Chapter 150 TOO CLOSE FOR COMFORT

Chapter 150 TOO CLOSE FOR COMFORT
~CLAIRE'S POV~

The coffee in the hospital waiting room vending machine was terrible, but it was hot, and that was all that mattered.

I sat on the vinyl chair, staring into the dark liquid. My mother was sleeping. The doctors said she was improving, but every time the monitors beeped, my heart skipped a beat. 

I felt stretched thin, like a rubber band ready to snap.

"Claire?"

I looked up. Standing near the elevators, looking unusually shabby, was Annette.

She was wearing a trench coat that was buttoned wrong, and there was a smudge of something dark—dirt? grease?—on her cheek. She looked like she had been through a war.

"Annette," I said, standing up. "What are you doing here?"

She walked over to me, her movements jerky and nervous. She kept glancing down the hallway as if she expected someone to jump out at her.

"My father," she said, her voice raspy. "He... he had an accident. A fall at home. I had to bring him in."

"Oh my god," I said, my earlier suspicion softening into sympathy. "Is he okay?"

"He's unconscious. A concussion, maybe. The doctors are with him now." She let out a shaky breath, running a hand through her messy hair. "It's been a hell of a night, Claire."

"I can imagine. Do you want to sit? I can get you water."

I reached out to touch her arm, but before I could, Annette surged forward. She wrapped her arms around me, pulling me into a hug that was tight to the point of pain. 

She buried her face in my shoulder, and I could feel her trembling against me.

I froze for a second, surprised. Annette and I were allies, maybe friends, but we weren't hugging friends. Not like this. 

This felt desperate.

"Annette?" I patted her back awkwardly. "What is this about?"

"Nothing," she mumbled into my jacket. "I just... I saw you standing there, and I thought you looked like you needed a hug. And honestly? I needed one too." She squeezed me tighter.

"Everything is so messed up, Claire. This past few weeks... it's been too much."

I softened. She was right. Between Monica, the bomb, the lawsuit, and now our parents both ending up in the hospital... we were all breaking down.

"I know," I whispered, returning the hug properly. "It's okay. We're going to get through it."

For a moment, it felt like genuine solidarity. Two women caught in the crossfire of powerful men, just trying to survive.

Then, the air in the hallway changed.

The temperature seemed to drop. The hair on the back of my neck stood up.

"Get away from her." The voice was low, lethal, and familiar.

Annette flinched violently, pulling back from me. I turned around.

Alexander was striding down the hallway. He looked impeccable in his suit, but his eyes were wild. Dark. Predatory. He didn't look at me. He was staring at Annette with a look of pure, unadulterated hatred.

He reached us in two seconds. He didn't ask questions. He reached out, grabbed my arm, and physically pulled me behind him, placing his large frame between me and Annette.

"Alexander!" I gasped, stumbling slightly. "What are you doing?"

"I said get away," Alexander snarled at Annette. "You have some nerve showing your face to her."

Annette took a step back, holding her hands up. She looked terrified, but there was something else in her eyes too—guilt? Calculation?

"I was just saying hello," Annette stammered. "My father is in the ER. I saw Claire and..."

"I don't care about your father," Alexander cut her off. "And I don't care about your excuses. If you touch her again..."

"Stop it!" I pulled on Alexander's arm, trying to turn him to face me. "You're scaring her! What is wrong with you?"

He finally looked at me. His chest was heaving, his jaw clenched tight. I saw the same look he had earlier today—the fear, the desperation. 

But mixed with it was a possessiveness that felt suffocating.

"She's dangerous, Claire," he said, his voice rough.

"She's crying!" I pointed at Annette, who was wiping tears from her cheeks. "She's upset about her father! Why are you acting like she's an assassin?"

"Because you don't know..." He stopped himself. He looked from me to Annette, his eyes narrowing.

"Don't know what?" I demanded. "Alexander, you promised. No more secrets. If you know something about Annette, tell me."

He clenched his jaw, looking trapped. I could see him weighing his options. If he told me he had threatened Annette earlier, or that he suspected her of playing both sides, he would have to admit he had been tracking her. Spying on her.

And after our fight about trust, he knew he couldn't do that.

"I don't like her being close to you," he said finally, a weak explanation that didn't match the violence in his eyes. "Not after everything with Monica. We don't know where her loyalties lie."

"I told you," Annette said softly from behind him. "I chose your side."

Alexander whipped his head back toward her. "Then prove it. Walk away. Now."

Annette looked at me. "I'm sorry, Claire. I will... I will go check on my dad."

"Annette, wait..." I started, but she was already retreating, scurrying down the hall like a frightened animal.

I turned on Alexander, shoving his chest. He didn't budge.

"That was completely uncalled for," I hissed. "She's going through a hard time. She just hugged me, Alexander. She didn't have a knife."

"You don't know what she has," he muttered, watching Annette until she disappeared around the corner.

"Why are you so on edge?" I asked, studying his face. "You left to go to the Blackwood estate. Did something happen with Eleanor?"

His gaze snapped to mine. The fear flared again, bright and hot.

"No," he said quickly. Too quickly. "Nothing happened. She's just... she's Eleanor. Poisonous as always."

He reached for me, his hands gripping my shoulders. His touch was heavy, grounding, but desperate.

"I just need you safe," he whispered. "I saw her touching you, and I... I panicked. I'm sorry."

I looked at him. I wanted to believe him. I wanted to believe it was just stress, just the aftermath of the bomb and the corporate war.

But as he pulled me into his arms, holding me like he was afraid I would vanish, I couldn't shake the feeling that he was still hiding something.

"You're shaking," I said against his chest.

"I'm fine," he lied. "Let's just sit down. I want to be with you."

I let him lead me to the chairs. I let him hold my hand. But as I watched the hallway where Annette had disappeared