“Miss Bennett… I know things between you two weren’t good. I know he made mistakes.” His voice wavered slightly. “But Mr. Sinclair… he truly regrets everything.”
He hesitated, then added quietly, “Can you please… stay?”
His lips parted as if choosing his words carefully.
“He really… cares about you.”
Mia didn’t respond.
Not a single muscle in her face moved.
No anger. No sadness. No hesitation.
She turned away without another word and walked off, her footsteps steady and unhurried.
William watched her retreating figure, disappointment heavy in his eyes.
After a long moment, he sighed, turned back to the car, and carefully helped James out. James leaned heavily against him, his weight dragging as they moved him into the passenger seat of William’s car.
James sat slumped, eyes closed, one hand still pressed to his chest. His breathing was uneven, his face pale.
William’s heart sank, but he didn’t speak. He started the car and drove them away.
***
An hour later, Neil stood beside James’s hospital bed, hands casually shoved into his pockets, but the ease in his stance contrasted sharply with the tension radiating from the room.
James lay propped against the pillows, eyes open but vacant, staring at the ceiling. His face was hollow, color drained, and the exhaustion was etched into every line.
Neil, by contrast, leaned against the edge of the bed with an air of infuriatingly casual confidence. His smirk lingered in the quiet, dressed in simple, casual clothes rather than his usual tailored suit. He tilted his head, his tone light, teasing—but sharp enough to cut.
“Well, well,” he drawled, voice breaking the tense silence. “How did Mr. Sinclair end up bedridden?”
He chuckled, small but pointed, at the sight of James’s worn-out expression.
“It wouldn’t happen to have anything to do with your ex-wife… would it?”
James shut his eyes immediately, a sharp crease forming between his brows. He turned his face away, jaw tight, trying to block Neil out completely.
Neil’s sigh was loud and exaggerated, echoing around the room, irritation creeping in.
“How many times have I told you to stop being angry all the time and start eating properly? Look at you now—lying here like some patient on his deathbed.”
James opened his eyes slowly, the weight of exhaustion dragging his lids down. He turned his head back toward Neil, lips pressed into a thin, bitter line. In a low, sulky voice that barely masked the ache in his chest, he asked, “Mia didn’t come to see me?”
“She didn’t,” Neil replied quietly.
He reached for the phone on the bedside table, picked it up, and tilted the screen toward James. A message from the wedding planner glowed brightly.
Neil’s eyes narrowed, sharp and calculating. “I heard about your remarriage plan,” he said flatly, tone bordering on cold. “Have you convinced Mia yet—or are you planning to walk into the chapel alone?”
James’s expression tightened instantly. His hand shot out, snatching the phone from Neil’s grasp. He yanked the blanket up over himself, curling inward slightly, the weight of helplessness pressing down on him. A low, irritated grumble escaped his lips.
“I told you…” he muttered, voice rough with frustration, “I don’t want to talk about it.”
Neil’s patience fractured completely. He stepped closer, lowering his voice.
“Man, you shouldn’t have treated her like that in the past in the first place!” he said sharply. “I kept telling you to do better—to stop treating your wife so carelessly—but you never listened.”
