When Her "Death" Couldn't Break Him (Cecilia and Nathaniel)

Chapter 2058

Vivian had zero intention of consulting George. She knew perfectly well the old patriarch would spin whatever lie Zachary needed if it helped their relationship.

"Fine-get checked at the hospital and cure the problem. Next time you 'sleepwalk' into my bed, I won't be so polite," she warned, voice sharp as broken glass.

Relief rushed through Zachary. He straightened, nodded, and finally vacated the mattress.

The moment he left, Vivian patted herself down from collarbone to ankle. Only after confirming nothing inappropriate had happened did she allow her pulse to settle.

Before sunrise, George had already slipped out of the Sinclair residence. His chauffeur steered the car toward the psychiatric hospital, where Stella was being held.

At the facility, the director met him at the gates, bowing ever so slightly before leading the distinguished visitor down a sterile corridor. "Old Mr. Sinclair, she's right in here," the man murmured with rehearsed deference.

George leaned close to the director, his cane tapping once against the tiled floor for emphasis. "No one is to mention my visit to Zach-absolutely no one. Do you understand?"

The director straightened as if a thread had pulled him upright and answered with a brisk nod. "Yes, sir."

The question lodged in Erwin's mind like a splinter. Who on earth was Stella Ross -important enough to weigh on Cecilia, on Zachary, and now on the patriarch of the Sinclair family himself?

Through the narrow pane set into the ward door, George studied the young

woman.

Gone was the glitter-eyed starlet who used to calculate every breath. The figure slumped inside looked hollowed out, her gaze vacant, her once-polished aura scraped away to nothing.

across the corridor. "Zach really brought

did," the director confirmed,

closed the door, and demanded every

George's shoulders. Zachary had not betrayed Vivian. He truly no longer cared about

muttered, "the boy has done something

the director ventured, "Old Mr. Sinclair, should we arrange for Ms. Ross to

had assumed the visit's purpose was

a brittle laugh.

faces now-she earned every inch of

then did the director grasp the patriarch's

her, Stella's

"Understood," he said quietly.

"Good."

headed back toward the ward, footsteps measured,

someone to unlock the door. Hinges groaned, and a

nurse had returned with more pills, Stella bolted behind the bed. "I'm not ill. Keep

the old man called, his

the sight of snow-white hair and unmistakable Sinclair

her pride.

and

knees, forehead striking the linoleum. Sip was wrong.