Chapter 77

Angela POV

Sean approached Victoria and Alexander in the waiting area, his expression determined despite his mother's obvious displeasure. Looking at his parents, he said, "I need to go out for a while."

"You're leaving?" Victoria's voice carried despite her attempt to keep it low. "Now? When your grandmother is about to have heart surgery?"

"Are you going to see that woman?" Victoria's tone sharpened as she glanced at me. "I saw her Instagram post, you know. The one with you bringing her strawberries in the middle of the night. Did you think you could hide everything from me?"

Sean remained silent for a moment, accepting the criticism. "Christina's missing. She's injured and emotionally unstable. I need to help find her."

"Of course." Victoria's tone turned icy. "It's always about Christina, isn't it? Don't forget that Angela is your wife."

I felt grateful for Victoria's defense, though she didn't know the truth - that I wouldn't be his wife much longer... She turned to me, disbelief evident in her expression. "Angela, surely you can't approve of this?"

"Christina's injured and potentially in danger," I said quietly. "Sean should help look for her."

"How magnanimous of you," Victoria replied sarcastically, "to be so understanding about your husband running off to another woman at a time like this."

I felt heat rise in my cheeks but maintained my composure. Sean stepped forward, his voice taking on an edge. "Christina might have a permanent scar. She's not thinking clearly-"

"And whose fault is that?" Victoria demanded, though her expression softened slightly at the mention of scarring. She pressed her lips together, leaving the rest unsaid.

The weight of Christina's status as Sean's "savior" hung in the air, the yacht party incident years ago having left the Shaw family eternally in her debt.

"Go," Alexander said quietly, placing a hand on his wife's arm. "But make sure you're back before the surgery is over."

Sean nodded and started toward the elevator. I began to remove his jacket, but he stopped me.

"Keep it on," he insisted. "I don't feel cold, and you need it more than I do."

With one last glance back, he added, "I'll be back soon."

His concern only makes it worse. If he were colder, maybe after the divorce, I could move on from this broken marriage more easily. But the little gestures of care he throws my way only leave me more tangled up, more in pain. Isn't that a kind of cruelty too?

But Sean-he'll never get it.

Victoria moved to stand beside me after he left. "Doesn't it hurt?" she asked softly. "Watching your husband rush off to another woman? Angela, you're either very kind, or very foolish!"

"He's just looking for someone who's injured," I replied, the words tasting bitter.

"Oh, darling." Victoria's laugh held no humor. "A wife doesn't always have to be so understanding. Sometimes a little jealousy lets a man know you care."

Alexander spoke up gently, "I trust Sean's character. He would never do anything to hurt Angela. If he ever did, I would teach him a severe lesson!" After a pause, his expression softening with paternal concern, he added, "I'll have my assistant bring some fruit for you both. You need to relax a little."

I watched as Alexander brought Victoria her tea, his affection evident in every small gesture. Their easy intimacy after decades of marriage made my chest ache with longing.

I envied Victoria deeply. Her marriage was everything I'd once dreamed of having. But my own parents' marriage had been far from happy - perhaps unhappiness in marriage ran in families, like some cruel inheritance. Was that why I couldn't seem to find happiness in my own marriage? Maybe I simply wasn't meant for that kind of love.

A wave of nausea hit suddenly, reminding me I'd barely touched breakfast. The hospital's smell made me feel uncomfortable.

"I need to use the restroom," I said, stepping away from Victoria's perceptive gaze.

"Would you like me to come with you?" Victoria asked, starting to rise.

"Please don't trouble yourself," I added quickly. "I'll only be a moment."

The hallway seemed oddly quiet as I walked, making the normally pristine corridor feel ominous. Despite the stuffiness inside, the winter wind whistling past the windows suggested Manhattan was about to get its first real snowfall of February.

Lost in thought, I almost missed it-the sound of footsteps behind me, too measured to be casual. The same feeling of being watched that had plagued me during the attack at the crosswalk a few days ago returned full force.

I turned, but too late. Strong hands grabbed me from behind, one covering my mouth while the other pressed something sweet-smelling against my nose. The world began to spin, and my last coherent thought was of the jacket still draped over my shoulders.

Then everything went black.