The Stand-In Who Burned the Script novel Chapter 381

At the hospital, the glass shards had been cleaned from Silas Sterling's shoulder, but the original wound had split open, requiring it to be washed and bandaged all over again.

"I'll wait outside. Call me if you need anything," Vivian Fairchild said.

She reached out, her fingers gently tracing his cheek, her eyes brimming with heartache.

At least, that was how it looked.

"Don't worry, I'll be right out here."

The man cast a fleeting glance at her. "It's exactly because you're out there that I'm worried. Why don't you just go home?"

"What kind of attitude is that?" she muttered softly. "I'm the one worried sick about you. I wouldn't be able to sleep a wink if I went back now."

To an outsider, their bickering sounded exactly like a couple flirting.

The nurse standing nearby hid a secret smile, her gaze knowing.

"Miss Fairchild, as long as he's careful from now on, Mr. Sterling's wound will heal quickly. You don't need to worry too much."

"Please be gentle with him. Don't cause him any more pain."

She gave a few more instructions before watching them walk into the treatment room.

Once the door clicked shut, Vivian leaned against the wall and let out a soft sigh. Silas had saved her life yet again.

Tonight's incident might have looked like an accident, but something was terribly wrong. It was clearly targeted at her.

Who was the mastermind behind it?

The Fowler family?

No.

Richard Fowler was currently overwhelmed with his own mess, and his son was still bedridden in the hospital. They had no reason to pull a stunt like this right now.

Grace Gifford?

At the thought of that possibility, Vivian's bright eyes narrowed dangerously.

A long time seemed to pass before the clinic door finally opened.

Silas had changed into a fresh hospital gown, his blood-soaked dress shirt tossed into the trash.

Before the man could release an irritated gasp, she squeezed her eyes shut tightly. "Time for sleep. Goodnight."

Silas was left completely speechless.

When the lights clicked off, the room plunged into darkness.

He opened his eyes, staring up at the ceiling, his dark gaze swirling with complex, impenetrable emotions.

—

By three in the morning, the entire hospital was dead silent, the quietness amplifying every minor sound.

Vivian opened her eyes. The man beside her was breathing evenly. Even in sleep, his tall, imposing body maintained a perfect, rigid posture.

Illuminated by the faint moonlight streaming through the window, his chiseled profile was so flawless it was impossible to look away.

Vivian stared at him for a long moment. A sudden, intoxicating impulse washed over her, and she leaned in to press a gentle kiss against his jawline before quietly slipping out of bed.

Having visited the hospital frequently lately, she was familiar with the layout. She navigated through two long corridors until she reached the spacious, airy balcony of the VIP floor.

A man stood leaning against the railing, his posture as straight as a pine. Set against the blurry backdrop of the city lights, his profile was indistinct, but the perfectly tailored suit hugged his upright frame flawlessly. His dark eyes seemed to glitter like diamonds in the night.