"Nathan, it’s already so late, why isn’t Sister back yet? Maybe you should go to the hospital to check on her."
In the villa, a man was seated in a milky white European-style sofa, slightly leaning forward, skillfully peeling an apple with graceful movents that matched his handso deanor.
In a wheelchair next to him was a woman clad in a light pink dress, her delicate face pale like a porcelain doll, her lustrous hair smoothly draped over her shoulders, and a blanket on her knees hiding her legs beneath.
The petite woman beside the tall and robust man was like a fragile begonia in a greenhouse, irresistibly invoking a protective instinct.
"No need."
His sensuous thin lips parted lightly, effortlessly emitting two words.
"Nathan~" Olivia Zane pouted, tugging on the arm of the handso and elegant man, conveying her displeasure.
"How can you be like this."
Nathan Moore turned his head, casting a fleeting glance at the frail woman in the wheelchair. In his obsidian eyes was a world of gentleness. He put down the fruit knife and apple and gently stroked Olivia’s smooth hair, his voice soft and soothing.
"She’s not a child; she won’t get lost."
"You know that’s not what I an." Olivia’s brows furrowed. Seeing that the man made no move, she slid the wheels of her chair to turn in another direction. "I’ll call Sister myself."
Watching the woman’s petulant deanor, a flash of helplessness crossed the man’s dark eyes, and he compromised, "Alright, I’ll make the call."
The man rose to his feet, his long legs carrying him towards the telephone.
Watching the man’s outstanding and elegant retreating figure, Olivia’s lips curved slightly, knowing well that he couldn’t bear to see her upset.
His distinct, articulate fingers picked up the phone, dialing a series of numbers,
...
It has to be said that Titus Zane was uniquely beautiful, exuding a literary elegance.
Even now, with her complexion as pale as paper, it did not detract from her exquisite features.
"Brow like ink painting, skin without flaw" would be an apt description for her.
Like a magnolia blooming in solitary splendor, she faintly radiated her refined grace.
Light coffee-colored wide-leg pants accentuated her already long legs, and a light grey Nelly Brown coat casually draped over one shoulder. Without careful grooming, her luscious black hair cascaded to the right side, pairing with her current pale complexion, she seed all the more endearing.
She lowered her hands and tilted back her head, letting out a feeble sigh as she gazed at the incandescent light in the corridor above, unmoving for a very long ti.
The nurse at the station glanced over and, seeing her sitting alone on the rest chair, couldn’t help whispering to each other, their voices growing softer.
Without listening, Titus knew what they were talking about – other won co for gynecological exams accompanied by boyfriends; only she lies alone on the cold surgical bed, numbly undergoing surgery.
A pang of pain in her lower abdon, followed by a warm surge, made her gasp in pain. Titus Zane’s eyebrows knitted, and her beautiful almond-shaped eyes slightly closed.
Ding dong ding dong...
The ringtone from the phone in her bag sounded inconveniently.
She opened her eyes, lowered her gaze to the backpack at her abdon, and after a long look, she opened it.
Taking out the phone, she glanced at it briefly – the familiar yet unwelco landline number of that cage was blinking on the touch screen relentlessly.
With a gentle swipe of her finger, she brought the phone to her ear, an inadvertent display of elegance.
"Are you dead yet?" As the call connected, a cold, emotionless voice reached her ears. Titus Zane smiled faintly, her pale lips parting, but before she could speak, she was interrupted by the man’s icy voice.
"If you’re not dead, get back here imdiately!"
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