Chapter 119
Chapter 119:
Cailin watched him hold the woman who had just tried to kill her. She stood completely still, chest heaving, her hip burning with every breath.
“She tried to run me over,” Cailin said. Her voice trembled — not with fear, but with adrenaline.
“She jumped in front of me! I swerved to save her!” Charla sobbed into his shirt, smearing mascara across the fabric. “She’s obsessed with you, Hilliard. She’s dangerous p>
Hilliard looked at Cailin. He took in the torn jeans, the scrape across her hand, the bruise already darkening along her hip where she had hit the pavement. Then he looked at Charla’s reddened cheek.
He felt the lie in Charla’s body. He felt the truth in Cailin’s rage.
“Take her to the hospital,” Cailin said, her voice dropping to something quieter and far more dangerous. She pointed a trembling finger at Charla. “But know this, Hilliard — if you don’t leash your dog, I will put her down myself p>
She turned and limped away. The crowd parted for her in silence.
𝗗𝗶𝘀𝘤𝘰v𝘦𝗿 ո𝘦w 𝘴𝘁𝗼𝘳i𝘦𝗌 𝘰𝘯.с𝗼𝘮
Hilliard watched her go. A wave of revulsion moved through him as he felt the woman clinging to his chest. He set Charla upright, his hands neither gentle nor careful about it.
“Get in the car, Charla,” he said, his voice cold as bare concrete. “We are going to have a very long talk p>
Hilliard dropped Charla off at the emergency entrance of Horizon Medical, his face a mask of cold indifference. He watched her limp through the sliding doors, then pulled away to a nearby parking garage, needing a moment of silence before facing the inevitable storm.
Charla wasted none of it. The moment she was through the doors, she had her phone out, dialing Jeraldine Holloway’s private number.
“Mother Jeraldine, you won’t believe what that woman did to me,” she wailed, already spinning her story before the line had fully connected.
The hospital room smelled of antiseptic and expensive lilies — a cloying, suffocating combination that clung to the back of the throat. Charla English lay in the center of the VIP suite, propped against a mountain of pillows. A small, neat bandage was taped to her forehead, a stark white square pressed against her perfectly applied foundation. She had insisted on the bandage, despite the fact that the doctor had found nothing more alarming than a slight elevation in her blood pressure.
Jeraldine Holloway paced the length of the room. Her heels struck the linoleum with the steady rhythm of a ticking clock. She wore a tweed suit that cost more than most people’s monthly rent, and her face was set in a mask of pure, unadulterated fury.
“She attacked you in public?” Jeraldine stopped at the foot of the bed, gripping the railing until her knuckles whitened. “That gutter rat laid hands on a future Holloway p>
Charla squeezed her eyes shut and forced a tear loose, letting it track a deliberate line through her powder. It was a practiced motion — one she had perfected over years of managing men and matrons alike.