Chapter 142 Getting into Such a Mess for the Ex-Wife
I had told myself repeatedly not to care about Christopher anymore, but when I heard he was in trouble, I couldn't control myself.
Over these eight years, it seemed a conditioned reflex had taken root.
Grabbing my car keys and rushing out, I tried to remain calm. "It's at Messlushi Hospital, right? I'll be there soon."
"Yes, VIP Room 1," Donald confirmed.
On the way to the hospital, I managed to keep my composure somewhat, but my thoughts were scattered. Despite the current challenges facing the Valence Group, it remained one of the leading conglomerates in Jacquar, always holding the potential for a resurgence. Who would dare to openly retaliate against Christopher at this time?
Even though I had braced myself, arriving at the hospital and seeing Christopher sitting on the bed with a pale face, staring blankly out the window while the doctor tended to the wounds on his arm and chest, surprised me.
My heart was instantly seized by a dense, gnawing pain, as if being devoured by ants.
"Mr. Valence..." Donald saw me and called out to the man on the bed.
Christopher came to his senses and was about to respond to Donald when he noticed me out of the corner of his eye. I wanted to speak, but my throat tightened. "How did it get this serious?"
On the stainless steel tray, the bandages the doctor had removed were soaked in blood, and the wounds were deep and long, looking excruciatingly painful.
Christopher's eyes flickered slightly, and he spoke with studied nonchalance, "It's nothing, just a minor injury."
"Really? A minor injury that had you unconscious for a day and two nights, only waking up this morning? Mr. Valence, don't be so stubborn..." Donald spared no effort in exposing the gravity of the situation.
Christopher shot him a sharp look and said coldly. "Who told you to inform her?"
"It did." Donald replied, pointing to the cufflink Christopher was fiddling with in his hand. Before Christopher could utter a curse, Donald swiftly made his exit.
The doctor soon finished wrapping the bandages and applied ointment to the abrasions on Christopher's forehead. He spoke earnestly, "Mr. Valence, if you don't take these injuries seriously and don't take care of them properly, they will definitely leave lasting problems. You must be more careful. Also, make sure the wounds don't get wet to avoid repeated inflammation and infection like last time."
Christopher nodded slightly. "Got it."
The doctor, knowing Christopher wasn't really listening, turned to me with a somewhat helpless expression. "Mrs. Valence, please take care of him."
A wave of unease washed over me, leaving me uncertain about how to respond. The doctor's hopeful gaze held me in its grasp, compelling me finally to nod. "I'll let his assistant know,"
"Alright, I'm off then," the doctor answered, reassured by my promise, before making his exit.
The room fell into a tense silence, leaving Christopher and me alone for the first time since the ordeal began. I pressed my lips together, grappling with the torrent of questions swirling in my mind.
"Why didn't you let Donald Quill tell me?" I asked, my voice tinged with confusion and a hint of frustration.
Was this not the same Christopher who had, only days prior, pleaded with me to apologize and reconsider our looming divorce? Why now, when the moment was ripe to elicit my sympathy, did he choose to cloister his pain, instructing his assistant to keep me in the dark?
Despite the bruises marring his face and the bandages binding his left hand, his arm suspended in a sling, Christopher's aura of cool nobility remained undiminished, a quiet strength emanating from him even in his most vulnerable state.
"I was afraid that even if you knew, you wouldn't come," Christopher admitted softly, his voice tinged with a hoarse vulnerability. He laughed, a bitter sound that cut through the silence. "That would make me too pathetic."
I met his words with a cold reply, the chill in my tone unmistakable. "If we're talking about pitiful moments, I've had more than my fair share."
How many times had I needed him, only to be met with absence? The memories were a bitter reminder of the gap between us.
"Hope Royston," he called out, his voice suddenly filled with a tender sincerity that made my heart twist. His eyes held a depth of affection that was almost painful to witness. "You still have some feelings for me, don't you? You came when you heard I was hurt. So why won't you give me a chance to make amends?"
I lowered my eyelashes, taking a silent, steadying breath. "It's different."
Deciding to divorce didn't mean I wished ill upon him or wanted anything bad to happen to him.
Christopher, seated on the bed, reached out and gently pulled me closer. His eyes, earnest and searching, bore into mine. "How is it different?"
His gaze destabilized me, setting my heart into a chaotic tumble. "It's different in every way," I murmured. "No matter who got hurt today, I'd be concerned."
"No matter who?" Christopher repeated my words, his tone turning cold and jagged like the edge of a blade. "If it were Cecil Lewis who got hurt today, would you have rushed over this fast?"
"Yes." I replied without a moment's hesitation. And, for reasons I couldn't quite fathom, I added, "Maybe even faster."
Cecil was a very good friend to me. No one could remain indifferent upon hearing that a close friend was hurt.
The softness in Christopher's eyes immediately faded, replaced by a hard intensity. His voice grew firm, almost accusatory. "Would you also look at his naked body so shamelessly?"
Only then did I realize that Christopher had just finished changing his bandages and wasn't wearing a shirt. His upper body, save for the fresh bandages, was bare. His broad shoulders, narrow waist, and well-defined muscles were all on display.
My face flushed, a testament to my unintentional oversight, but his biting words spurred me to retort. "Yes, what's the matter with that?"
Christopher's grip on me tightened, his possessiveness palpable. "I won't allow you to look at other men like this, especially Cecil Lewis."
"Why?" I asked, my tone challenging.
"Because I'm still your husband." Christopher responded, enunciating each word deliberately. Seeing my displeasure, his attitude softened slightly. "Help me put on my shirt, will you?"
I didn't refuse. Picking up the shirt from the bed, I said softly, "Listen to the doctor and take care of your body."
Christopher's eyes clouded with disappointment as he caught the underlying meaning of my words. "Are you leaving?"
I nodded, affirming his suspicion. "Yes."
Confirming that Christopher wasn't in immediate danger was enough. Seeing him reassured me, but lingering would only complicate things for both of us.
I bent down to temporarily remove the bandage from around Christopher's neck. As my fingers brushed his unusually warm skin, I stiffened slightly. He had a fever.
But with doctors and nurses around, it wasn't my concern.
Pretending not to notice, I gently helped Christopher put on his shirt, carefully fastening each button before slowly straightening up. "Alright, I'm leaving now."
Christopher's head lowered slightly, his jaw tight, embodying the silent sulk of a child.
As I exited the room, I found Donald waiting outside, looking somewhat surprised. "Are you already leaving?" he asked.
"Yes." I confirmed with a nod.
Donald glanced back into the room, then closed the door behind him. "Mr. Valence is quite seriously injured. I'm not very good at this, and I'm afraid I can't take care of him properly..."
I understood his implication but chose to ignore it, restraining my emotions. "The nurses will take care of him. The staff in the VIP ward are highly attentive."
Donald sighed. "No nurse can be as good as his own wife..."
"Donald Quill," I reminded him gently but firmly, "you know better than anyone that Christopher and I are getting divorced. It's no longer appropriate for me to be involved in these matters."
Donald, exasperation creeping into his voice, blurted out, "But who else would go through such a mess for an 'ex-wife'?"
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