Corbin's eyes locked onto Fallon's face.
His gaze dropped to the raw, red scrape on her arm. It lingered there for less than a second. Then, his eyes flicked away, his upper lip curling slightly. It was a micro-expression of pure revulsion, as if looking at her for one more second would physically contaminate him.
He didn't walk toward her.
He adjusted his left cuff, his long legs carrying him in a straight, aggressive line toward the two bodyguards blocking the hallway.
"Status," Corbin demanded.
His voice was a low, gravelly rumble. It carried the heavy exhaustion of a long flight and the tight, vibrating frequency of suppressed rage.
One of the bodyguards immediately straightened his posture, lowering his voice respectfully. "Miss Berger is stable, sir. But she is in severe shock. The doctors say-"
Corbin raised a single hand. The bodyguard snapped his mouth shut.
Corbin turned his head slightly, his dark eyes scanning the swarm of reporters pressing against the invisible boundary. The deep crease between his eyebrows deepened.
His executive assistant, who had materialized from the elevator right behind him, instantly stepped forward.
"Mr. Mcgowan will not be taking any questions at this time," the assistant announced loudly to the press, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Please maintain your distance."
Corbin didn't wait for the reporters to back off. He took long, purposeful strides directly toward Ashely's hospital room.
He walked right past Fallon. He didn't turn his head. He didn't acknowledge her existence.
Fallon stood frozen against the wall. She felt like a ghost. An invisible, weightless thing. A giant, invisible hand reached into her chest and squeezed her heart so tightly she couldn't pull air into her lungs.
He hadn't asked.
He hadn't looked at her torn clothes and asked, Are you okay?
Corbin reached out, his large hand wrapping around the brass handle of Ashely's door.
"Corbin."
Fallon finally found her voice. It wasn't loud, but it was sharp enough to slice through the ambient noise of the hallway.
Every single person in the corridor stopped moving. The reporters held their breath. The bodyguards stiffened.
Corbin's broad back went completely rigid. He stood there for three agonizing seconds, his hand still on the doorknob. Slowly, he turned around.
The disgust on his face was no longer hidden. It was entirely exposed, raw and brutal.
"What more do you want, Fallon?" he said, his voice dropping to a lethal whisper that somehow carried across the space. "Haven't you made things ugly enough?"
The words hit her like a physical slap across the face. Her cheeks burned. Her vision blurred for a second.
Before she could form a single word in response, the door to the hospital room cracked open.
Ashely's manager poked his head out. He looked at Corbin with wide, fearful eyes. "Corbin... Ashely... she heard your voice. She's panicking. Her heart rate is spiking."
Corbin's demeanor shifted instantly. The lethal ice melted into something frantic. He turned his back on Fallon completely and pushed the door open.
As the door swung wide, Fallon heard it.
The sound of Ashely's muffled, breathless sobbing. And then, Corbin's voice.
"Don't be afraid. I'm back. I'm right here."
His tone was soft. Gentle. It was the voice of a man desperately trying to protect the most precious thing in his world.
The heavy door clicked shut, cutting off the sound.
Fallon stood in the hallway. Her husband was on the other side of that wall, whispering the sweetest words in the world to another woman. She felt entirely hollowed out. She was the punchline to a sick, public joke.
The bodyguard closest to her shifted his weight, stepping slightly into her path, silently warning her not to approach the door.
Fallon drew in a deep, shaky breath. The cold hospital air burned her throat. She turned her head and looked at the frosted glass door of the VIP lounge a few feet away.
She walked over and pushed it open.
The lounge was empty. It smelled of leather and stale coffee. The luxurious beige sofas and dark wood tables felt sterile and unwelcoming.
She turned back to the hallway, looking directly at the bodyguard who had blocked her.
"Tell Corbin I am waiting in the lounge," Fallon said. She lifted her chin, channeling every ounce of the cold authority she had been raised with. "Tell him there are things we must discuss. In private."
The bodyguard hesitated. He looked at the closed door of Ashely's room, then back at Fallon.
Fallon didn't blink. Her eyes were hard, carrying the undeniable weight of the Terrell family heir.
The bodyguard gave a stiff nod.
Fallon stepped into the lounge and left the door slightly ajar.
Four minutes later, the door was pushed open violently.
Corbin walked in. He brought a freezing chill into the room with him. He had taken off his suit jacket. His white dress shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, and the sleeves were rolled up tightly to his forearms. The veins in his arms stood out against his skin. He looked deeply agitated.
He took three long strides into the room, his heavy shoes sinking into the carpet. Every step felt like a boot coming down on Fallon's chest.
He turned and slammed the door shut. The heavy thud sealed them inside, cutting off the flashes, the whispers, and the crying.
They were alone.
The air in the room instantly turned to lead. It was so thick Fallon could hardly breathe.
She looked up at him. She searched his handsome, sharp features. She looked for a single trace of the man she had married, a single drop of warmth or doubt.
She found nothing but harsh, impatient lines.
"You have five minutes," Corbin said.
His voice was completely devoid of emotion. He didn't walk toward the sofas. He didn't sit down. He just stood there, towering over her, looking down at her as if she were a tedious administrative error he needed to correct before he could get back to his real life.
