He didn't answer, but he twisted open the jar of cookies and pulled out a chocolate chip cookie. "Cookies make everything better," he said, offering me a small smile.

I frowned, and he stood up, grabbing his clipboard. "I've got to make rounds in the other wards. Richard has sorted out your discharge papers; you'll be heading home with him shortly."

As he walked away, I caught a glimpse of a blush creeping up his ears.

Could the boy from my dreams be Max? Somehow, their indifferent smiles blended together in my mind, each seeming to carry a burden of years beyond their age.

But even if it were him, it just goes to show, the world has a funny way of bringing people together.

Now, walking down the hospital corridor with Richard, ready to leave, we bumped into Claude, sitting in her wheelchair.

"Claire, you're leaving without saying goodbye?" she accused.

As if she had any right to play the victim. What more could she possibly want from me?

I look that gullible, Claude?" I shot back, catching the fleeting uncertainty in

declarations of love for me? And now you've moved on so quickly, don't you find yourself despicable?" She threw a diary at my feet, a testament to the years I spent under the illusion of love at the Hart family estate, now just a

not giving it another glance before

her physically, but I held him back. "It's not worth

being

for the Goodwin family's

shook my

a name popped into

the Hilton family?" I asked out of the blue. That night at Claude's villa, I remembered her calling out to a man named Maximilian for help, yet Ronald Collins claimed it was

,

into it. After Alan passed, the Hiltons have kept a low profile, and Maximilian shuns

deepening the mystery of that

of my connection to Maximilian,

harbored resentment towards Maximilian, all seemed like part of a larger scheme. "Richard, I need

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