A momentter, outside the hospital room.
Tristan and Rupert walked side by side, father and son, radiating an air of
authority.
Tristan, with his hands behind his back, spoke calmly, "Were you with Bridgetst night?"
"Yeah," Rupert responded with a nod.
Tristan gave a thoughtful nod, "You''re not getting any younger. It''s about time you settled down and focused on your career. If Bridget manages to sort out the situation at the mine, you might not need to worry so much about the Simpson family."
"Yeah," Rupert agreed.
"Alright, no need to see me off. Go spend some time with Bridget, don''t let your mind wander," Tristan advised, his words carrying deeper meaning that Rupert understood.
As the elevator doors closed, Orson emerged from a nearby door.
"Mr. Rupert, the butler did check the surveince on the road yesterday."
"Warren," Rupert replied, moving to the window and lighting a cigarette. The smoke wrapped around him, shrouding his intense, dangerous aura that made even Orson, who had been by his side for years, feel uneasy.
It was as if something ominous was spreading around him.
Orson swallowed hard, hesitating before finally handing over what was behind his back.
A scarf.
"Mr. Rupert, Ms. Lloyd gave me this, saying if it wasn''t returned to her next time... to burn it."
Rupert took the scarf with little emotion, "Let''s go."
"And Ms. Simpson..." Orson gestured towards Bridget''s hospital room but quickly fell silent under Rupert''s icy stare, pressing the elevator button instead.
Downstairs, they got into the car.
Orson hurriedly tucked away the cheap scarf from the seat.
"Give it to me," Rupert ordered, taking Sylvia''s scarf and handing Orson his own expensive one, "Keep it."
Orson hesitated, but folded the cashmere scarf and ced it in a box.
Rupert lowered his gaze, hiding his thoughts.
His fingers gently caressed the synthetic material of Sylvia''s scarf, rough to the touch, but it seemed to hold some lingering essence.
...
Sylvia walked hand in hand with Naomi, tears streaming down Naomi''s face the whole way.
Eventually, they had to steer clear of crowded ces, finding refuge in a small, deserted park.
"Stop crying, people might think I''ve done something terrible," Sylvia chided gently.
"I''m sorry, Sylvia. I feel so useless," Naomi choked out, still sobbing.
"It''s not your fault. If anything, I''m the one dragging you down. Without me, maybe things wouldn''t be so hard for you with the Garcia family," Sylvia said, forcing a smile for Naomi.
Seeing her friend''s strained smile, Naomi pulled Sylvia into a tight, tearful hug.
"Don''t say that! You''ve never been a burden to me! Never think that way!"
"Alright, alright," Sylvia replied, her own eyes welling up.
Just as Sylvia was about to cry, Naomi suddenly gasped.
"Oh, I almost forgot about something important."
Sylvia sniffed, stepping back a little. "What is it?"
Naomi dabbed at her
eyes
with a
handkerchief, calming herself. "You asked me to keep an eye on Fanny''s gatherings, right? I heard she''s hosting a party at a bar in a co
there." .nts
of days, and Bridget is sure to be
Naomi pulled out a card from her bag, red with ck lettering.
"Lover," it read, next to a silhouette of a woman drawn in lines.
It seemed familiar.
Naomi pointed at the card, "I found out this bar is owned by someone Fanny is interested in."
Sylvia studied the card, noticing the silhouette bore a resemnce to Bridget, even in its nude form.
There was no mistake.
"What are you nning, Sylvia?" Naomi asked, concerned.
Sylvia
voice
asked the card away, her need to clear up a festoon''t
'', "Nothing much, justet
worry."
Seeing Sylvia''s resolve, Naomi gave a few parting words of caution before letting
it go.
After seeing Naomi off, Sylvia received a call from a local courier service.
"Miss, are you home? We have a package for you that requires a signature."