Xavier's gaze lingered on William Jackson, a storm of confusion brewing behind his eyes. The older man returned the look with an intensity that bordered on desperation and motioned silently, urging Xavier to follow him out into the crisp evening air. With a stiff nod, Xavier acquiesced, his footsteps echoing William's across the threshold.
The chill of the outside world wrapped around them, but it was the frost in William's confession that cut deeper. "Cathy is a fragile girl," he began, voice low, laced with a regret that seemed to ache in the growing dusk. "She puts on a chilly facade because she thinks I do not care about her."
A heavy pause settled between them, the gravity of the words hanging like a guillotine blade ready to fall.
"Her mother was my life," William continued, his voice rough as gravel, "and when she passed, Cathy... She lost more than a mother. I had to find someone to take care of her, being swallowed by work, ensuring food was always on our table."
William hesitated, the admission seeming to stick in his throat. But he pushed on, his tone darkening. "Dora-once my friend's wife, soon turned temptress-became pregnant. Marrying her seemed the only way to quell the looming scandal."
Xavier listened, his stoic facade betraying no emotion, though the tale sank its claws into him. "Dora took care of Cathy in her own twisted way. But she grew cruel and heartless while I remained blind." William's face contorted with pain. "My own mother saw the abuse and spirited Cathy away whenever she could. But Dora always fetched her back before I suspected the torment."
"A too-late revelation severed the bond with my daughter." William's voice cracked. "My mother's wish for me to never be alone tethered me to a loveless marriage."
He glanced at Xavier, seeking understanding or perhaps absolution. "Your father, my mother-they are her sanctuary. She trusts few and fears many."
Grasping Xavier's hand in a grip that conveyed urgency and a plea for mercy, William pressed on, "Cathy's a hard nut to crack, yes, but underneath is a good girl, using coldness as armor. Be patient, Xavier. Take care of my daughter where I failed."
The finality in William's voice spoke of a defeated man relinquishing his duty to a stranger. "I can't face her in the hospital. She doesn't want to see me."
For Xavier, a man who'd only ever cared for one person, his father, So hearing a plea from someone was like listening to Hindi music and trying to understand what the lyric meant-foreign and complex. Grappling with the weight of another's expectations, he stood silent, William Jackson's desperate hope mirrored in the starless sky above.
Xavier's gaze locked onto the stoic expression of the man before him. A single nod, a terse nod, and a final nod were all he allowed himself as a response. With that, he turned on his heel, the weight of the moment hanging heavy in the air behind him.
The journey back to the Knight family house was swift and silent-a testament to Caleb's understanding of his boss's brooding nature. Xavier stepped into the familiar grandeur of the estate with purpose, his voice cutting through the stillness. "Caleb, we need to go to the hospital."
"Right away, Mr. Knight," Caleb replied, keys already in hand.
As the car sped along, Xavier found no refuge from his own spiraling thoughts. The bitter memory of his confrontation with Cathleen invaded his mind; her face contorted in a mixture of shock and anger when he accused her of sleeping with his father. It gnawed at him-the possibility that his words had wounded her more deeply than any physical blow could. *Why did she react with such fervor if there was no truth to it?*
He couldn't shake the suspicion that there were layers to Cathleen's life he hadn't peeled back-secrets that eluded even his keen perception.
Upon arriving, Xavier didn't wait for the car to fully stop before he was out the door, his strides long and determined. Caleb, ever the dutiful assistant, hustled after him, barely keeping up with Xavier's relentless pace.
"Dr. West," Xavier demanded of the nearest nurse, who blinked at the raw intensity emanating from the tall, imposing figure before her. She ushered them toward an office lined with diplomas and medical tomes.
A curt knock preceded their entrance. Dr. West, absorbed in the glow of his laptop screen, barely acknowledged them. "How can I help you?" His tone was as clinical as the sterile walls surrounding them.
Xavier's jaw clenched, the muscles in his neck taut with barely restrained ire. He was on the verge of unleashing a scathing remark when Caleb, sensing the brewing storm, interjected smoothly.
"We're here for Cathleen Knight," Caleb said, his voice steady and clear.
At the mention of the name, Dr. West's attention snapped from the screen to the two men. His eyes, sharp and assessing, met Xavier's for the first time, and in that gaze, there flickered a recognition of the unspoken undercurrents swirling between them.
"Relationship to the patients?" Dr. West's words cut through the tense silence of the sterile hospital corridor, his eyes piercing as they remained fixed on Xavier. The air felt charged and electric, with unspoken accusations and the gravity of the moment.
Xavier's jaw tightened, a muscle flickering as he met the doctor's probing stare. Beside him, the absence of a wedding band was conspicuous; his hands betrayed no marital claim.
"Friend," Xavier said curtly, his voice carrying an edge sharp enough to slice through the thick atmosphere. Each syllable seemed to fall like a hammer on an anvil, heavy with an unyielding resolve that belied the simplicity of his answer.
Alright, follow me. Dr. West took Xavier and Caleb to where Cathleen was resting. As the doctor entered the room, his scrutiny intensified, the furrow between his brows deepening. He shifted his attention to Cathleen's hand, where a ring encircled her finger-a silent testament to vows exchanged and promises made. His gaze then flicked back to Xavier, analyzing and judging.
"Cathleen has a husband, I presume," Dr. West remarked, his tone laced with inquiry and skepticism. The question hung in the air like a guillotine poised to fall, the blade of implication glinting in the fluorescent light.
"Presume what you will," Xavier countered, the frost in his voice rivaling the chill of the antiseptic surroundings. His stance was defiant, an unmovable force confronting the immovable object that was Dr. West.