I froze, straining to hear the laughter on his end.
"At this hour? What kind of seminar has jazz playing?"
"Adrian, I'm begging you. Save my dad. Come back and I'll do anything you want—"
"Wendy!"
His voice turned sharp. "What's wrong with you? I told you—it's a high-end seminar at a private club. The venue's upscale. So what?"
"Stop acting like some paranoid wife interrogating me."
"I'm busy. Goodbye."
Click.
The line went dead.
I stared at my phone as tears finally broke free, splattering onto the screen.
That's when I noticed the red notification dot.
Like a sleepwalker, I tapped it.
Lily's post filled my screen—a nine-photo grid.
Thanks to my senior Adrian for booking the whole place just for me to watch fireworks! Best birthday present ever! Love you~
Brilliant fireworks. Exquisite French cuisine. And a photo of them together.
Adrian's profile was sharp, handsome. He was gazing down at Lily, eyes soft with indulgence.
Location tag: Summit Private Club, suburbs.
This was his seminar.
This was what was so important.
My father's life meant less to him than watching one round of fireworks with Lily Fox.
Rage and despair twisted together, burning through my chest until I couldn't breathe.
I abandoned all pride. My fingers trembled as I typed.
Adrian, I'm begging you.
My dad is really dying. Come back and save him, and I'll never interfere between you and Lily again.
If you want to marry her, I'll step aside. I'm begging you. Please come back.
After hitting send, every ounce of strength drained from my body. I collapsed into the chair.
I stared at the screen. One second. Two. One minute. Ten.
Time dripped by like sand in an hourglass—counting down my father's life.
Half an hour later, my phone buzzed.
A voice message. From Adrian.
I grabbed it like a drowning woman clutching a lifeline, hands shaking as I pressed play.
His voice came through, ice-cold with a hint of mockery.
"Wendy, is it really worth making up lies like this just to compete for my attention?"
"I've reviewed all your father's indicators. He's nowhere near critical."
"Don't think this self-inflicted suffering act will force me back."
"Harass me again, and I'll transfer you out of the department—you won't even be filing paperwork."
The phone slipped from my hand, cracking against the floor.
My heart shattered with it.
The hospital room door opened. My father stirred awake.