Chapter 85

Sean POV

I found them in Angela's VIP room-Christopher standing by the window, speaking quietly with the night nurse. The sight of him there, acting as if he had every right to be by her bedside, made something twist in my chest.

"Mr. Blake," the nurse was saying, her voice warm with approval, "we don't often see this kind of dedication, even in our VIP wing."

Christopher's response carried clearly across the quiet room. "Although she's not my girlfriend yet, thank you for your congratulations. I'll do my best to win her heart."

The casual presumption in his tone made my blood boil. Without conscious thought, I found myself stepping into the room, my voice carrying that edge of authority I usually reserved for hostile takeovers.

"I'm here to take my wife home."

Christopher turned slowly, his amber eyes meeting mine with that infuriating calm he'd perfected over the years. He didn't move from his position by Angela's bedside, a subtle challenge in his stance that didn't go unnoticed.

"Why are you still here?" I asked, moving to the opposite side of Angela's bed. The question came out sharper than I'd intended, but seeing Christopher so comfortable in my wife's hospital room set my teeth on edge.

Christopher's lips curved into that knowing smile that had always irritated me. "To look after Angela, of course. How's your investigation going? Found anything interesting about Christina's involvement?"

"There's no concrete evidence linking Christina to the attack," I said, keeping my voice carefully neutral despite the provocative tone in his question.

"Still defending her?" Christopher's voice carried a hint of contempt. "After everything that's happened, you're still taking her side?"

"I'm not taking sides," I responded, fighting to maintain my composure. "I'm simply saying we need actual proof before making accusations. Even you should understand the importance of evidence, Blake."

A soft sound from the bed interrupted our brewing confrontation. Angela stirred slightly, though her eyes remained closed.

I watched as her features tensed then smoothed, recognizing the tell-tale signs of someone pretending to sleep-a habit she'd had since college when she wanted to avoid difficult situations.

"Angel," Christopher called softly, the familiar nickname setting my teeth on edge, "if you're awake, you can stop pretending to sleep now."

Her eyes opened slowly, confusion clouding her features as she took in the scene before her. The sight of her vulnerability made my earlier anger fade, replaced by an overwhelming need to protect her-even if it meant protecting her from my own mistakes.

"Are you feeling any better?" I asked softly, my eyes searching her face for any signs of discomfort. She gave a slight nod, though the pallor of her skin told a different story.

"Elizabeth's surgery went well," I continued, gentling my voice. "She's asking for you. We should head home so you can rest properly before visiting her tomorrow."

"The doctors haven't cleared her to leave yet," Christopher cut in sharply, moving to stand between me and Angela's bed. "The doctor specifically said she needs to stay under observation for at least twenty-four hours. You can't just take her home because you suddenly decided to show up."

His words stoked the anger that had been simmering since I'd entered the room.

"I have the best private doctors in the country," I replied coldly, my eyes never leaving his. "I am perfectly capable of taking care of my wife. Your concern is unnecessary and frankly, unwelcome."

I moved past him to Angela's side, shrugging off my cashmere overcoat. The fabric felt warm from my body heat as I carefully draped it around her shoulders.

"This will be warmer," I said softly, then slipped one arm beneath her knees and the other behind her back, lifting her from the bed.

"I can walk by myself," Angela protested weakly, her hands pressing against my chest in a half-hearted attempt to create distance between us.

But I ignored her resistance, only tightening my hold. Her slight weight in my arms reminded me forcefully of how fragile she could be, despite her usual strength.

Through it all, Christopher watched with that unreadable expression that had always made me want to punch him.

"Little Angel," he said tenderly, though his eyes held a warmth that made my arms tighten around Angela, "please take care of yourself. I'll handle everything we discussed earlier."

The look that passed between them wasn't lost on me-some silent communication that excluded me entirely.

"Something you'll miss?" I couldn't keep the edge from my voice as I caught Angela's lingering glance toward Christopher.

Her response was to close her eyes and turn her face against my shoulder, effectively ending any further discussion. But as I carried her from the room, Christopher's voice stopped me at the doorway.

"Wait," he called out, his tone deliberately casual. "You forgot these things."

He held out a neatly packed bag, and as he handed it to Michael, I caught a glimpse of its contents-Angela's phone, her purse, and what made my blood run cold:

her intimate personal items, including her underwear.

Rage surged through me, hot and violent.

Had he been the one to handle her personal belongings?

To change her clothes?

The implications made my jaw clench so hard it hurt, but before I could voice my fury, Christopher flashed that provocative smile of his and turned away, disappearing down the corridor with an air of satisfaction that spoke volumes.

My arms tightened protectively around Angela as questions I couldn't bring myself to ask burned in my throat.

The knowledge that he had touched such private things of hers, had perhaps even... I couldn't finish the thought.

It was too infuriating to contemplate.