"I'm sorry, I won't be able to say anything to you." The doctor said, and Xavier's jaw clenched as the doctor met his glower with an apologetic shrug. The sterile white of the room seemed to close in, a mocking contrast to the dark thoughts clouding his mind. The doctor went on, oblivious to the storm brewing within Xavier. "Cathleen seems like a married woman, and I can only talk to her husband or her family, not friends."
The words hung heavy in the air while Xavier's icy stare bore into the man who was daring to stand between him and his wife-not that he cared about Cathleen, but he needed answers. His temper, a live wire sparking dangerously close to detonation, threatened to break his facade of control. Time was slipping through his fingers, each second pounding against his skull like a drumbeat, heralding his fury.
"Time is money, Doctor," Xavier spat out, each word laced with venom. He could feel the familiar urge to command and dominate the situation, as he did in the boardroom, but this was different. This was personal. This was between him and his wife.
And then, like a twist in the plot he never saw coming, Caleb stepped forward. "I'm her husband!" he declared, his voice cutting through the tension.
A beat of silence followed, broken only by the distant echo of footsteps in the hall. Xavier whirled around to face Caleb, his assistant. Xavier's jaw clenched, his muscles taut with the effort of maintaining his composure. The audacity of the lie sliced through the tension-laden room like a scalpel.
"I'm her husband!" Caleb's declaration reverberated off the sterile walls, bold and brash. It was a gambit that held the air hostage, each syllable a calculated risk under the sterile fluorescent lights.
For a moment, Xavier stood shell-shocked, his mind scrambling to catch up with the ruse. Then, the corners of his mouth twitched upward, a smirk creeping onto his face despite the gravity of their situation. Caleb, ever the quick thinker, had thrown them a lifeline, albeit a deceitful one. It was a play Xavier could appreciate, even if it did gnaw at his principles.
"And you are?" The doctor's gaze swiveled toward him, clinical and probing.
Caleb extended his hand; the motion was smooth and practiced. "Caleb Knight," he pronounced with an ease that belied the gravity of their charade. His smile was a masterstroke of confidence, the kind that would make old Mr. Knight nod in silent approval.
As Caleb's eyes met Xavier's, there was a flicker of something akin to mischief, a silent communique that spoke volumes. It was a look that said, 'I saved your ass,' without uttering a word. Xavier received it with a nod, acknowledging the debt in the currency of silent understanding.
"Alright, Mr. Knight. We will have to wait for her to wake up first. However, I've prescribed these for her, and she has to be taking these three times a day." Caleb's fingers tightened around the amber vials, his loyalty to Cathleen concealed beneath a professional veneer. Xavier, his posture rigid as steel, merely nodded, his gaze unwavering from the unconscious form of his wife.
The sterile scent of the hospital mingled with the undercurrent of antiseptic anxiety. Xavier Knight stood, a silent sentinel, arms crossed, as he watched Caleb fumble with the prescription bottles. The doctor's voice echoed with clinical detachment.
"Make sure she doesn't overwork herself," the doctor added, glancing between the two men. A smirk twisted Xavier's lips, dark thoughts clouding his icy blue eyes. 'At least her pussy would have to rest for a while now,' he thought maliciously. His mind painted Cathleen with a brush of disdain, convinced that she was a high-profile sex worker despite the truth of her career-a celebrity lawyer who never let anyone walk all over her. not that Xavier knew that. He already painted her to be a bitch.
The room was thick with the unspoken, each man nursing their own private perceptions of the woman lying vulnerably on the hospital bed. The air was taut, ready to snap like a tightened wire-each waiting for Cathleen to awaken so that they could take her home.
Blinking against the sterile glare of the hospital room, Cathleen's vision sharpened into focus. The looming figure of Xavier cast a shadow across her bed, chilling the warmth that the hospital room tried to offer. Her pulse quickened, and a tight knot formed in her stomach as she registered his unwelcome presence.
"What are you doing here?" she demanded, her voice laced with a mixture of confusion and disdain.
Before Xavier could craft any semblance of an explanation, Caleb closed in, his concern etched onto his features, incongruent with his usual professional façade. "Honey, you need to rest," he implored, hovering too close for comfort.
'Honey?' The word stuck in Cathleen's throat like a barb. Why was her husband's assistant now addressing her with such intimate familiarity? Suspicion coiled within her, and she scrutinized Caleb with narrowed eyes. His earnest expression did little to soften the annoyance pricking at her skin.
"Doctor West," she said with deliberate calm, her voice rising above the beeping of machines, "please take these two idiots out of my sight."
Xavier's response was a smirk, infuriatingly smug as if he thrived on the discord. His arms were crossed over his chest, a silent challenge emanating from his posture. He stood unflinching, a statue of arrogance, while Dr. West's footsteps approached with a disapproving rhythm.
The air in the room grew thick with tension; every breath Cathleen took was loaded with the weight of unspoken battles and thinly veiled threats. Her keen mind, always so adept in the courtroom, now raced to piece together the puzzle of their intrusion. But one thing was clear-she wouldn't be manipulated, not even in her convalescence. Not by Xavier, the man who shunned the spotlight yet wielded control like a weapon. And certainly not by Caleb, whose loyalties seemed as muddled as the situation before her.
"Out," she reiterated, her command slicing through the taut silence.