Chapter 7

At two in the afternoon, Collette had just managed to fall into a light sleep.

The door to her room swung open. A team of nurses walked in.

The head nurse smiled politely. "Ms. Norris, we are moving you to the VIP suite on the top floor."

Collette frowned. Her chest tightened with immediate rejection. "I didn't ask to be moved."

"It's a direct order from Mr. Lara," the nurse replied, already unlocking the wheels of the bed.

Before Collette could argue, two orderlies pushed her bed out of the room and into the private medical elevator.

The doors opened on the top floor.

They wheeled her into a suite that looked like a five-star hotel. Massive floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the autumn leaves of Central Park.

The nurses transferred her to the luxury bed and quietly left the room.

Collette sat in the center of the massive bed. The silk sheets felt like a golden cage pressing against her skin.

She couldn't breathe.

She ripped the empty IV tube from her hand, threw off the covers, and stood up. She needed air.

Wearing only the thin silk robe provided by the hospital, she walked barefoot out of the suite.

The thick carpet absorbed all sound. She was about to head toward the elevators when a familiar, delicate laugh echoed from down the corridor, followed by the low, commanding timbre of a man's voice. Collette's heart skipped a beat. She walked toward the lounge area at the end of the hall, hiding behind a massive potted palm tree.

A soft, rolling sound caught her attention.

Collette peeked through the green leaves. The blood drained from her face.

Hartwell was back.

He was walking slowly down the hall, his hands resting on the handles of a wheelchair.

Sitting in the wheelchair was Isabell.

She had a white bandage wrapped around her head. She was holding a paper cup of hot cocoa, giggling at something she was saying.

Hartwell, the man who never bowed his head to anyone, was leaning down slightly to listen to her. There was a faint, tolerant look on his face.

Collette's stomach lurched. A violent wave of physical disgust washed over her.

Just then, Isabell shifted in the chair. Her eyes flicked toward the potted plant. She saw the edge of Collette's silk robe.

A nasty, calculating gleam flashed in Isabell's eyes.

"Ah!" Isabell cried out.

She jerked her hand, intentionally tipping the cup. The hot cocoa spilled all over the blanket covering her legs.

She threw herself backward, crying out in pain, her head resting directly against Hartwell's stomach.

Hartwell immediately stopped the wheelchair.

He pulled a silk handkerchief from his breast pocket and bent over, quickly wiping the liquid off the blanket.

While his head was down, Isabell looked up. She stared straight through the leaves at Collette and gave her a smug, victorious smirk.

Collette let out a cold, sharp laugh.

She didn't hide anymore. She stepped out from behind the plant and walked right into the middle of the hallway.

The sound of her laugh made Hartwell freeze.

He stood up straight and turned his head.

When he saw Collette standing there in a thin robe, barefoot on the floor, his eyes darkened with immediate anger.

He took long strides toward her, shrugging off his suit jacket as he walked.

He reached out, fully intending to wrap the warm jacket around her shivering shoulders.

The second the fabric touched her skin, Collette violently jerked backward.

She looked at his hands like they were covered in a deadly virus. Her eyes were filled with absolute, unfiltered disgust.

Hartwell's hands froze in mid-air. The jacket slipped halfway down his arm.

He stared at her, completely shocked by the pure repulsion in her eyes.

Collette glanced at Isabell in the wheelchair, then looked straight into Hartwell's eyes.

"Mr. Lara," Collette said, her voice dripping with ice. "Don't touch me with the same hands you use to take care of other women. I find it dirty."

The word echoed in the silent hallway.

The air around them shattered.

Collette didn't wait for his reaction. She turned around, keeping her spine perfectly straight, and walked back to her VIP suite.

She left Hartwell standing frozen in the hallway, his face turning a terrifying shade of pale.