The usually mild-tempered doctor lost her cool and grabbed her phone, ready to make a call.
But when her eyes landed on Marianne lying on the bed, her resolve softened.
Dr. Obrien was scared. If Suzanne's voice came through on the other end, it might push Marianne over the edge. The baby in her womb would truly be in danger.
"Ugh, forget it, I won't call him. Don't stress yourself out." Dr. Obrien let out a heavy sigh, one after another.
"Okay." Marianne wiped away her tears and turned over, only to see her phone screen light up.
Message after message from Director Angus popped up.
[Marianne, where are you?!]
[Marianne, the sponsor has been waiting for three hours!]
Quickly brushing away her tears, Marianne turned to the doctor. "I can leave now, right?"
Dr. Obrien panicked. "What are you planning to do? Your body can't handle this!"
"Marianne, listen to me!" she added. "The baby's the priority! I'll call Kennedy to pick you up…"
"Marianne! Marianne!"
The heavy sound of the door slamming shut silenced Dr. Obrien's shouts, cutting them off behind the hospital room door.
Meanwhile, Marianne texted the director. [Director Angus, I'm so sorry. I've had some health issues and couldn't make it earlier. If I come now, will it still be okay?]
The reply came swiftly. [What happened? Are you alright?]
Director Angus's concern seemed uncharacteristic. Normally, he wasn't the type to fuss. Still, the warmth in his words tugged at Marianne's heart.
[You've probably heard about someone falling into the lake on set, right? That… that was me.]
As soon as she sent the message, a wave of embarrassment hit her. Anyone on set could tell him what happened—that she had been provoked by his boyfriend's other woman and abandoned by her boyfriend, left humiliated and soaked.
[I'm glad you're safe now. Send me your location. I'll send a car to pick you up.]
Marianne thought he was just being polite, but five minutes later, a sleek Maybach pulled up outside the hospital.
'Director Angus' she thought. 'When did he get so rich?'
"Miss Marlowe, please get in." The driver, wearing white gloves, carefully opened the door for her.
The car's interior carried a light, pleasant fragrance—familiar yet soothing. Marianne couldn't recall where she had smelled it before, but it did calm her nerves.
As the car left the city, the roads became wider, and so did her mood. Soon, she'd be able to restart her career. Her path would only grow brighter.
If she had never paused her acting career to play housewife, who knows how many Best Actress trophies she'd have by now?
Lost in her daydream, her thoughts were interrupted by a sudden call from Alissa Cross, Kennedy's manager.
"Marianne, where are you? Hurry over! Kennedy's in danger!"
Marianne's voice was steady. "Alissa, whatever happens to Kennedy has nothing to do with me. You should talk to Suzanne instead."
"Please, don't be like this, Marianne. I'm begging you, come talk some sense into him!"
"I'm busy right now."
"This is serious! He's going to die! Kennedy's gone mad—he's refusing to use a harness for a rooftop stunt. It's suicide…"
The phone slipped from Marianne's hand and fell to the floor.
She had thought about breaking up with Kennedy. She had thought about never seeing him again. But she had never, not once, thought about him dying.
'Fine. This time, I'd treat it as our final goodbye,' she decided.
"Excuse me, could you take a detour to Skyline Studios?"
Clenching the fabric of her coat, Marianne's palms were damp with cold sweat.
