Chapter 44
44:
Christina took a sip of her coffee, the warmth grounding her as she waited in silence. But as the minutes ticked by, boredom slowly crept in. She reached for her phone to distract herself.
That was when she finally noticed the three missed calls from Brendon. At first, she didn’t feel like calling back. The thought of hearing his voice again brought more irritation than concern. But then, a flicker of worry surfaced. What if he had called because something had happened to Bethel?
With a reluctant sigh, she hesitated, thumb hovering over the screen. After a moment of indecision, she tapped the call button.
The line connected—then immediately dropped.
Christina frowned and tried again. It was immediately hung up.
A third attempt. Still the same.
Annoyance mixed with unease. Clearly, something wasn’t right.
Instead of calling again, she opened her messages and typed quickly, “Why aren’t you answering? You called me earlier—was it urgent? Is Bethel alright?”
A few moments later, a reply came through. “Nothing’s wrong. Stop pestering me. I’m busy and don’t have time for you.”
Christina stared at the screen, incredulous. Then, she laughed—sharp, exasperated, almost amused. Unbelievable. She quickly typed back, “Have you lost it? You’re the one who called me first. If anyone’s being a nuisance, it’s definitely not me.”
No reply followed.
Christina smirked, assuming Brendon had no comeback.
But the truth was far different. Brendon was still in the emergency room, unconscious, and his phone was now in Yolanda’s possession.
A sudden commotion broke the silence, making Yolanda flinch. Relief flooded her when she saw it wasn’t Katie returning. She quickly deleted Christina’s message and wiped the call log, erasing any trace of the exchange.
gⲁ𝗅𝗇𝗈ν𝖊𝗅𝘀.𝗰𝗈𝗺 – 𝗟𝗲𝗚𝗜𝗧 𝗘𝗗𝗜𝗧
Yolanda stared at the screen, jaw clenched, teeth grinding. Three calls. Brendon had called Christina three times before he passed out. Even in a moment of crisis, the first person he had thought of was Christina. If Katie hadn’t phoned, she might’ve stayed in the dark until morning. That thought stung deeper than she expected.
Panic seized Yolanda. Brendon had changed. He wasn’t the same man who used to think of her first. And Christina had clearly left her mark on Brendon’s heart. Her three years of quiet devotion had etched something permanent into his soul.
Yolanda’s hands curled into tight fists. No. She wouldn’t allow this to happen. She wouldn’t let Brendon slip away—not to Christina, not to anyone. Until the day she chose to discard him, Brendon would remain hers. His body, his heart—both belonged to her. And she wasn’t about to give them up.
Christina clearly hadn’t backed off. She must still be plotting something—trying to worm her way back into Brendon’s life. That woman had no shame. How dare Christina try to seduce Brendon right under her nose? It was downright delusional.
Yolanda’s grip tightened around the phone, knuckles pale, her jaw clenching so hard it sent a jolt of pain through her temples. Even if she no longer wanted Brendon, she would never let Christina have him. She would rather destroy him than let him end up in Christina’s arms.
Meanwhile, at the mansion, the quiet of the hallway was broken by the sound of approaching footsteps, which caught Christina’s attention.
She turned just as Dylan stepped into view—tall, composed, radiating a cold and commanding presence. Beside him walked a young man in gold-rimmed glasses, exuding quiet sophistication.
The young man was undeniably attractive in his own right—refined, poised, almost scholarly in demeanor. But next to Dylan, the contrast was striking.
Where Dylan carried the weight of silent authority, with eyes sharp as steel and a presence that demanded attention, the young man was calm and gracious—more gentleman than force.
“Apologies for the delay,” Dylan said as he approached.
Christina rose from her seat with a smile. “Not at all. I just arrived myself.” Her eyes flicked toward the young man. “And this is…” There was a curious warmth in her tone as she regarded him, her expression open, friendly—perhaps even a little intrigued.
Dylan noticed her reaction and felt a flicker of annoyance. He hadn’t expected her to pay so much attention to Morse Hampton, a psychiatrist he invited over for her. Suddenly, bringing Morse along seemed like a terrible idea. His expression darkened, a cold edge creeping into his demeanor, sharp enough to chill the air around him.
“I’m Morse Hampton,” the young man said with a confident smile, stepping forward and offering his hand.
Dylan watched the exchange, an unexpected wave of irritation and jealousy tightening in his chest.
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