Chapter 53:
Only then did she notice the background—wasn’t that the living room of Kristian’s villa?
She typed back, “Is your friend Kristian Shaw?”
Throughout her career, she had rarely delved into personal backgrounds, including this particular contact whose identity remained a mystery to her.
Her skills were primarily deployed for evidence gathering.
But now…
Was Kristian investigating her? Or perhaps someone in Kristian’s circle?
“Freya?” Frederick waved his hand before her face. “Freya!”
She lifted her gaze from the screen, meeting his eyes with practiced composure. “What’s up?”
“What’s captured your attention?” Frederick asked, halted at a red light, curiosity evident in his voice. “You’ve been staring at that screen for ages.”
“Nothing.” Freya darkened her phone screen and slipped the device into her pocket, dismissing the email exchange from her mind. “I meant to tell you earlier—before you deplaned, my sister messaged that Sheila’s surgery went smoothly. She’s been transferred to a regular ward.”
As the signal turned green, Frederick eased the car forward. “She asked me to tell you not to worry.”
“Okay,” Freya murmured.
Despite her calm acknowledgment, anxiety gnawed at her.
Sheila had always been the delicate girl, weeping over the smallest injuries.
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Now, with a fracture and head trauma, Freya could barely imagine the pain she must be enduring.
At six-thirty, Frederick drove her to the hospital, provided directions to Sheila’s room, and departed to find parking.
Freya entered the inpatient building and ascended to the sixth floor.
With each step closer to Sheila’s private room, her apprehension mounted until, upon reaching the door, her palms glistened with nervous perspiration.
Through the small observation window, she glimpsed the scene within. A beautiful, angelic-looking young woman lay motionless on the bed, eyes firmly closed in apparent slumber. Beside her sat a concerned father who, despite being in his fifties, maintained the appearance of a much younger man.
As if sensing her presence, Hugh looked up.
Their eyes met through the glass, and something electric passed between them.
Hugh’s gaze locked onto Freya, seemingly unable to break away.
Freya couldn’t articulate the emotions churning within her. After collecting herself, she pushed open the door, still dressed in the black outfit she’d worn to the divorce proceedings, which lent her an air of cool detachment.
She closed the door with a gentle click.
A wave of emotion constricted Hugh’s throat, unleashing an unstoppable surge of longing. “Mina,” he whispered, her old name hanging in the air between them.
“How’s Sheila?” Freya avoided addressing him directly, moving instead to the bedside where she gazed down at the sleeping girl’s peaceful face.
“The prognosis is hopeful,” Hugh replied, forcing himself to suppress the tumult of feelings. “The wounds have been treated properly. Whether there will be any lasting effects will require further evaluation after she regains consciousness and begins recovery.”
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