Chapter 750

Chapter 750:
How could she look at him with such indifference? How could she keep cutting him open, again and again?
His chest ached, exhaustion weighing heavily on his bones, but still—he couldn’t leave. Not now.
Marc’s taunting words echoed in his mind, forcing him to confront the truth he dreaded most. Does she still have feelings for Marc?
Yet, instead of storming into the room, William sank into a chair by the wall. His back stayed straight, his figure outwardly composed, but there was no mistaking the loneliness etched in his slumped shoulders.
His head lowered, gaze unfocused, thoughts buried where no one could reach them.
Passing nurses slowed their steps, stealing curious glances.
“That man over there is so handsome. I’ve never seen him before—maybe he’s family?”
“I saw him outside Mr. Walsh’s room earlier. He hasn’t moved an inch.”
“Then why doesn’t he go in?”
William gave no sign he had heard them. He sat, unmoving.
The hours dragged on, the sterile light in the corridor casting long, lonely shadows on the floor.
William remained as still as a statue—so cold, so unreachable—that none of the nurses dared to approach him. They observed him from their seats, whispering in hushed voices.
It was deep into the night when the door finally creaked open.
Stella stepped out, rubbing at her temples. Fatigue was etched into her face, the kind born from more than just a sleepless night. She started down the hall toward the restroom but stopped short.
Her breath caught.
William. He was still here.
His head was bowed, dark strands of hair falling across his brow. In the dim light, his face looked almost fragile, stripped of the usual arrogance he wore.
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His tie was loose, his collar unbuttoned, exposing the edge of his collarbone.
His jacket lay forgotten across his lap.
He didn’t look like the William she knew. He looked… human. Vulnerable.
How long had he been sitting there?
The whole night?
Realization struck her like a jolt—he had been here all along. Her heart gave an involuntary flutter; she’d been so certain he’d left hours ago. The sound of the door stirred him. Slowly, William lifted his head.
Bloodshot eyes. Heavy shadows beneath them. Every line on his face screamed of a sleepless night. And yet, when his gaze met hers, it was startlingly sharp—too sharp—like he’d been waiting just for this moment.
Stella’s throat tightened. The words she wanted to say—”Why are you still here?”—stalled on her tongue.
His eyes were unreadable, layered with something that made her chest ache.
He didn’t move from his chair. His voice, hoarse and rough from silence, carried a weight that pressed straight into her heart.
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