Chapter 7 7
Third Person POV
The smell of disinfectant filled the air, making Hazel uncomfortable as she opened her eyes. She sniffed incessantly, trying to get the smell away from her nose, but to no avail.
She tried moving her body but noticed everywhere it hurt, especially her feet. She thought back on what she had done to get herself into a situation like this.
She lay facing up, staring blankly at the ceiling as she brought back her thoughts: how Thaila had framed her for poisoning her drink and telling everyone that she had been to prison.
How she had forced herself to drink the wine to prove to everyone that indeed she didn't poison the wine, and how she passed out because of how exhausted she felt.
The painful memory of her father slapping her for the first time in a long while while he disowned his own daughter. She remembered the joy she felt from rejecting Adrian; she couldn't do anything against him.
And even if he wanted Thaila, he still couldn't do anything, but watching him convulse in pain as she rejected him gave her more pleasure than a thousand hunts.
The solitude she felt while she stood under the rain, slowly soaking up the rain, with no assets, money, or absolutely nothing under her name, but she remembered how she had gotten here.
The nice man who had saved her from the rogues—and gave her a business card to him whenever she needed his help. Could she trust him? Did she even have a choice at this point?
She felt at her pockets and felt the rectangular shape of the card; she pulled it out and crawled the number without checking the name; she couldn't care less anyway.
To her surprise, the man picked up the call, telling her to come to the car parked across the mansion. She was too tired to think of why the man had known she was going to call or why he would be waiting for her.
She was simply too tired, and all she knew was that she wasn't completely alone; she hadn't been abandoned by the man at least; he had kept his promises unlike everyone else in her life.
She remembered how she walked across the rain, already soaking wet, got into the man's car and thanked him. She couldn't see his face properly, but he was clad in a suit with a long coat, a top, and a cigar in his left hand.
He looked at her with gentle eyes as if understanding what she had been through. "Are you cold?" He suddenly asked her; she never expected it, so she simply nodded her head.
Even though she was certainly burning up with a fever, she turned around uncomfortably trying to find a comfortable position. The man started the car, and she didn't even bother asking where he was taking her too; she didn't care anymore.
She knew that after then she had a slight headache and slowly began fading into darkness; the last thing she remembered was the gentleman trying his best to wake her up before she passed out.
While she tried to remember whatever embers of her memory were left, the door swung open as a tall, beautiful man walked into the room.
The man had sharp features that weren't excessive, short black hair with an edge for a jawline, and his eyes were deep and dark, like a hawk's, constantly studying and observing.
He looked around the room first as if searching for dangers before turning to meet her. "Miss? Are you feeling well?" He asked with a concerned voice.
She kept looking at him, wondering if he was the one who had saved her. She couldn't remember the face of the man, nor could she remember what he wore; the only thing she remembered was the card he had given her with his number on it.
"Black card? Black car?" She asked, her voice low and weak, but she hoped it would be him. The man standing in front of her simply looked confused.
"Just a moment, I'll call the doctor," he said before leaving the room. As soon as he left, she felt lonely again all of a sudden. Was he going to leave her now that he had completed his promise?
Was she just going to be alone, on her own, with no one else by her side? Before she could continue thinking, the door swung open as the nurses and maids flew into the room.
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She cleaned the place and packed out the instruments that had been used. She saw that some of them were stained with blood, her blood.
She tried to remember if she had injured herself in any way and tried moving her body; only her feet hurt, but her feet had always hurt after she got brutally beaten in the prison, and her leg never remained the same after that.
As soon as the nurses were in, they were out with everything else. An elderly man slowly walked in; he looked quite agile for his age, although he was already bald.
"My name is Noah, and I'm the doctor that took care of you and your wounds. Do you feel any discomfort whatsoever?" He asked with genuine concern.
It almost made her feel uncomfortable; no one had ever cared for her like this old man did, been careful the way those nurses had been, or looked out for her the way the other guy did.
"Thank you, doctor, for everything; I feel very comfortable," she responded, not knowing exactly how to feel. She thought it weird why he would just smile at her.
Now she had fully gotten herself to have a conversation with him, but she wasn't exactly sure on how she would start it. “Are you perhaps looking for the man that saved your life?" He asked hopefully, and she immediately nodded with a smile printed on her face.
"Yes, I really want to thank him; was it you?" She asked hesitantly; she hated that she couldn't remember what her saviour looked like, but the man shook his head gently.
"I'm not him; I'm an assistant of his, so please, if you need help with anything or feel some form of discomfort, please let me know," he said as politely as he could.
Hazel nodded, feeling a bit disappointed, but she also felt tired; she felt she needed to rest and slowly rested back on the bed. Noah watched her lay down and left the room in silence, then brought his phone, immediately texting Master Draven.
"Sir, she just woke up and she's looking good with no problems." He sent the text and dropped the phone. He knew it would be a while before he saw it; he was always damn busy.
His phone buzzed twice; a bit surprised, Noah picked up the phone and read the text from Draven, "Good."
Noah thought for a while longer, then texted, "She might want to see you." Draven stood at the window facing the storm; he watched as the rain fell heavily, thunderstruck, leaving an almost instant eerie feeling in the room.
His phone buzzed once more, he picked it up and read the text, his brow cocked in surprise, then he texted, "I'll be there," dropping his phone after that. He turned around facing the two men in the room; they all felt uneasy because of the presence of a certain man.
Draven walked away from the window; once more, his eyes matched his nephew; this time Adrian couldn't hold his gaze for long and simply bowed slightly to Alpha Draven.
"When did you come back, uncle?" Adrian’s voice echoed behind him. Draven simply walked, wine in hand; he didn't answer immediately, instead taking sips at a time, as if pondering the question.
"Not too long ago," he replied finally, "Did you miss me, son?" He asked Adrian, being the man he was, he simply turned away, seeing his uncle after so many years brought back unpleasant memories.
How his uncle had just left him to cater for the pack in his absence with no prior notice, leaving the business for him. He hated his uncle for that, yet here his uncle was.
"How has the pack been without me?" Draven asked while Adrian was lost in thought. Pulling himself back, he gazed at his uncle. "It's been fine without you and will be that way," he said in an opposing manner.
Artemis dropped the cup on the table; immediately he appeared in front of Adrian, tightly clutching his neck with one hand and lifting him up. "Do you mean to take my pack from me, son?"
Feeling overwhelmed and choking, Adrian shook his head fervently. He had forgotten the kind of person his uncle was. His uncle released his grip, and Adrian fell to the ground, taking deep breaths. He decided it would be safer to change the topic.
He coughed a bit of blood as he tried speaking, "Did you pick up any girl from the Labrinth family?" He asked, rubbing his throat.
His uncle took back his glass cup, poured himself some wine, and simply replied.
"No"