Chapter 131 He Is Looking for You
"Cindy, right? You're finally awake. How are you feeling?"
A doctor in a white coat stood beside Quinley's hospital bed, his expression warm and grandfatherly.
Quinley felt like she was waking from a dream. She was alive. She hadn't died.
She moved her eyes, taking in her surroundings, and realized she'd ended up in the most familiar place of all—white ceiling tiles, blue-striped hospital gown, the sharp smell of disinfectant hanging in the air.
"Where am I?" Her lips were so dry they cracked when she spoke.
"Lakeside City."
The doctor flipped through her chart. "You were brought in a week ago after a car accident. You've been unconscious this whole time. Good news is, we saved your life. Bad news—well, there are two pieces of bad news. Which do you want to hear first?"
The gray-haired doctor pushed his glasses up his nose. He had a wry sense of humor.
"Doesn't matter."
Quinley tried to move and realized her right leg wouldn't cooperate.
"You've already noticed—your right leg isn't responding. The accident caused severe trauma and fractures. We performed reconstructive surgery, which was successful. With some bed rest, you should make a full recovery. As for that scar on your forehead, if it bothers you, cosmetic surgery these days is pretty advanced. Scar removal shouldn't be too difficult."
"What about my baby?"
Quinley cut him off mid-explanation. The fact that she'd survived at all, that she'd somehow made it through alive—that was already a miracle. She fixed the doctor with a steady gaze, waiting.
The doctor's shoulders drooped slightly. "You're still young. There'll be plenty of opportunities to have children in the future."
Quinley's eyelids fell shut. A piercing pain radiated from her heart through her entire body. Her hands clenched into fists, but not a single tear fell.
"Get some rest. If you need anything, tell the nurses."
The doctor left.
Quinley stared at the ceiling for a long time. The escape plan she and Detective Wilson had designed so carefully wasn't supposed to have any flaws. According to the original plan, she should have arrived in Lakeside City safe and sound.
But reality had stolen her baby and nearly taken her life too.
Where did things go wrong?
She replayed everything over and over. Finally, her thoughts landed on the black van. Halfway through the drive, the driver had said something was wrong with the engine. He'd gotten out to check. Then something had slammed into the back of the van, sending Quinley tumbling down the cliff.
Fear suddenly gripped her. Only she and Detective Wilson knew about this plan. So where exactly had things gone wrong?
That evening, someone came to Quinley's room—a young guy with shoulder-length hair tied back in a ponytail, radiating an aimless, artistic vibe.
"You're finally awake!" He walked over and plopped himself down in the chair beside her bed. "I'm glad you made it. I just came to say goodbye—I'm heading out. Do you need me to contact your family or anything? Is there something I can do for you before I go?"
He talked fast and straight to the point.
"Thank you for saving me."
When Quinley had her accident, he'd been down by the waterfall with his crew trying to get footage. They never got their shot, but they'd saved a life instead.
"Don't thank me. Thank God. If he didn't want you dead, then you better live well." He grinned.
"Could you hire a caregiver for me? I'll pay for it myself."
He nodded. "Sure, I'll take care of it. You take care of yourself, okay? I'm out. See you around."
With that, he strode out the door. From start to finish, Quinley never even learned his name.
He worked fast though. By afternoon, a caregiver had arrived—a local woman in her forties who looked honest and straightforward. She said her last name was Ginger, so Quinley called her Mrs. Ginger.
Mrs. Ginger was efficient and hardworking, didn't talk much. She helped Quinley bathe and change clothes. Worried Quinley might get bored, she even brought a tablet from home loaded with ancient TV shows.
"Cindy, you gotta stay positive. A bad life is better than a good death. As long as you're alive, everything's good."
Mrs. Ginger didn't speak in profound philosophy, but whenever Quinley felt low, she'd serve up another bowl of optimistic chicken soup.
After about two weeks in the hospital, Quinley had recovered enough that the doctor suggested she could be discharged. She asked Mrs. Ginger if she'd be willing to work as her private caregiver.
"Sure! I'm already used to taking care of you anyway."
Mrs. Ginger agreed immediately.
When they left the hospital, Mrs. Ginger wheeled Quinley to her new home—the little house with a yard that Quinley had never actually seen before. She'd arranged everything through Detective Wilson.
"Cindy, your house is gorgeous! And it's so close to mine!"
Mrs. Ginger looked around in delight.
"Mrs. Ginger, feel free to go home whenever you want."
Quinley's voice was gentle.
Mrs. Ginger was thrilled. She couldn't sit still—as soon as Quinley went to her room, Mrs. Ginger busied herself cleaning the entire yard from top to bottom.
In the drawer, Quinley found a new phone and SIM card waiting. She set everything up and made her first call to Detective Wilson.
The phone rang for a while before he picked up. His voice was cautious, barely above a whisper. "I'm busy. I'll contact you later."
He hung up immediately. But soon after, an unknown number called. Quinley answered—it was Detective Wilson.
"It's me."
"What happened with the van driver?"
Quinley didn't waste time. This question had been circling her mind constantly.
"I don't know either. He disappeared that day and I've been looking for him ever since. Listen, unless it's urgent, we need to cut contact. I'm planning to lay low overseas for a while. You—since you're still alive, just stay alive. Remember, don't show your face anywhere right now. Someone's looking for you."
Quinley's heart jumped.
"Who?"
"Who do you think?" Detective Wilson sighed.
He didn't spell it out, but Quinley could guess. When she was alive, he wouldn't let her go. Now that she was supposedly dead, he still wouldn't let her go.
Talk about obsessed.
"Something went wrong that day. The wedding car went off the bridge as planned. The driver was fine, but someone in the car still died."
"Who?"
Quinley's voice trembled.
"That woman—the one who was dressed like you in the wedding gown. When the car went into the water, she died."
Quinley's fingers shook as she gripped the phone. That woman who looked so much like her—who was she? What was their connection? Quinley had never figured it out, and now she was dead.
"Ms. Elikin, everyone thinks you're the one who died. Mr. Brown, your parents—they all think that woman was you. Everyone except Mr. Jennings. He doesn't believe it. He's got people looking for you everywhere. If you don't want to be found, you better keep a really low profile."
Quinley's mind reeled. That woman's death, Zachary's relentless searching—it threw her into complete chaos.
"Okay. I understand."
Detective Wilson hung up quickly.
Outside, Mrs. Ginger was organizing Quinley's belongings when a brochure fell out of her suitcase. She picked it up, and her face went pale. Without hesitation, she grabbed the brochure and rushed into Quinley's room.
"Cindy, did you used to work at Apex Global Group?"