Chapter 86 What Secret
Sloane's POV
She sighed in frustration, "Don't worry, I'll get back at them for you! I don't believe I can't deal with them!"
"Hannah, I want to ask you, do you have Christian's contact info?" I cut her off and got straight to the point.
On the other end, Hannah paused, then her tone became a bit complicated: "Why do you want Christian's number? He's no good either, working hand in hand with that bitch Keira..."
"I just want to find out some information," I explained firmly. "He should know more about what's going on inside than I do."
Hannah was silent for a few seconds, but eventually gave in.
She knew me—once I made up my mind, I wouldn't change it easily.
"Fine, hold on." She muttered, and soon sent a string of numbers to my phone.
"Sloane, just don't let yourself get hurt!" Before hanging up, she reminded me, her voice full of worry.
I looked at the unfamiliar numbers on my phone screen, took a deep breath, and let my finger hover over the call button for a moment before finally pressing it.
The late-night call rang for a long time before someone picked up.
Christian's slightly hoarse voice came through, with obvious annoyance at being disturbed: "Who is this?"
"Christian, it's me, Sloane." My tone was completely straightforward, "Is Jared with you? How is he doing?"
There was silence on the other end for a few seconds, then a light laugh came through, carrying his usual refinement and underlying sarcasm.
He seemed to be outside the hospital room, his voice very low, but every word drilled clearly into my ears, like a cold knife gently scraping across my nerves.
"Sloane calling so late—are you worried about Jared? Or is it... without Jared's embrace, you feel so insecure, afraid of losing what you have?"
His words hit exactly where it hurt, making my chest tighten.
The anger I'd just suppressed surged up again, and I was about to argue back when I heard a familiar voice, carrying a hint of barely noticeable fatigue, yet incredibly steady.
"Christian, give me the phone."
I heard some slight rustling sounds, then his voice came through clearly from the receiver, carrying a calming power.
"Sloane, don't worry." His voice was soft, but like a warm current, instantly soothing my anxious heart. "Keira hasn't woken up yet. The doctor said her vital signs are stable. I'm staying to watch over her."
My heart skipped a beat.
He understood all my worries, but explained everything clearly in the calmest tone.
I felt my face getting hot, and the annoyance born from jealousy now turned into embarrassment.
He seemed to sense my silence, and his voice took on a barely noticeable hint of amusement as he asked softly: "What's wrong, are you jealous?"
"Who... who's jealous?" I stubbornly denied it, but my tone unconsciously softened, even carrying a hint of playfulness I hadn't noticed myself.
He laughed softly, the sound like a feather gently tickling my heart, making my cheeks even hotter.
"Be good, don't overthink it, get some rest early." He coaxed gently, his tone full of affection. "What do you want for breakfast tomorrow? I'll bring it back for you."
"Croissants..." I instinctively named my favorite shop. "From the one on North Street."
"Okay." He agreed without hesitation. "I'll bring them back for you."
After hanging up, I lay in bed. The rain outside had stopped at some point.
The air was filled with the fresh scent of earth, and my heart was calmer than ever before.
His explanations, his reassurances, like warm medicine, dispelled all my anxiety and worry.
I hugged my phone, the corners of my mouth unconsciously turning up.
The next day when I woke up, sunlight slipped through the curtain gaps, casting a bright spot on the floor.
I groggily picked up my phone to check the time, only to find an unread text notification.
The sender was Christian.
I opened it curiously, but saw the message showed "recalled."
Recalled?
A strange feeling rose in my heart.
He sent me a text in the middle of the night and then recalled it? That didn't fit his usual meticulous style.
On impulse, I called him.
"Miss Sloane, calling me so early—is something wrong?" Christian's voice sounded a bit tired, but his tone still carried that distant politeness.
"You sent me a text last night and then recalled it," I said directly. "What happened?"
There was silence on the other end for a moment, then came a light laugh, emotionless.
"Nothing, probably just a slip of the finger." He explained casually, trying to brush it off.
"Really?" I didn't call him out, just asked flatly, but my instinct told me things weren't as simple as he said.
He seemed a bit impatient with my persistence, his tone carrying a hint of subtle resignation: "Miss Sloane, some things are better left unknown."
My heart sank, and I instinctively wanted to press further, but he changed his tune.
"However... if you're really curious, why don't we find a time to talk properly?" His tone returned to that refined manner, revealing no emotion.
"Talk about what?" I frowned, confused by his inconsistency.
"Nothing." He changed his tune again, his voice carrying some complex emotion I couldn't understand. "Just thought that maybe you have a right to know some things."
His vague words left me even more confused.
What was he trying to say? What made him so hesitant?
I was about to ask more, but he suddenly hung up.
Listening to the dial tone, I gripped my phone tightly, feeling like a cat was scratching at my heart—an indescribable restlessness and confusion.
What was Christian trying to tell me? What made him so cautious?
I looked at the bright sunshine outside, but my heart was shrouded by this sudden mystery, unable to calm down for a long time.
I was staring blankly at the mirror, my mind still circling around Christian's bizarre text, when I heard the soft sound of the door opening downstairs.
My heart skipped a beat. Without even putting on my slippers properly, I ran out barefoot.
It was indeed Jared.