She's having symptoms

At the next moment, Angel surprisingly found herself seated at the backseat of Tryson's car while he drove.

She had been determined not to leave, but Tryson, despite her resistance, had managed to coax her into the car.

Her defiance was palpable, yet Tryson remained undeterred, taking his place behind the wheel, the hum of the engine filling the tense silence between them.

The sun, now beginning to set on the horizon, cast its warm, golden rays across the landscape. As she stood in front of the gate, feeling as determined as ever, Angel felt the quiet weight of the day settling in, and with the sinking sun, her determination began to waver.

She knew she couldn't let Tryson win so easily, especially when she still had to speak to Arthur, but in that moment, she couldn't help but feel a sense of futility creeping in.

Time seemed to stretch as the car sped along, the silence between them growing thicker. Angel, lost in her thoughts, remained awkwardly silent, staring out the window.

Just as Tryson pulled up to the house, he was about to say something, but before he could speak, Angel swiftly opened the door and stepped out, leaving him no time to react.

With a frustrated sigh, Tryson followed suit, unbuckling his seatbelt and stepping out of the car.

He hurried after her into the house, calling her name, but Angel refused to acknowledge his words. In a moment of desperation, he reached out and caught her wrist, turning her around sharply to face him.

Angel's breath caught in her throat as she found herself facing him, her chest nearly touching his. Her head tilted up in shock, eyes wide, as she stared at him, and the fury in his gaze was impossible to ignore.

His grip on her wrist tightened, and for a moment, she could see the conflict in his eyes. "You wouldn't listen to me," Tryson said, his voice low, but the words only deepened the frown on Angel's face.

Instead of replying, Angel made another attempt to break free, trying to yank her hand out of his grasp.

But Tryson's grip was firm, too strong for her to escape. She stopped struggling for a moment, releasing a mocking chuckle.

"Tryson, you're hurting my hand, so can you just let it go?" Her tone was devoid of any pleading, her gaze steady as it locked with his.

After a tense moment, Tryson finally released his grip, his expression conflicted. "Listen, Angel, all I'm trying to say—" he began, but before he could finish, Angel raised her hand to cover her mouth, and his words trailed off.

Concern flickered in Tryson's eyes as he watched her face twist in discomfort.

Within moments, she rushed toward one of the nearby bathrooms, and he followed closely behind. Without thinking, he held her hair back as she knelt over the toilet, her body wracked with nausea.

The minutes stretched on as Angel struggled, and once the worst had passed, she remained drained and fragile.

Tryson could see it clearly in her face.

She was exhausted, emotionally and physically spent, too worn out for any more arguments. Gently, he brought her a damp towel, allowing her to wash her face, and then he let her rest, laying her head on his chest as they both sank to the floor in the bathroom, the world outside momentarily forgotten.

At that moment, Angel was too weak to make any argument with him just to ensure that he doesn't move closer to her.

All she needed at the moment was just comfort. 

As Angel began to calm down, Tryson ordered one of the maids to summon Moore, knowing that he couldn't let this continue without proper care.

His heart ached as he looked down at Angel, so vulnerable in that moment. Her breath slowly steadied as she rested in his arms, and Tryson, though still frustrated by the situation, felt the need to protect her above all else.

It wasn't long before Tryson lifted her into his arms, carrying her to her room like she was something precious, something fragile.

Her hair fluttered on his arms as Angel entangled her arm around Tryson's moving so close to him, she could perceive the alluring scent of his cologne. 

He laid her gently on the bed, adjusting the covers around her as if she were a delicate piece of glass.

The sight of her worn, pale face made his chest tighten. The effort of everything—the emotional turmoil, the physical exhaustion—had clearly taken its toll.

He couldn't help but feel sympathy for seeing her in such a weak condition. 

"Don't worry, just hang in there," Tryson murmured, though his words were met with only a faint nod from Angel. She was too weary to argue, her strength spent.

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door, and Tryson looked up, his attention momentarily diverted. He rose and walked to the door, opening it to reveal Karina standing in the hallway.

"Karina," Tryson greeted her softly.

"Sir, Mr. Moore said he'll be on his way," she informed him, and Tryson nodded, his mind still focused on Angel's condition.

Just as he was about to close the door, Karina hesitated, and then asked a question.

"Sir," she began calmly, and Tryson immediately responded.

"Hm?" he said, waiting for her to continue.

"Sir, I think what must have happened was because of the fact that she's pregnant and she's in her first trimester," Karina explained gently. "I was wondering if I could cook a meal. I'm sure it'll relieve her, just for the moment, until the doctor arrives."

Tryson stood silent for a moment, taking in her suggestion. The thought of giving Angel some comfort, even if it was just for a short while, seemed like a good idea.

He nodded slowly. "Do what you can, Karina. It's a good idea."

As Karina left to prepare the meal, Tryson returned to Angel's side, sitting by her bed, his thoughts occupied with everything that had happened and what lay ahead.