly assessing her condition. In one swift motion, he shrugged off his coat and draped it over her trembling frame.
“You don’t have to…”
She tried to protest, but he had already taken control, his hands firm but careful.
“Don’t move,” he said before scooping her up and rushing her toward the elevator.
“Dr. Lester, she’s talking in her sleep again,” a nurse said, brushing a hand over Calista’s forehead. It was burning hot, like she had a fever that could melt the thermometer upon contact.
Alexander glanced over calmly, his expression steady. “Get the medication.”
After speaking, Alexander called the staff over and had Calista rushed into the emergency room. She was suffering the same pain as before. The physical toll of a miscarriage combined with postpartum depression meant Calista’s body had yet to fully recover.
It wasn’t until nightfall that Calista finally woke from her nightmare. Sweat covered her forehead as she came to, her damp hair sticking to her skin, making her look like she had just been pulled from the water.
“You’re awake,” Alexander said, arriving just in time to see her rouse.
“What happened to me?” Calista asked, instinctively brushing her hair back. Only then did she realize how worn and fragile she looked.
“If you don’t remember, it’s better not to dwell on it. Eat something and get some rest,” Alexander said calmly, but his words did little to ease Calista’s troubled heart.
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