Chapter 7

When I regained consciousness, the smell of antiseptic hit my nose first.

A dull, heavy ache pulsed from the back of my head and my left shoulder. I opened my eyes, the blurred shapes around me gradually sharpening into focus.

It took me a moment to realize I was lying in a hospital room.

The door pushed open, and Julian walked in.

He had changed into clean clothes, heavy dark circles under his eyes. As he stepped up to the bed, he instinctively checked the monitor before turning to me.

"You're awake?" he spoke, his voice raspy, deliberately keeping his tone soft. "How are you feeling? Are you dizzy? Do you feel nauseous?"

I stared quietly at the ceiling, not saying a word.

He reached out as if to touch my forehead, but his hand halted mid-air before he merely smoothed back the stray hairs on my brow, his touch exceedingly gentle.

"You have a mild concussion, and your shoulder needed a few stitches," he said softly, sitting down by the bedside. "You'll need to stay in the hospital for a few days."

I closed my eyes, then opened them again.

"Where's Chloe Quinn?" I asked, my voice eerily calm.

Julian's expression froze slightly.

"She's... fine. Just a little shaken up," he answered quickly, almost without thinking. "Wendy, under those circumstances, I..."

"I understand," I cut him off, my voice flat and devoid of emotion. "It was an emergency, and you were closer to her. In moments like that, people instinctively save whoever is nearest. I get it."

Every explanation Julian had prepared died right in his throat.

He looked at my calm face and my unnervingly quiet eyes, an inexplicable irritation welling up inside him.

He suddenly wished I would question him, throw a tantrum, or even hit and curse him.

Anything was better than this—calm, rational, and even understanding enough to make excuses for him.

His Adam's apple bobbed. "Are you mad at me?"

"No." I turned my head to look out the window. "You didn't do anything wrong. Why would I be mad?"

Those words left Julian Sterling feeling suffocated with dread. "Wendy, can you stop making a scene?"

I looked at him, completely baffled. "How am I making a scene?"

"You weren't like this before."

The current me had no emotions, no ripples of feeling—like an unfeeling robot devoid of joy or sorrow.

I was practically a different person from who I used to be.

A deep sense of unease washed over Julian. "Wendy, don't be like this. You're making me feel like you're a stranger."

"Julian, you're really strange." I couldn't help letting out a laugh. "You were the one who got sick of me being sensitive and suspicious. Now that I don't care about anything, why are you still unhappy?"

Julian froze slightly, struck completely speechless.

My gaze remained impassive. "What exactly do you want me to be like?"

He parted his lips, only to realize he couldn't produce a single sound.

Right then, a nurse knocked on the door. "Director Sterling, the patient in bed 27 next door would like you to take a look at them."

Julian looked at me, but I had already closed my eyes.

Subdued, he said in a low voice, "Get some rest first. I'll come back to stay with you later."

I didn't answer him, keeping my eyes closed, leaning pale-faced against the pillow.

The door was quietly pulled shut.

I opened my eyes, stared at the ceiling, and gave a faint tug at the corner of my lips.

So even he could feel that this version of me was a stranger.

But what could be done? I didn't love him anymore, and I could never change back into the person he once knew.

Over the next few days of my hospital stay, Julian's visits to my room could be counted on one hand.

From the hushed gossip among the nurses, I gathered that the hours he spent vanishing without a trace weren't entirely in the operating room or his office.

Most of the time, he wasn't even in the hospital.

Without even guessing, I knew whose side he was by when he wasn't here.

So on the day I decided to check out early, I didn't notify him.

The date for my departure to Africa was drawing near. It was a three-year-long expedition, and I still needed to go home to make preparations.

That evening, I packed the last of my necessities into my suitcase.

A call came in.

"Ms. Brooks, your visa has been approved, and your flight has been booked. I will send you the flight details shortly, so please keep an eye out for them. If you have any questions, feel free to contact me at any time."

"Okay."

Just as I hung up, Julian's voice suddenly came from behind me.

"What visa? What flight?"