“Y-Yes, Miss Bennett…” he said quickly, the words stumbling out in panic. “I—I will be there soon. Please stay with Mr. Sinclair until I arrive.”
Mia didn’t respond.
She ended the call and tossed the phone back onto the console without care. The dull sound echoed inside the car.
Then she turned toward James.
His eyes were squeezed shut, his brows drawn together in pain. One hand was still pressed tightly against his chest, fingers curling into his shirt as his breathing came out heavy and uneven, each inhale shallow, as if it hurt to take in air. His head leaned back against the leather seat, sweat glistening along his temple and dampening his hairline.
Yet even like this—even while struggling to breathe—he hadn’t let go of her.
His hand remained wrapped around hers, grip tight and desperate, knuckles pale, as if she were the only thing anchoring him to consciousness.
Mia frowned faintly and tried to pull her hand back.
The moment she moved, his fingers tightened reflexively, holding on even harder.
She inhaled sharply, annoyance flashing through her eyes—but she didn’t fight him again. She simply went still.
She sat there, rigid and silent.
Her face remained expressionless, her gaze fixed forward.
Thankfully, the wait didn’t last long.
Several minutes later, headlights cut through the darkness.
A car sped into the lot, brakes screeching softly as it came to a hurried stop beside them. The driver’s door flew open before the engine was fully off.
William stepped out almost at a run.
He crossed the short distance quickly, his coat forgotten, tie loosened, worry written clearly across his face. He yanked the door open without hesitation and bent down immediately, peering inside.
“Mr. Sinclair?”
That was when Mia finally moved.
She forcefully wrenched her wrist free from James’s grip, the sudden movement making his hand fall limply back onto his lap. She stepped out of the car without sparing him even a glance and immediately started walking away.
“Mrs. Sinclair—” William called out instinctively.
Mia stopped mid-step.
Her back was straight. Her shoulders squared.
She turned slowly, her expression calm but distant, her eyes devoid of warmth.
“I’m not Mrs. Sinclair anymore, William,” she said quietly. “It’s Miss Bennett.”
William froze.
“I… I’m sorry,” he said, lowering his head apologetically. After a moment’s hesitation, he looked back up at her, concern tightening his features. His voice softened, turning cautious and pleading.
“Ever since you left the house… Mr. Sinclair hasn’t been eating properly. He skips meals. Sometimes entire days.”
He swallowed. “He’s been having chest pains frequently…”
He paused, then met her eyes directly, desperation clear in his gaze.
