Chapter 13
Lorraine woke up from a stabbing pain in her stomach.
It was already evening - when did it get that late? She had slept the entire day. She fumbled around in the dim room to turn on the light, but her body simply wouldn't move. The pain in her stomach was brutal.
She'd been back from abroad for over a year, but still hadn't made many friends. The only people she could possibly call were Celeste and Alexander.
Celeste didn't pick up. Desperate, she tried Alexander. Lucky break - he answered.
"Lorraine, what is it now?" Alexander said, clearly exasperated but still picked up.
"Alex..." she muttered, cold sweat soaking her back.
Something in her voice made him alert instantly. "Are you okay? Where are you? Can you move around?"
The questions came so fast they buzzed in her ear. She couldn't even keep up. "Come get me... please... ugh..."
She was barely conscious by the end of her sentence.
Less than ten minutes later, her door was being rammed from the outside.
BANG!
The door burst open.
"Lorraine!" a voice called. Familiar. Exasperated. "You've really outdone yourself."
The tone was definitely not pleased - somewhere between complaint and concern.
She felt light - Tristan had scooped her up. That faint sandalwood scent of his drifted close again.
When she regained consciousness, she was already lying in a private hospital room.
"Awake?" a familiar voice said quietly.
Lorraine slowly turned her head and saw the face that could cause a social media meltdown.
Still in a suit - black shirt, black tie - he stood next to her bed, a little too tall, a little too poised. His expression reminded her of that night... Ugh, seriously? Was now really the time?
"Mr. Seymour? Why is it you?" Her cheeks flushed instantly.
"Alex is off."
Tristan kept his hands in his pockets, didn't talk much, just stared at her.
"Thanks," she murmured. Great. Him again. Honestly, why wouldn't he just vanish already? What was this—fate tying them together with steel cables now? Wasn't string supposed to be enough?
"Still hurting?" he asked.
"No, better."
"How was the instant noodles?" He'd clearly seen the half-eaten cup noodles in the kitchen.
"Where's your boyfriend?" His eyes watched her closely, as if trying to read something hidden.
"Died yesterday." She really didn't want to go through another round of judgment right now. She was already miserable - no need to pile on.
"Hah." Tristan held back a laugh. "That's actually good news."
Just then, a middle-aged female doctor walked in.
"Tristan, here's her stomach medication. Make sure she takes it. If she's okay, she can be discharged tomorrow. You need to look after her better!"
The doctor was definitely around fifty, and the way she spoke to him - clearly they were close.
"Got it, Auntie," he replied, taking the meds.
Auntie?
Lorraine froze.
Great. Just great. So easy to get the wrong idea now.
They chatted by the door for a few minutes before the "auntie" finally left.
"Can I leave tonight?" she asked, already looking for an escape route.
Tristan placed the meds on her bedside table, then sat beside her. "Nope."
She caught the faint flush on his left cheek, then awkwardly rubbed her hands together - still thinking about that slap she'd handed him last time.
Tristan didn't look bothered at all. His phone kept ringing, but he had no intention of going anywhere.
"Mr. Seymour, your food delivery's here." A young woman stepped in. Only then did Tristan get up from beside the bed.
The girl unfolded the hospital tray table and set out the food.
Lorraine was stunned. Three dishes and a soup - fancy ones from Gilded Table. Definitely top-tier.
"Dig in. I got it for you." Tristan handed her the fork.
"Two hundred fifty bucks. Friend discount - don't forget to pay me back."
Lorraine glanced at the fork handed to her, then at that ridiculously large hand holding them, before taking them and starting her first meal since last night.
Right, she really was being dumb starving herself like that over that loser.
"Got any friends who can stay with you tonight?" Tristan asked.
"I'm good. Not dying yet. Don't need company."
"Alright. I've got stuff to deal with. That's Gia at the door. If anything comes up, find her - or text me."
Tristan checked the time, just about to step out when something popped into his mind. He turned back and asked, "Didn't your boyfriend just die? About that question I asked last time - you thought about it yet?"
Lorraine had just stuffed food in her mouth and nearly choked.
"Tristan, for god's sake, be human. I'm really not looking for a relationship," she muttered, appetite totally killed.
Ever since he found out about Dylan, he'd been sticking around like he's trying to sneak into her life or something.
"Okay, I won't ask anymore." Tristan didn't even blink and turned to leave.
Lorraine stared after him, suddenly feeling a little guilty. He was the one who rushed her to the hospital, after all.
At Ember Lounge, Tristan raised his glass and took a slow sip.
Sitting next to him was his cousin, Edwin Stratton.
"Wow, first time I've seen a girl turn you down and then even dare to slap you. Damn, no wonder you're into her."
"Not like that," Tristan said, though his tone lacked conviction.
"Seriously?" Edwin leaned in, amused. "You bring her up every time we hang out. You really gonna pretend you don't like her? Look at your neck - those marks still there?"
He laughed and shook his head.
Tristan let out a muffled sigh, hand rubbing his temple. He couldn't stop thinking about Lorraine lately - even if they didn't talk, seeing her just made his whole day brighter.
[Sorry, Mr. Seymour.] A text flashed from Lorraine.
Tristan: [It's fine.] He replied instantly.
Lorraine: [Thanks for everything.]
Tristan: [Yeah.]
Lorraine: [Sent you 250 for dinner.]
Tristan paused mid-sip, stared at the notification, and refunded it: [Next one's on you.]
She was typing but didn't send anything else.
His brow furrowed, dark eyes flickering with a lazy kind of sharpness.
Nicholas Brady, sitting nearby, nudged his dangling glass. "Edwin's right, man. If you didn't like her, why'd you go through the trouble of getting her yourself? Wouldn't calling 911've been easier?"
Tristan said nothing, but in his mind popped those clear, pretty eyes of hers, sparkling like a lake - peaceful, but something about them messed with his head.
Next day, Tristan had arranged for her discharge and drove Lorraine home personally.
"You're moving out?" he frowned, eyeing the floor cluttered with boxes.
"Yeah." She didn't look at him, just stared at the door that had been taken off its hinges.
"This place seems alright. Why leave?" He wandered in and spotted his jacket draped neatly on the couch.
"My ex died. I just don't want to risk him coming back to haunt me—literally."
Lorraine wasn't sure how to get Tristan to leave. He just randomly picked a spot and sat down like he lived there.
"You took the door off?" she asked.
"Yup."
She groaned, "You know it costs two grand to replace a door, right? You could've just called a locksmith for three hundred. Were you dropped on your head or something?"
The amount of stuff around barely counted as luggage, which only made her head hurt more. Moving wasn't just hard - it was a nightmare finding the right place.
"All I saw was you looking half-dead," Tristan said, legs casually crossed. "So, when's the lease up?"
After being harassed by Dylan for so long, she was kind of numb. But hearing that still made her skin crawl.
"Next Wednesday."
Dylan didn't know how to let go. Moving was the only way to finally shake him, even if he was supposedly engaged now.
"Well, the door's already off. Want to just move tonight?"
"And where am I gonna go?" Lorraine muttered as she grabbed a water bottle from the fridge and tossed it over.
Tristan caught it one-handed without even flinching.
"Move in with me."
