Chapter 601 Business Trip
The hospital corridor lights were harsh and glaring. George sat on the bench outside the emergency room, the cigarette between his fingers burned down to the end. Ashes fell onto the back of his hand, but he didn't notice. The clock on the wall pointed to 3 AM, and the ticking of the second hand was painfully clear in the silent hallway.
Suddenly, his phone rang.
George fumbled to pull it out, seeing "Lucas" on the screen. He took a deep breath, trying to sound normal. "Hey, buddy."
"Dad," came the small, distressed voice on the other end. "I can't sleep. I had a nightmare. I dreamed something happened to Mom."
George's throat tightened. He glanced at the emergency room's red light, his voice softening unconsciously. "Don't worry, Mom's on a business trip. She'll be back in a week. Be good and sleep with Grandma for now, okay?"
"But Mom promised to tell me a story tonight," Lucas's sobs felt like knives in George's heart.
"Dad will tell you a story," he forced a smile. "Once upon a time, there was a little bunny..."
Suddenly, Sophia's voice came through the phone. "George, why did Emma suddenly go on a business trip? She said she was picking Lucas up from school this morning."
George's fingers dug into his palm. "It was a last-minute decision. Her phone died, and she asked me to let you know."
"That girl..." Sophia sighed. "Alright, Lucas will sleep with me. Tell Emma to charge her phone."
After hanging up, George slumped back on the bench. He stared at the emergency room door, the image of Emma lying in a pool of blood flashing before his eyes.
"Family!" A nurse rushed out. "The patient is out of danger!"
George jumped to his feet, his vision going black for a moment. He stumbled after the nurse into the room, seeing Emma's face as pale as paper, his heart clenched tightly.
"Leave," Emma's voice was weak, barely audible.
George knelt by the bed, trembling as he held her hand. "I'm not leaving."
"Why?" Emma turned her face away, silent tears falling.
The sky outside gradually brightened. George remained kneeling, unmoving. Only when Emma's breathing became steady did he gently release her hand, stubbornly staying by her side.
As the morning light filtered through the curtains, Emma opened her eyes slightly, seeing George's bloodshot eyes and the stubble on his chin. She opened her mouth but said nothing, closing her eyes in exhaustion.
Meanwhile, at Zachary's mansion.
Michael woke up to the sunlight. He squinted, the hangover headache making him groan. A blanket covered him, and the coffee table, once littered with bottles and glasses, now held a cup of honey water and two aspirin.
"You're awake?" Zachary sprawled on the opposite couch, with dark circles under his eyes. "Finally."
Michael sat up, his temples throbbing. "You took care of me all night?"
Zachary scratched his messy hair, avoiding eye contact. "Sort of."
"Thanks." Michael downed the honey water, the warm, sweet liquid soothing his throat.
Zachary hesitated, watching him. Actually, Celeste had left at 4 AM, cleaning up the mess and making soup before she left. She had made him promise not to tell Michael, her teary eyes saying, "He doesn't need to know," still tugged at his heart.
"What's with that look?" Michael frowned.
"Nothing." Zachary stretched, changing the subject. "I'm starving. Want to eat something?"
Michael's gaze fell on a piece of broken glass in the corner of the coffee table, with dried blood on it. He reached for it, but Zachary darted over. "Don't touch that! I haven't cleaned up yet!"
"Since when are you so tidy?" Michael eyed him suspiciously.
Zachary laughed awkwardly, tossing the glass into the trash. "People change." He headed to the kitchen. "The staff is off today. I'll see what we have to eat."
Michael watched his friend, feeling something was off. He looked down at his shirt, noticing the buttons were neatly done, even the cuffs perfectly arranged. That wasn't Zachary's style at all.
From the kitchen came the clatter of pots and pans and Zachary's off-key singing. Michael shook his head, maybe he was overthinking it.
The kitchen noises continued, Zachary's singing mixed with the sound of frying eggs, like a cat yowling. Michael rubbed his temples, the hangover pain making him frown. Just as he was about to complain, a familiar smell wafted in—caramelized eggs, edges slightly curled, sprinkled with black sesame seeds, and apple slices cut into bunny shapes.
Zachary bounced out of the kitchen with a plate, nearly tripping over his slippers. "Michael, try this! I didn't blow up the kitchen on my first try!"
Michael stared at the breakfast, his frown deepening. The presentation was too familiar—the golden, crispy toast edges cut perfectly, the strawberry jam spread in a recognizable pattern. He poked the egg with a fork, the yolk oozing out, perfectly cooked to his favorite doneness.
"When did you learn to cook?" Michael asked suspiciously.
Zachary was busy pouring milk into his coffee, spilling some on his expensive designer shirt. He wiped it off haphazardly, avoiding eye contact. "Just followed some online tutorials."
Michael tasted the egg, his taste buds awakening. The egg mixture had a hint of sugar. He looked up sharply. "Celeste was here, wasn't she?"
Zachary spat out his coffee. "No."
Michael set down the fork, the clink of metal on porcelain sharp. He walked to the kitchen, seeing water stains on the counter, eggshells in the trash, all cracked neatly in half—Celeste's habit. A faint red mark on the sink's edge looked like a hurriedly wiped bloodstain.
"What happened to your hand?" Michael turned suddenly.
Zachary was stealthily wiping the counter with a paper towel, nearly jumping at the question. "I'm fine!" He hid his right hand behind his back, raising his left with the coffee cup. "Want some? Double sugar."
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