Chapter 194
Caspar’s POV:
Three hours.
That’s how long I’d been sitting in my study, drumming my fingers
against the polished mahogany desk, waiting for Dr. Morrison’s
analysis.
A soft knock interrupted my thoughts.
Edward appeared at the doorway, Dr. Morrison’s tall figure looming
behind him.
“Sir, Dr. Morrison has arrived with the results,” Edward announced,
his expression carefully neutral.
I gestured for them to enter, straightening in my chair.
“Thank you for coming so quickly, Doctor.”
Dr. Morrison nodded, setting his leather bag on a nearby chair.
He was a man of few words and his absolute discretion.
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“The pill you sent me,” he began, his voice low and measured. “It’s not
a standard multivitamin as the label suggests.”
My jaw tightened.
“I suspected as much. What is it?”
He pulled out a small folder and handed it to me.
“It’s a specialized anti–rejection medication.”
The folder felt unexpectedly heavy in my hands.
“Anti–rejection?” I repeated the words foreign and unwelcome.
“Are you certain?”
“Completely,” he confirmed.
I stared at the chemical analysis in front of me, the scientific
terminology blurring together.
Only one conclusion formed in my mind: Audrey was sick. Seriously
sick.
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“What kind of condition would require this medication?” I asked, my
voice rougher than intended.
Dr. Morrison adjusted his glasses.
“Without examining the patient, I couldn’t say with certainty. But
typically, these medications are for individuals who’ve severe
autoimmune disorders that attack healthy tissue.”
“And without this medication?”
“The autoimmune condition would progress unchecked. It could be…
fatal.”
The word fatal echoed in my mind, bouncing off the walls of my
consciousness with increasing volume.
I stood abruptly, startling both men.
“That’s impossible,” I said firmly. “Audrey is perfectly healthy.”
Dr. Morrison’s expression remained professional, but I caught the
slight softening around his eyes–that look doctors give when
delivering bad news.
“Some conditions can be well–managed with medication, Mr.
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Thornton. Patients can appear completely healthy to the untrained
eye.”
I dismissed him with thanks, instructing Edward to see him out.
Once alone, I pressed my palms against my eyes, trying to process
this information.
Audrey had never shown any signs of serious illness, except for that
moment in the room earlier today.
The way she had suddenly gone pale, gripping the edge of the table
before insisting she was fine.
I’d dismissed it as fatigue or low blood sugar, but now…
Was this the shadow that had been haunting her all along?
The reason she flinched whenever conversations turned to the
future?
The explanation for that sadness that sometimes crept into her eyes
when she thought no one was watching?
I stood abruptly, walking to the window.
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The Manhattan skyline blurred before me as I tried to control the
emotions surging through my chest.
The thought of Audrey suffering, facing something grave alone, tore
through my defenses.
My hand closed into a fist against the glass.
“Damn it,” I whispered, the sound barely audible even in the silent
room.
I had to know more. I had to help her.
Whatever this was, whatever battle she was fighting, she wouldn’t
face it alone anymore.
I was eager to see her now.
I strode purposefully through the corridors of my home, heading
directly for Noah’s room.
The door to Noah’s room was slightly ajar, a soft glow spilling into
the hallway.
I approached quietly.
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Through the gap, I could see Audrey gently adjusting Noah’s blankets,
humming a melody I didn’t recognize.
She must have sensed my presence because she looked up suddenly,
her eyes meeting mine through the doorway.
She raised a finger to her lips, signaling for silence, then carefully
stepped away from the bed.
“He just fell asleep,” she whispered as she joined me in the hallway,
pulling Noah’s door almost closed behind her.
Looking at her now–the gentle curve of her cheek illuminated by the
soft hallway light, her eyes clear and bright–I found it impossible to
reconcile Dr. Morrison’s diagnosis with the woman before me.
Without thinking, I pulled her into my arms, holding her tightly
against my chest.
I felt her body stiffen with surprise, her hands instinctively moving to
push me away.
“Don’t,” I whispered, my voice betraying more emotion than I’d
intended.
“Just… let me hold you for a moment.”
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She froze at the unfamiliar vulnerability in my tone.
Slowly, her resistance melted, her hands falling back to her sides.
I buried my face in the curve where her neck met her shoulder,
breathing in the scent of her hair.
“Caspar?” Her voice was soft, confused. “What’s wrong?”
I couldn’t answer.
The lump in my throat made speech impossible.
I simply held her closer, one hand cradling the back of her head.
I felt a treacherous moisture gathering in my eyes and pressed them
shut, willing myself to regain control.
Her body softened further in my embrace, one hand tentatively rising
to rest against my back.
She didn’t pull away or demand answers.
She simply stood there, letting me hold her and offering comfort,
even though she didn’t understand what had happened.
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Time seemed suspended in the quiet hallway, the only sound our
synchronized breathing.
Gradually, my heartbeat slowed, and the crushing weight in my chest
eased.
Audrey sighed softly, her breath warm against my collar.
“Does it really bother you that much?” she asked quietly.
I pulled back just enough to see her face, confused by the question.
“I didn’t realize it would upset you this deeply,” she continued,
misreading my expression.
“Alright, do you want to talk to me about Emma?”
“Emma?” I repeated, momentarily disoriented by the unexpected
direction of the conversation.
She nodded, looking slightly relieved at my calmer demeanor.
“Emma Clarke. That girl with red hair.”
I stared at Audrey, suddenly understanding her misinterpretation.
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She thought my emotional reaction was about this Emma person.
Instead of intending to explain, I decided to let her misconception
stand.
I needed to uncover the mystery surrounding her as quickly as
possible.
“So who exactly is Emma Clarke to you?”
“She’s just an old friend from London,” Audrey explained, her voice
casual.
“Is she in some kind of trouble?” I asked, recalling how this Emma
had fled from my security team.
“No,” Audrey answered too quickly. “Why would you think that?”
“Because she’s been followed since arriving in New York. Not just by
my people.” I studied Audrey’s face carefully.
