Three days later, in the VIP Orthopedics review wing.
Eliza sat in her wheelchair.
Her complexion was much healthier than it had been days ago, though her calm eyes still lacked any real warmth.
Gwen pushed her along, enthusiastically rambling about their plans for the upcoming week. "Ellie, I'm telling you, the French pastry chef on that cruise is out of this world! Once we're done making sure your leg is okay, we're going shopping tomorrow. We'll get you some killer outfits so you can drop jaws the second you step on board!"
"I've already packed ten bottles of sunscreen. We are not coming back until we've admired every gorgeous guy in the Pacific!"
Listening to her friend's vibrant plans, a smile finally tugged at Eliza's lips. "Alright, but do you have to be so dramatic?"
"Absolutely, we have to be completely..."
Gwen's sentence was abruptly cut off.
Her hands slammed the brakes on the wheelchair, her gaze locking onto a half-open door of a VIP suite on the left side of the hall.
Following Gwen's line of sight, Eliza's breath completely caught in her throat.
Through the glass and the gap in the doorway, the scene inside played out with crystal-clear cruelty.
Zander was sitting by the bed, holding a bowl. He scooped up a spoonful of soup, lowering his head to blow on it with endless tenderness and patience.
He then gently offered the spoon to Yvonne's lips.
Yvonne, clad in a hospital gown with her long hair cascading down her shoulders, looked flushed and radiant with bliss.
She sipped the soup, playfully complaining, "Zander, you don't have to be so careful. I'm not a three-year-old."
Zander's lips curved into a helpless yet indulgent smile. "You just had your stomach pumped. The doctor specifically said no hot food. Be good and finish this bowl."
"Only if you promise to watch a movie with me this afternoon," Yvonne wheedled.
Out in the corridor, Eliza watched the display, finding the blinding irony of it absolutely laughable.


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