Chapter 499 Why Won't She Come Back?

Clifford lay motionless on the hospital bed, his face drained of all color, eyes sealed shut. Only the faint rise and fall of his chest betrayed that life still flickered within him. An IV line snaked into his arm, delivering a steady drip of medication that seemed to be the only thing tethering him to the world of the living.

His once-sharp features had been carved hollow by suffering, exhaustion etched into every line. Even in unconsciousness, his brow remained furrowed as if pain pursued him into his dreams. His lips were parched and bloodless, a stark contrast to the vibrant man Albert remembered.

Albert stood sentinel beside the bed, his hands trembling uncontrollably at his sides as he studied Clifford's deteriorated condition. If Clifford was in such dire straits, what had become of Yvette? Was she even alive?

The sound of approaching footsteps roused Clifford from his stupor. His eyes fluttered open with the sluggish effort of someone clawing their way back from an abyss. Strange—days of treatment had only weakened him further, leaving him more fragile than when he'd first awakened. He'd watched his parents' mounting desperation with helpless anguish, trapped in a body that seemed determined to betray him.

As consciousness gradually sharpened his vision, Clifford found himself staring up at an unexpected visitor. Albert? Though their encounters had been rare, the man's presence was unmistakable—and deeply unsettling.

Clifford attempted to sit up but his body refused to cooperate, forcing him to settle against the headboard with labored breathing. Albert's expression had turned glacial upon seeing him conscious. He approached the bed with predatory grace, looming over Clifford like a storm cloud ready to break.

"Where is she?" Albert's voice cut through the air like a blade, each word sharp with barely contained fury.

His entire bearing radiated menace—the angular planes of his face carved from stone, his eyes twin pools of arctic darkness that promised retribution.

Clifford blinked slowly, struggling to focus. "You mean... Ms. Orlando?"

"Don't play games with me." The threat in Albert's tone was unmistakable.

"My parents arranged for a helicopter to take her back," Clifford managed, his throat raw and tasting of copper. "What's today's date?"

Vincent, sensing the dangerous undercurrents, answered carefully. "The twelfth."

"The twelfth?" Clifford's breathing became more labored. "She left on the morning of the tenth. My parents told me they'd arranged her transport back to Luken, but she refused any further assistance after that."

Albert's obsidian eyes glittered with lethal intent. If Yvette had returned to Valdemar territory, someone would have noticed. Yet Luken bore no trace of her presence.

A cold smile twisted Albert's lips. "How convenient. You and your parents make quite the team. What exactly are you hoping to accomplish by hiding her?"

Clifford's gaze flickered with something that might have been regret. "I know my parents' methods were wrong, but they were trying to protect me. They did send Ms. Orlando back, and we're prepared to make amends for any harm she suffered."

"Amends?" Albert's laugh was devoid of humor. "Do you imagine the Valdemar family needs anything from the Hayes? Your reparations are worthless."

Watching Clifford struggle for each breath, Albert's patience evaporated entirely.

"This is your final warning, Clifford. Return my wife, or face the consequences."

Clifford opened his mouth to respond, but the effort triggered a violent coughing fit. What began as a single cough rapidly escalated into a full-blown attack. His face flushed crimson as veins bulged along his neck and temples, his entire body convulsing with each spasm.

The heart monitor erupted in shrill alarms as nurses and Clifford's parents burst through the door, freezing when they spotted Albert's imposing figure.

Felix and Gabrielle rushed to their son's side, Gabrielle rubbing his back while shooting accusatory glares at Albert.

"Mr. Valdemar!" Gabrielle's voice cracked with hysteria despite her attempt at formality. "What brings you to our remote sanctuary? Clifford nearly died saving your wife, and still you torment him!"

Even as he gasped for air, Clifford tugged weakly at his mother's sleeve, shaking his head in warning. A crimson droplet splashed onto the white bedding, followed by another, then a steady stream of blood from his nose.

Clifford stared at the spreading stain in bewilderment. What was happening to him?

"Doctor! Someone get the doctor!" Gabrielle's composure shattered completely.

The room erupted into chaos, but the medical staff hesitated to approach while Albert maintained his vigil beside the bed. Desperate, Gabrielle dropped to her knees before him, clutching at his trouser leg.

"Please, Mr. Valdemar, I'm begging you! Let Dr. Diaz treat him! Whatever mistakes we've made, whatever inappropriate feelings he harbored—he's still a human being!"

Albert frowned, suddenly cast as the villain preventing medical intervention. He stepped back with visible reluctance, finally allowing the medical team to surge forward.

As he watched them pump medication into Clifford's failing body, Albert's chest constricted with agonizing clarity. If Clifford—who'd received constant medical care—was this close to death, what condition was Yvette in? How had she survived these past weeks? Where was she now?

Once the crisis passed and Clifford's vitals stabilized, he fixed Albert with a steady gaze despite his obvious exhaustion.

"Ms. Orlando... she's missing, isn't she?"

Albert's silence was answer enough.

"I'm sorry I failed to deliver her safely to you," Clifford whispered, his voice heavy with genuine remorse. "If I survive this, if I recover, I'll take responsibility for finding her myself."

"That won't be necessary." Albert's expression darkened further.

The thought of Yvette's uncertain fate sent fresh waves of anguish through him. But if Clifford had indeed sent her back to Luken, why hadn't she come home?

Albert's jaw worked silently before he spoke with quiet determination. "I'll find her myself."
Love Lost, Regret Found
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