Chapter 133
He didn’t answer, but he twisted open the jar of cookies and pulled out a chocolate chip cookie. “Cookies make everything better,” he said, offering me a small smile.
I frowned, and he stood up, grabbing his clipboard. “I’ve got to make rounds in the other wards. Richard has sorted out your discharge papers; you’ll be heading home with him shortly p>
As he walked away, I caught a glimpse of a blush creeping up his ears.
Could the boy from my dreams be Max? Somehow, their indifferent smiles blended together in my mind, each seeming to carry a burden of years beyond their age.
But even if it were him, it just goes to show, the world has a funny way of bringing people together.
Now, walking down the hospital corridor with Richard, ready to leave, we bumped into Claude, sitting in her wheelchair.
“Claire, you’re leaving without saying goodbye?” she accused.
As if she had any right to play the victim. What more could she possibly want from me?
“Do I look that gullible, Claude?” I shot back, catching the fleeting uncertainty in her eyes.
“So, you’re choosing to leave me for Richard? Weren’t those diaries full of declarations of love for me? And now you’ve moved on so quickly, don’t you find yourself despicable?” She threw a diary at my feet, a testament to the years I spent under the illusion of love at the Hart family estate, now just a tool for her to demean me.
“Is this what you’ve been dying to tell me?” I picked up the diary, not giving it another glance before tearing it to pieces and tossing it in the trash.
Richard looked ready to confront her physically, but I held him back. “It’s not worth it,” I said, pressing the elevator button.
Behind us, the sound of things being thrown made Claude’s frustration painfully obvious.
“Be careful around Claude,” Richard warned as we waited. “She seems desperate for the Goodwin family’s support, and possibly, for you. Could this be related to your parents’ situation p>
I shook my head, unsure.
Yet, a name popped into my mind: Maximilian.
“Ever heard of the head of the Hilton family?” I asked out of the blue. That night at Claude’s villa, I remembered her calling out to a man named Maximilian for help, yet Ronald Collins claimed it was he who saved me the next day.
“I’m not sure, but I’ll look into it. After Alan passed, the Hiltons have kept a low profile, and Maximilian shuns the limelight, focusing solely on his business ventures,” Richard
explained, deepening the mystery of that night’s events.
Was Claude aware of my connection to Maximilian, using me to target him?
Her hints that the Hilton family wronged me, and her belief that I harbored resentment towards Maximilian, all seemed like part of a larger scheme. “Richard, I need to meet Maximilian p>
His reaction was a mix of difficulty
and tension, a stark refusal without hesitation. “I can’t make that
happen,” he said, a rare denial from someone who usually tried to accommodate my wishes.
“Do you know Maximilian too?” I stepped back, wary. Richard was my most trusted ally; was he keeping secrets from me?
“Claire, do you really need to meet him? He’s a daunting figure. If it’s about retrieving your parents’ ashes, I can negotiate with his company on your behalf p>