At the Hospital
Clark lay motionless on the hospital bed, her face bruised and swollen, ribs fractured, pain coursing through her body with every breath. Her teeth sank into her lips, the only way she could stop herself from groaning in agony—and from letting the hatred surging inside her spill over.
In the depths of that seething resentment, she recalled the phone call she had received that day.
It had been from Dave, on the morning after Laurent's daughter had nearly been kidnapped.
She had answered the call with complete composure, unbothered. After all, they had no proof linking the incident back to her.
"Dave, what a surprise! What made you think of calling me?"
She remembered how cheerful and bright her tone had been, as if nothing had happened.
But then, she heard him laugh.
At first, she had been taken aback—pleasantly so. It had been a long time since she'd last heard him laugh.