The Enticing CEO’s Chosen Bride - Chapter 2075

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Seth's stern visage was frosted over, his knuckles white as he gripped the steering wheel of his
sleek black sedan. The incessant buzzing of his phone on the passenger seat was a nuisance he
had no intention of entertaining.

His car sliced through the city, finally halting outside a grand estate on the outskirts, the gates slowly
parting as if sensing his arrival. The mansion's lights burst on, illuminating the opulence that could
only be described as resplendent.

He drove through the gates, pulling up to the front door where a figure waited, deferential in their
greeting. "Mr. Diaz."

Seth remained silent, striding into the mansion.

The place was a beacon of light, immaculately clean, as if preserved in time from the day she left.
She had overseen every detail, handpicked the furniture, and designed the layout. It was nearly
ready for them to move in, just a month shy of completion, yet three years had passed without her
return.

Once unfamiliar with the surroundings, Seth now navigated the halls with ease. He ascended the
staircase, the servants closing the doors behind him, boiling water but not daring to disturb him
upstairs.d2

She had even selected the bedroom's bedding, a solid sea blue. He shed his coat, intending to lie
down as he always did, but his arm was bleeding. He paused, sat down on the floor, leaning against
the bed, his gaze fixed on the moonlight outside the window as he sought to quell the restlessness
in his heart.

For three years, no matter how busy, if he was in the city, he made sure to return here, to the
woman he imagined would always be waiting—his wife. The least he could do as a husband was to
come home at night.

And so, he returned to the room that should have belonged to them both.

Still, he clung to a hope.

She would have to come out eventually, right?

When she did appear before him, it felt like another interminable wait had just begun. Would she
destroy everything in the house, or perhaps set the entire estate ablaze with her fiery temperament?

That wouldn't do. Absolutely not.

Time stretched on until a knock on the door pulled Seth from his reverie. "Who is it?"

Charlie's voice was soft from the hallway. Seth frowned, realizing it was ten o'clock. He had been
sitting there for two hours.

"What is it?" The voice came out of the closed room, dark and dull.

Charlie hesitated before speaking, "Ms. Danielle is in the hospital. She's been injured on set and
refuses to cooperate with the doctors."

Before Charlie could continue, the door swung open.

With a darkened expression, Seth moved past him, "To the hospital."

Seth put on his jacket as he walked away, and Charlie's expression changed drastically when he
saw the blood seeping out of Seth's arm.

"We'll talk at the hospital."

Charlie sprung into action, descending the stairs to fetch the car. On the passenger seat, Seth's
phone lay abandoned, now being charged by Charlie. "It died. Ms. Danielle's assistant couldn't
reach you, so they contacted me."

Seth responded curtly, ignoring the constant ringing of his phone, knowing it was Danielle's people
on the other end. The phone must have shut down due to their persistent calls.

Upon arrival at the hospital, Danielle was vehemently refusing the doctors' attempts to treat her
infection, insisting on a shower despite her fever and pale lips.

Seth entered, and Danielle's tears began to flow at the sight of him. "Why are you here?"

His frown deepened as he looked at her, "Do you have to cause a scene every time you're sick, to
the point of exhausting everyone around you?"

Feverish and barely coherent, Danielle had stubbornly waited for him, and he had come, after all.

Her assistant, worn out by her antics, turned to Seth in relief, "Mr. Diaz, Danielle's wound is
infected, and she insists on showering before it's dressed."

His voice turned icy, "Stop being foolish."

Danielle wiped away a tear, defiant, "Is wanting to be clean now considered foolish? I've fallen into
dirty water countless times on set, exposed to all kinds of bacteria, and no one cared. Now I want a
shower to feel clean, and you call it foolishness?"

Seth's brows furrowed further, "Get dressed first, then you can clean up."

She refused outright, and his patience waned, "Danielle, don't test my limits."

Her heart tightened, tears flowing more freely, "You've been here less than two minutes, and you
think I'm already testing your patience?"

A mocking laugh escaped her, her tearful eyes laced with scorn. "Or perhaps someone else has
already ground down your patience, so now you're taking it out on me?"

No names were mentioned, but the insinuation was clear.

Charlie, sensing the tension, interjected cautiously, "Ms. Danielle, Mr. Diaz was injured, and he
came straight to you before getting treated."

A flicker of surprise crossed Danielle's face as she noticed his arm, then seemingly out of strength,
she collapsed onto the bed.

Injured? How could he be injured just after returning from abroad? It could only be the wound he
sustained trying to save Cicely. And now she was expected to feel sympathy for a man injured while
saving another woman?

Bitter laughter filled the room as the doctor stepped forward to treat Danielle's wound. This time,
she said nothing, her gaze a mixture of emotions as she stared at Seth. "Where is she now?"

Charlie's heart skipped a beat. The question seemed too late. Hadn't Cicely been living in Emerald
Valley Estates for quite some time now? The thought of spilling the beans now and stirring up a
tempest was the last thing anyone needed.

Seth pursed his lips, gazing at her with a weighty silence that filled the space between them.

"You didn't rush her to this hospital, did you? After all, when you found out she was hurt, you were
frantic, scooping her up and dashing off. This has to be the place, right?"

"It was you who sent her tumbling down."

Seth's voice was deep, a hint of a storm brewing in his eyes as he locked gazes with Danielle.

One couldn't tell if he was simply lamenting about cleaning up the mess Danielle had inadvertently
caused, or if he was mentally bookmarking this incident for a future reckoning. The fine line
between the two intentions was as blurred as the mist on a cliff's edge.