Sylvia never imagined Rupert could be so reckless.
Despite it being late at night, the hospital was bustling with people, yet he dared to shove her hand under his sweater.
Her cold hand touched the man's fiery waist, making her involuntarily let out a soft gasp.
People around turned their heads at the sound, and she quickly looked down, struggling fiercely, but her hand was trapped tightly against his waist.
Sylvia curled her fingers, feeling the heat from his tight muscles against her palm, with no escape in sight. Anyone stepping closer would see her hand sneaking under his sweater.
Perhaps it was her imagination, but the warmth in the palm of her hand felt alarmingly high.
Panicked, she whispered, "Rupert, are you out of your mind? What if someone takes a picture?" Rupert's cold gaze fixed on her, his voice icy, "You're not scared coming to see Warren late at night dressed like that, but you're scared being with me? Why did you come into my room at night in the first place?"
Sylvia flinched, unable to meet his eyes, for once she had deeply loved the man before her. But now...
Her eyes lowered, "Can I regret it? If I could start over, I..."
Before she could finish, Rupert pulled her into his coat, their upper bodies pressed tightly together, and she could even feel his chest rising and falling.
He restrained her body, trying to escape, and said sternly, "There are no regrets with me."
Sylvia looked up, meeting his gaze. The air thickened for a moment; his eyes were dark and his pale complexion seemed oddly off.
She opened her mouth to ask something when her phone rang.
It was her ride.
Checking her phone, Rupert didn't stop her.
"Miss, I've arrived. Where are you?"
"Coming right out."
Sylvia stepped back, turning her face to leave, and felt the weight of a man's coat added to her shoulders.
Turning back, Rupert had already walked to his car.
On the phone, the driver urged, "Miss, we can't park here for long."
"I'm coming."
Sylvia adjusted the coat on her and hurried to the car.
...
After Rupert got into his car, Orson, carrying a bag of medicine, also got in.
Rupert closed his eyes, murmuring, "Nobody saw, right?"
Orson nodded, "No one."
Rupert, with his fingertips against his forehead, eyes half-closed, his gaze cold, said, "Investigate Warren's car accident."
"Understood."
"Follow them."
Rupert frowned, massaging his temples.
Orson, surprised, asked, "Mr. Rupert, still following? Should I stop her car and have Ms. Lloyd come over?"
"If you don't want to be driven mad by her, just follow."
Orson wanted to laugh but dared not.
Sylvia returned to her apartment, hanging Rupert's coat up.
She sat on the sofa, her feelings complicated as she thought, slowly forming a plan.
The next day, when she walked into the office, she noticed Bridget's desk was empty.
Perhaps she was too engrossed, a colleague approached her.
"Ms. Simpson called in sick. It's suddenly gotten colder, and many around me have fallen ill. Be careful not to catch something."
"Right."
Sylvia nodded lightly, well aware that Bridget was likely hiding away to have an abortion.
She had specifically looked up symptoms of a medical abortion the night before. They say it's incredibly painful, with many writhing in bed, and there's also the risk of an incomplete abortion, necessitating a surgical procedure to clean the womb.
The only upside is that it can be done at home, unnoticed.
Sylvia had thought about leaking the news to the paparazzi, but without solid evidence...
Bridget's conversations with the doctor had been overheard through a door, and even a phone recording could be distorted. If Bridget denied it, she would be at a loss.
Plus, the doctor had even altered Bridget's medical records. She
couldn't possibly force Bridget
undergo a public examination at the hospital. noveldrama