It was just past 1 a.m. on the first day of the new year when Irwin was rushed into the emergency room.
The attending physician examined his injuries, his brows furrowing with concern. “The wound’s pretty deep,” he said gravely. “It might’ve reached the bone.”
Briony stood outside the ER, watching Stewart pace back and forth, his phone pressed tightly to his ear. The fear and anxiety written all over his face were impossible to miss.
She never imagined things would spiral out of control like this.
Though Briony had her share of resentment, she’d never once intended for Irwin to get hurt.
She’d cared for him for five years. Colds and sniffles happened often enough, but tumbles and scrapes were rare. This was by far the worst injury he’d suffered since he was born, and Briony couldn’t pretend she didn’t
care.
After all, she’d raised this boy with her own hands; he’d called her “Mom” for five years. And now, because of a single argument, he was lying in the ER, fighting for his life…
No matter what mistakes Rosita and Stewart had made, Irwin was just a child–an innocent bystander.
Briony pressed a trembling hand to her lower abdomen, her chest tightening with guilt.
She couldn’t bring herself to harden her heart toward Irwin–yet when it came to her own children, she’d always been cold and ruthless.
Ever since she had learned of their existence, it seemed as if she’d done nothing but turn her back on them.
But if Irwin was innocent, then what about her own kids?
Weren’t they just as blameless?
A wave of pain crashed over her, so sharp she had to close her eyes to keep from crying out.
Her mother was gone, and soon, these two children would be taken from her as well.
She would be left in this world with no one–utterly alone.
Briony turned away, moving slowly, and suddenly felt her wrist caught in a firm grip.
“Going somewhere?” Stewart’s voice was low and cold, edged with anger.
She frowned, turning to meet his accusing gaze. Her own expression was cool, her eyes flat and lifeless.
Stewart’s face hardened even further. “Irwin got hurt because of you. He’s still in there, fighting for his life!”
Briony hadn’t planned to leave–not yet. At the very least, she would wait until Irwin was out of danger. She was just exhausted and wanted to find a place to sit and wait.
But she didn’t bother explaining herself to Stewart. There was no point.
She pulled her hand free from his grasp, ignoring the intense look in his eyes.
Without glancing back, Briony walked over to an empty seat, folded her arms around herself, and stared at the floor, her gaze unfocused–anywhere but Stewart.
He noticed how thinly she was dressed and, after a moment’s hesitation, took off his coat and approached her. A shadow fell over her. Before she could react, the heavy black overcoat, still warm from his body, se f around her shoulders.
Briony immediately reached up to shrug it off, but Stewart, clearly anticipating her move, gently pressed her shoulders. “No need to punish yourself just because you’re angry,” he said quietly.
1/2
09:59
Chapter 97
She froze.
“Stewart!” Rosita’s anxious voice rang out as she hurried toward them.
Stewart let go of Briony and turned to meet Rosita, catching her just as she stumbled. He looked up at the man who had accompanied her–Director Quentin Lockwood, Rosita’s stepbrother and Irwin’s uncle.
“Has Dr. Faust arrived?” Stewart asked.
“He’s already inside,” Quentin replied, glancing briefly at Briony before turning back to Stewart. “Is that Irwin’s foster mother?”
Stewart caught the implication in his tone and frowned. “She had nothing to do with this. It was an accident.” Quentin offered a thin, knowing smile. “As long as Irwin’s okay, we’ll work things out.”
Stewart’s expression darkened. “Is that a threat, Director Lockwood?”
Quentin adjusted his gold–rimmed glasses, his lips curving in a polite smile. “I thought you had plenty of faith in Dr. Faust.”
He paused, watching Stewart’s face grow even more stormy, then raised an eyebrow. “Our brilliant Attorney Wentworth–getting rattled because he cares?”
Quentin looked every bit the refined gentleman, but those striking hazel eyes always gave him an air of cold detachment, something untamable.
Stewart had dealt with him a few times before and knew all too well that Quentin was fiercely protective of his family.
Just as now–he didn’t bother with pleasantries, coming straight to the point with threats and provocation. Stewart narrowed his eyes. “You certainly play the part of protective brother well.”
00:59
