Seeing Quennel act more like a worried husband than he did, Lionel felt a heavy blownd in his chest. He wrenched his arm free. "Move. I need to see her."


    He tried to push past, but Quennel blocked him again, shoving him hard against the wall. He grabbed Lionel''s cor, his face inches away.


    "What right do you have to see her?" Quennel hissed through clenched teeth.


    "I''m her husband. What right do you think I have?" Lionel retorted, grabbing Quennel''s wrists. "Quennel, don''t overstep."


    The two men strained against each other, a silent battle of strength and will.


    Quennel let out a bitterugh. “I''m surprised you even remember you''re her husband. I thought you''d forgotten all about your wife while you were busy clinging to that other woman."


    "If I hadn''t gotten there in time, Hannah would have been killed by the person Sandra sent after her. Did you know that?"


    Lionel froze. "What did you say?"


    Veins bulged on the back of Quennel''s hand. "The driver was her assistant! Is this your idea of handling things, Lionel? Couldn''t wait another ten days for the divorce, so you decided to be a widower and marry Sandra tomorrow?"


    Seeing the genuine confusion on Lionel''s face, Quennel shoved him away in disgust.


    "I have no idea what Hannah ever saw in you. You deny your marriage at a press conference, then let your mistress try to have her killed. You''re pathetic, Lionel. Being with you is nothing but suffering for her."


    Lionel''s expression shifted from confusion to disbelief, then to sheer horror. He pushed past Quennel and rushed back into the treatment room.


    This time, Quennel didn''t stop him. He stood in the hallway, calmly typing a message on his phone. A faint, inscrutable smile touched his lips as he hit send, then pocketed the device and followed him inside.


    "Hannah, who hit you?"


    She had just been bandaged when she heard his frantic voice.


    "Are you badly hurt? Do you need to be admitted? Lionel stared at the gauze wrapped around her forehead, his heart aching. He raised a hand, wanting to touch the wound but afraid of hurting her. His finger hovered in mid-air.


    "No one hit me. It was me who hit someone else,” Hannah said sarcastically. She stood up, shot him a cold look, and walked out.


    Quennel, who had been leaning against the doorframe, chuckled and fell into step beside her. "That''s right. And I was the one who rammed their car off the road. We''re a real pair of viins, aren''t we?"


    Hannah paused, then looked up at Quennel''s teasing face and couldn''t help butugh. The ident, followed by Lionel''s sudden appearance, had left her feel utterly drained. But Quennel''sment broke through the gloom. It seemed everyone knew how little Lionel trusted her.


    "I was tied up with the press conference all afternoon," Lionel said, following them out. "I just found out what happened and I came straight..."


    "Does that have anything to do with me?" Hannah cut him off, the image of him dering himself single to a room full of reporters shing in her mind.


    And now here he was, ying the role of the concerned husband.


    Lionel, do you even hear yourself? How can one person be so cruel and so caring, all at once?


    She took a long, slow breath and forced a smile, giving him a slight, formal bow: "Mr. Rosenberg, I am no longer your employee. My affairs are no longer your concer. You shouldn''t havee. We wouldn want anyone to misunderstand our rtionship. After all, my social media is still being flooded with hate mail."