<b>Chapter </b><b>130 </b>
Reba’s POV
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The next morning, Dr. Winters entered my room with a pleased expression, clipboard in hand.
“Good news, Ms. Brown,” she announced. “Your test results look excellent. With proper rest and care, you can continue your recovery at home. I’ve prepared discharge instructions and prescriptions for pain management.”
I’d barely had time to process this information when the door opened again<b>, </b>and Dominic strode in. He wore an impably tailored charcoal suit that emphasized his broad shoulders, his presence immediately filling the small room. His eyes found mine first, a sh of warmth breaking through his professional exterior, but it vanished as quickly as it appeared when his gaze shifted to the bedside table.
“Perfect timing, Mr. Sterling,” Dr. Winters said. “I was just telling Ms. Brown she can be discharged today.”
Dominic barely acknowledged her words. His attention was fixed on the bouquet of sunflowers Adrian had brought, prominently disyed in a vase. I watched his face transform–the softness in his eyes hardening to ice, his jaw clenching so tightly I could see the muscle jumping beneath his skin.
“Who sent these?” he asked, though his tone suggested he already knew the answer.
I watched nervously as he plucked the small card from among the bright yellow petals, his fingers gripping it with unnecessary force.
“Wishing you a swift recovery. Adrian Lane,” he read aloud, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper that made the hair on my arms stand on end.
Dr. Winters, sensing the sudden shift in atmosphere, excused herself with a promise to return with my discharge papers. The door had barely closed behind her when Dominic turned to me, his blue eyes frigid with barely contained fury.
“Adrian Lane,” he repeated, each syble sharp and precise. “It’s him again. Your professor seems particrly
attentive.”
“He was just being kind,” I said, gathering the few personal items within reach, trying to appear casual despite the tension crackling in the air. “It’s normal for professors to check on their students when they’re ill.”
Dominic’s gaze moved to the small decorative box on the nightstand–the one containing the y bowl I’d made during the pottery demonstration. “And this?” he asked, reaching for it.
“That’s- I started, but before I could finish, Dominic had already picked up the bouquet of sunflowers and dropped it into the trash can with such force that the stems snapped, scattering yellow petals across the sterile white floor.
“Dominic!” I gasped, shocked by the sudden disy of temper. His nostrils red as he took a deep breath, his eyes never leaving mine, challenging me to protest further.
<b>41 </b>
20:40 Wed, Sep <b>24 </b>
His hand moved toward the box containing my pottery piece, and I lunged forward, ignoring the stab of pain from my ribs. “No! That’s my work!”
Our eyes locked as I clutched the box to my chest, his hand frozen mid–air. The blue of his eyes darkened, almost glowing with an inhuman intensity that reminded me of exactly what he was–not just a man, but a predator.
“You seem very attached to your professor’s gifts,” he said, his voice low and controlled, but I could hear the usation beneath the words.
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“It’s not his gift–it’s my work,” I countered, my heart pounding so hard I was sure he could hear it. “You can’t destroy my things just because you’re jealous.”
The word hung between us, charged and vtile. Dominic’s face wentpletely still, the only movement the slight re of his nostrils as he inhaled sharply. Then he stepped back, his expression shuttering closed like blinds over a
window.
“Get dressed,” he said tly. “We’re going home.”
The drive to Dominic’s vi was painfully silent. I stared out the window, my mind racing between Dn’s threats
and Dominic’s controlling behavior. The medication Dr. Winters had given me dulled the physical pain, but did nothing for the emotional turmoil that made my stomach clench and my head pound.
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