Bronson POV:
A sudden, inexplicable unease settled in my chest, a cold knot tightening around my heart. I looked towards the window, compelled by an invisible force.
A plane, a distant silver speck, sliced across the impossibly blue sky, then vanished behind a cloud.
My gaze drifted to Bridgett, sleeping peacefully in her hospital bed. My promise. My responsibility. The thought, once a heavy burden, now felt strangely hollow.
My mind, unbidden, wandered to Elodie. I pictured her, curled up in my arms last night, silent, unmoving. Was she still in pain? Had I truly hurt her that badly?
The inexplicable panic resurfaced, a frantic flutter in my stomach. I had to see her. I had to make amends.
I quietly let myself out of Bridgett' s room, then drove to the city' s upscale commercial district.
Last month, Elodie had paused in front of a boutique window, admiring a delicate silk scarf. "It's beautiful," she'd murmured, "but too expensive." I hadn't pressed, dismissing it as a fleeting fancy. Now, the memory clawed at me.
I bought the scarf, my credit card a blur of motion. I also picked out a luxurious coat, a classic piece from her favorite designer, something she would never buy for herself.
On the way, I called my assistant. "Book a private jet," I ordered, my voice firm. "To the Maldives. For Elodie and me. Make it the most exclusive resort, no expense spared. And no interruptions. Absolutely no phone calls from... anyone."
"Yes, Mr. Clayton," his efficient voice responded.
I hung up, glancing at the gifts on the passenger seat. A fragile hope began to bloom in my chest, easing the earlier unease.
She would love this. She always loved my surprises. Elodie was so easy to please, so forgiving, so utterly devoted. Just a little pampering, a few grand gestures, and she would forget everything. She always did.
I pushed open the door to Elodie' s hospital room, a soft, indulgent smile already on my face.
The smile froze. My breath hitched. My heart plummeted.
The room was empty.
The bed was meticulously made, the sheets smoothed without a single wrinkle. Even the half-empty glass of water I' d left on the nightstand was gone.
I stood there, stunned, rooted to the spot.
"Looking for Mrs. Clayton?" the nurse at the station asked, her voice cheerful, oblivious.
My throat felt tight. "Yes. Where is she?"
"Oh, she left this morning," the nurse replied, a slight frown touching her brow. "Checked herself out. Said she was feeling much better."
"Left?" My voice was a raw croak. "Where did she go?"
The nurse shrugged. "She didn't say. Just packed up her things and left."
I dropped the shopping bags, the silk scarf and expensive coat spilling onto the floor. My fingers fumbled for my phone, dialing her number.
The cold, automated voice of the operator echoed in my ear. "The number you have dialed is no longer in service."
My mind went blank for several agonizing seconds. My world, once so meticulously ordered, felt like it was crumbling around me.
My phone buzzed again, vibrating violently in my hand. Bridgett. Her name glared from the screen.
"Bronson? Are you there? I'm in so much pain! My head... it feels like it's splitting open!" Her voice was a terrified whimper.
My throat was dry, raspy. "Elodie... she's gone."
A beat of silence. Then, Bridgett' s soft, soothing voice. "She's just angry, Bronson. She'll come back. She just wants you to chase her, to prove how much you care."
I clung to her words like a drowning man to a life raft. "Yes," I managed to rasp, my voice thick with a sudden, desperate hope. "Yes, you're right. She's just... playing hard to get."
"Exactly," Bridgett purred. "Now, come back to me. I need you here. I'm so scared."
I hung up, staring at the empty room. My mind, desperate for order, latched onto Bridgett's words.
She's just angry. She wants me to chase her. She loves me. She wouldn't leave me.
I bent down, picking up the fallen flowers, their petals crushed.
"Mr. Clayton?" Dr. Rodriguez, Elodie' s brother' s physician, approached me, a bewildered expression on his face. "Why are you still here? Didn't you already transfer Finley Ryan to the specialized facility in Colorado this morning?"
The flowers slipped from my grasp, falling to the pristine hospital floor once more. My world tilted, spinning violently into chaos. My voice trembled. "Transferred? What are you talking about?"
