From Mob Princess to Mugshot Photographer novel Chapter 85

**Chapter 9**

The veil of sleep had draped over me for a full two days, a deep and unyielding slumber that cocooned me in an oppressive silence and darkness, as if the world outside had ceased to exist. It was a strange, dreamless abyss where time lost its meaning.

Suddenly, the tranquility shattered. I was jolted awake by a ruckus at the door, a cacophony that reverberated through the sterile confines of my hospital room. My eyelids felt heavy, weighted down as if burdened by the very essence of fatigue. Yet, amidst the fog of my drowsiness, a familiar voice pierced through the haze. It was Cedric, his frantic calls echoing like a desperate plea, reaching out to me across the void.

“Open the door! Please let me in!” he shouted, urgency lacing his every word. His voice, frantic and raw, cut through my lethargy like a knife, urging me to respond.

Outside, two imposing bodyguards, positioned there by Ewan, stood resolutely like sentinels, their presence a formidable barrier between Cedric and me. I could sense the tension thickening in the air, a palpable force that heightened the stakes of the moment.

“My wife is in there! Move aside!” he bellowed, his frustration palpable, echoing off the sterile walls.

With a monumental effort, I propped myself up against the pillows, my limbs heavy and uncooperative. I reached for the doorbell, pressing it with a trembling finger. The soft chime rang out, a lifeline in the chaos.

The bodyguards, alerted by the sound, cracked the door open, their expressions a mix of concern and professionalism. “He insists on seeing you,” one of them informed me, glancing back at Cedric, who stood there, a whirlwind of emotion.

I nodded, my voice barely a whisper, “Let him in.”

In an instant, the bodyguards stepped aside, and the door swung open. Cedric burst into the room, a tempest of emotion. He was clad in a thin shirt, his hair a chaotic mess, a stark contrast to the meticulously groomed man I once knew. It was clear he had rushed here, propelled by a sense of urgency that mirrored the turmoil within me.

He grasped my hand tightly, his grip almost desperate, his eyes shadowed by dark circles that spoke of sleepless nights and worry. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked, his voice strained, a mix of anger and concern flooding his features.

I pulled my hand away, turning my face as a wave of hurt washed over me. “I wanted to tell you,” I replied, bitterness lacing my tone. “The first time I discovered the truth, I found you with Fiona at her pregnancy check-up. I was holding the report, drowning in sadness and fear, and when I reached out to you, you brushed me aside like I was an inconvenience.”

“The second time, I kept trying to call you, hoping you would help me sign the consent form, but you had already blocked my number,” I continued, each memory piercing through the fog of my mind with painful clarity.

“The third time, I came to your office, desperate to speak with you face to face, but instead, you forced me to apologize to Fiona over a bottle of perfume that I didn’t even break.”

“Eventually, it became painfully clear that you despised me. You kept me around to inflict your torment, and as long as I was in pain, you found some twisted satisfaction.”

“Now, I’m at death’s door. Congratulations, Mr. Smith. You’re finally on the verge of getting what you always wanted.”

The atmosphere thickened with unspoken words as he stepped closer, guilt etched across his features, his eyes wide with realization.

“Nina, it’s all my fault! Everything is my fault!” he exclaimed, his voice trembling with remorse, a stark contrast to the anger that had filled the room moments before.

“Ewan visited me and laid bare the reasons behind your breakup with him and your subsequent marriage. I understand everything now,” he continued, his voice cracking. “Please, forgive me. I was selfish, immature.”

His words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. “I had no idea how much your family had suffered…” he trailed off, the weight of his ignorance settling between us.

Later, I would learn that during my unconscious state, Ewan had stormed into Cedric’s workplace, confronting him with a fury that left a mark. He had beaten Cedric in front of his colleagues, a scene that played out like a darkly poetic justice.

“He told me that you never truly loved him. He was willing to divorce you to fulfill your wishes. It’s me who owes you an apology,” Cedric added, desperation creeping into his voice.

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