Chapter 147.

Kylie left her mother’s room a little after five.

She didn’t want to go, but her mother slowly forgot about her after three hours. It hurt, but the visit was worth it.

She stood in the doorway for several seconds, watching her mother sleep.

The room had become strangely peaceful.

The afternoon light had faded into evening, leaving the windows dark enough to reflect the inside of the room. The little bracelet Kylie had brought was still around her mother’s wrist.

Kylie smiled when she looked at it.

Her mother had remembered her. Enough to call her by name. Enough to remember things Kylie had done as a child.

She leaned against the doorframe one last time. "Goodnight, Mum."

Her mother stirred slightly.

Her eyes remained closed.

Kylie smiled. "I’ll see you soon." She quietly closed the door. Then she walked down the hallway.

She was still smiling when she reached the corner. It was the first genuine smile she’d worn all day.

Then she heard shouting.

Kylie stopped. Her smile disappeared.

The voice came from the reception area.

A man yelled, angry, and loud. "What do you mean you didn’t call me?"

Kylie frowned. She couldn’t make out the rest, but the voice sounded familiar. Familiar in the sense that she knew the voice. And also wrong in the sense that she had never heard the voice angry.

"Sir, please lower your voice." Someone else responded.

"Don’t tell me to lower my voice."

Kylie recognized the tone before she recognized the person.

She moved toward the reception area.

There were several people standing around.

Two nurses, a receptionist, a man in a dark suit. And....

Kylie stopped.

Christian. He stood at the front desk with his back partially turned toward her.

She hadn’t expected to see him here.

He wasn’t dressed like he had been when she’d seen him before. He wore no easy smile, no teasing expression, and no careless confidence.

His coat hung open, and his hair looked like he had run his hands through it too many times.

His face was pale. His jaw was clenched so tightly that Kylie could see the muscle moving.

The manager stood behind the desk.

"Mr. Sinclair, I’m trying to explain—"

"You don’t need to explain anything." Christian’s voice shook from rage. "You need to tell me why I found out from someone who works in my house that my grandfather died."

Kylie’s stomach dropped.

Died?

Her eyes moved over Christian’s face. He looked devastated. But somehow his anger was louder than his grief.

The manager swallowed. "Your mother specifically instructed us not to contact you."

"She instructed you not to tell me."

"Yes."

Christian stared at him. For several seconds, nobody moved. Then he leaned forward.

"And you listened."

The manager hesitated. "Your mother is listed as the primary family contact. And she’s a major shareholder here."

"Primary family contact?" Christian’s voice rose. "I pay every fucking bill in this place."

Everyone went silent.

Kylie flinched at the sound of his voice.

Christian slammed his palm against the desk. "Every week."

The receptionist looked down.

"I pay for his room. His medication. His doctors. His nurses. Every single thing he needs." His voice cracked. "And you couldn’t pick up the phone, and tell me."

The manager tried again. "Mr. Sinclair—"

Christian pointed toward him. "No. Don’t say my name like that." His chest rose and fell rapidly. "You knew I was paying for him. You knew I visited. She might be your shareholder but she never visited him." He listed. "You knew he had dementia."

The manager nodded.

"Then you knew I deserved to know."

"We were instructed—"

"By my mother." His hands were trembled.

Kylie swallowed. She had never seen him like this, or thought he could ever get annoyed. She thought he was all jokes and fun.

This wasn’t anger because someone had inconvenienced him. This was anger because something had been taken from him.

Something he could never get back.

Christian dragged a hand over his face. "When?"

The manager’s expression softened. He looked so apologetic. "Three days ago."

Christian went completely still.

Three days.

Kylie felt her heart sink.

Three days ago? And no one cared to tell him? She blinked, feeling sorry for him.

Christian stared at the manager. He blinked twice in surprise.

"Three days." He repeated it quietly. "Three days." His eyes looked glassy. "Why didn’t you call me?"

The manager said nothing.

Christian’s voice rose again. "Why didn’t you call me?"

"Your mother told us—"

"I don’t care what she told you!" His shout echoed through the reception area. "Have you no empathy?"

A nurse jumped from instinct.

Kylie stepped forward. "Christian."

He didn’t hear her. Or maybe he did and simply couldn’t respond.

He turned toward the manager again. "Was he alone?"

The manager’s face changed. He said nothing.

"Was he alone?" Christian repeated his question with no patience.

The manager hesitated. "His nurse was with him."

Christian closed his eyes. His lips pressed together, and nodded once. He opened them again. "And he asked for me?"

The manager looked down.

Christian’s face changed. He rubbed his palm on his forehead, to calm down. He cracked his knuckles, and asked again. "Did he?"

No answer.

"Did he ask for me?"

"Mr. Sinclair..."

"Answer me."

The manager swallowed. "He did." He finally responded. "Until his last breath."

Christian stopped breathing. He parted his lips to speak, then swallowed. His eyes filled. "What did he say?"

"He kept asking if you were coming."

Kylie’s chest tightened.

Christian looked away.

His face twisted. He pressed his thumb against his mouth. For a second, Kylie thought he might cry.

Christian nodded slowly. He slowly looked at the ceiling.

Kylie felt something break inside her. She thought about her own mother. She thought about what it would feel like if her mother died and nobody told her.

If someone deliberately decided she didn’t deserve to know. If she found out three days later.

Kylie couldn’t imagine it.

She didn’t want to.

Christian suddenly turned toward the manager again.

The manager immediately began to speak. "Sir, he was under medical care—"

Christian’s voice dropped. "You should have called me."

"We were instructed not to."

"You should have called me." He repeated. "Or even, texted me."

Kylie stepped closer. "Christian."

He finally looked at her.

Their eyes met. For one second, he looked surprised. Then something in his expression closed.

"Kylie." His voice was hoarse. "What are you doing here?"

She had never heard him say her name like that. She walked toward him. "Let’s go."

Christian shook his head. "No."

"Christian."

"I’m not finished." His eyes returned to the manager.

Kylie looked at him.

She knew he wasn’t going to stop.

He was too angry, too hurt, and too consumed by the fact that three days had passed without him knowing.

She stepped beside him. "Sir."

The manager looked at her.

"I’m sorry."

He seemed surprised.

Kylie continued. "I’m sorry for what just happened."

Christian looked at her.

She ignored him.

"I know you were following instructions, but he’s clearly not in a state to continue this conversation right now."

The manager nodded slowly.

Kylie glanced at Christian. "Please."

Christian stared at her.

She lowered her voice. "Come with me."

He didn’t move.

Kylie reached for his wrist. "Christian."

He looked down at her hand, then at her face. Pain passed through his eyes. He tried to resist, but he couldn’t resist.

Kylie gently pulled him away. "Excuse us."

The manager nodded.

"I’m very sorry for your loss, Mr. Sinclair."

Christian didn’t respond.

Kylie stopped at the door. She turned back, took Christian but his wrist, and then she pulled Christian outside.

The moment the doors closed behind them, Christian stopped.

Kylie kept walking.

He didn’t.

She turned around. "Come on."

He stared at her. "I can walk."

"I know." Kylie agreed softly.

"Then stop pulling me."

Kylie released his wrist. "Fine."