Chapter 72
Chapter 72:
What surfaced next were the countless nights Kristine had sat beside his bed whenever his stomach flared — quietly bringing water, straightening his pillows, remaining there until the pain finally faded. That sharp comparison made his eyes sting.
He looked toward Claire. “Do you know how to make chicken soup p>
A flicker of confusion crossed her face. “Yes, I do p>
Upstairs, Kristine stretched out on the bed.
Although the doctors had cleared her to leave, they had emphasized again and again that she needed to keep her emotions stable for the next few weeks. Any strong emotional shift could bring the ulcer back.
To keep her thoughts from drifting into dangerous territory, she opened the research files Victor had sent and began to read. Midway through the material, her phone buzzed. Ryan’s name appeared on the screen.
She picked up immediately.
Her guess was correct. “I still haven’t identified who submitted the report,” Ryan said, “but I traced the IP address. Do you want to take a look p>
“Go ahead and send it p>
Barely two seconds passed before a live feed appeared on her tablet. Under Ryan’s touch, the map began to zoom in — starting from Gridron, narrowing to the district, then closing in on Crestwood. One final tap landed squarely on the marker labeled B3.
That location matched the house she was currently in.
𝘛r𝖾𝗇𝘥іո𝗀 ոov𝗲𝗅s 𝗈ո
The person who filed the report was Colton.
The realization tightened Kristine’s throat until it was difficult to swallow.
“Kristine, are you still there?” Ryan’s voice came through sharp with concern.
She curled her hands into fists, her nails pressing hard into her palms. A burst of pain flared in her stomach — sudden and sharp enough to pull her back to the present. Slowly, she lifted the phone again and drew in long, measured breaths until the shaking subsided.
“I’m here. I understand now. You don’t need to keep looking into it. I’ll transfer the remaining payment to you p>
After ending the call, she gripped the phone until the case let out a faint creak under the pressure.
Time slipped past her unnoticed until a knock at the door finally broke the silence.
“Come in p>
Colton entered, holding a bowl of chicken soup.
Back when his stomach problems had flared up, Kristine had always made it for him in the same way — and each time, it had helped calm the pain. He had never once tried making it himself. This bowl had come from Claire. The taste was not the same as Kristine’s, though he could not identify what was missing. He had decided to bring it to her anyway.
The moment he stepped inside, Kristine raised her eyes — and they were red, cold, and filled with anger.
His heart dropped.
Lately, she had been looking at him like that more and more.
“Claire made you chicken soup. You should try to eat.” He placed the bowl on the nightstand, forcing a casual tone, though his attention kept returning to her inflamed eyes. Unease settled over him, and he shifted where he stood.
Kristine kept her gaze fixed on him. A heavy rush of emotion battered her chest like relentless surf.