Chapter 47
Chapter 47:
Without wasting another second, Brinley hurried to the butler and demanded the code. Even as hesitation clawed at her, she forced her fingers to punch in the numbers.
The lock clicked open with a muted snap.
She stepped inside—for the first time.
Instead of opulent grandeur, the room revealed severe simplicity: an expanse of black, white, and muted gray that mirrored the man’s distant composure.
The vast space held no warmth, almost nothing beyond the essentials.
And then the figure lying motionless on the bed shattered that frozen solitude.
Austin lay stretched across the mattress, his complexion ghostly pale, his lips tinged with a sickly gray…
Even his usually immaculate hair had fallen into disarray, stray strands stuck to his damp forehead.
Rе𝗮𝗱 𝖿𝗿𝗲𝖾 nо𝘃els 𝘰n
His eyes remained shut, and the faint rise and fall of his chest was so slight it seemed it might stop at any moment.
The spacious bed swallowed his frame, making him look thinner—diminished, almost fragile.
A sharp ache pierced Brinley’s chest, spreading like cold needles through her veins.
She had known him at his most commanding, had seen his easy arrogance and teasing smirks, but she had never imagined this unshakable man could collapse into such weakness.
“Austin?” Her voice trembled as she crept closer.
She reached out, her fingertips brushing his skin—and heat seared into her palm, stealing her breath in alarm.
On the nightstand, several medicine bottles lay scattered, one bottle of stomach pills nearly drained. The cap had rolled onto the carpet, and a trail of white tablets had spilled across the floor.
Brinley’s brows drew together as her mind replayed every kitchen disaster—the steak blackened to ash, the cream soup so salty it puckered the tongue, the cookies burned beyond saving.
She couldn’t stomach a bite of them, yet Austin had eaten every one without flinching.
Now, as she stared at his pale, feverish face, the truth dawned on her: he had been forcing himself to endure her culinary failures all along.
“What a fool,” she murmured, shaking her head faintly.
The butler hurried in after her, startled by the scene. He fumbled for his phone, calling Miguel and summoning a private doctor without delay.
Brinley refused to just stand there. She darted out and returned with the medical kit, tore open a fever patch, and pressed it clumsily to Austin’s burning forehead. Then she soaked a towel and began wiping his neck and palms in nervous haste.
The instant the cool cloth touched his overheated skin, his lashes fluttered, and a low groan slipped past his lips.
“Austin? Please, wake up!” Brinley leaned closer, her chest tightening as she caught the bitter tang of alcohol on his breath.
Guilt surged through her. He had drunk heavily with her hours ago, and she had been so caught up in her own drinking that she hadn’t noticed his condition worsening.
His eyelids finally lifted, his pupils hazy and unfocused as they struggled to settle on her face.
After a long moment, he rasped, his voice hoarse and broken, “Why are you here? You should go p>