“Sir, I think we need to talk about this openly, like two civilized people,” I finally said, forcing myself to find enough courage to speak despite the growing uneasiness in my chest.
The way things were unfolding, however, it was becoming painfully obvious that nothing about this situation was in my favor.
Before he could respond, the door suddenly opened, and a guard stepped inside.
He approached the man, handed him a sealed envelope, and immediately turned around without saying a word.
The door closed behind him, leaving the two of us alone once again.
The Alpha opened the envelope without saying anything.
He pulled out its contents and tossed them toward me, sending several papers and photographs scattering across the bed.
I hesitated before slowly picking them up.
The moment I saw the first photograph, my entire body went cold.
It was me.
Or at least, it looked like me.
The photograph showed me sitting behind the wheel of a car, and I recognized the vehicle immediately.
It was Sylvia’s car.
I picked up another photograph, and my stomach tightened when I saw a woman lying motionless on the ground in a pool of blood, apparently the victim of the accident.
But the photographs weren’t the only evidence.
Among the documents was a vehicle logbook bearing my name, clearly indicating that the car involved in the accident belonged to me.
I stared at the documents in disbelief, unable to understand how any of it could be possible.
I had never owned a car.
I had never driven Sylvia’s car, and I certainly hadn’t caused an accident.
Yet everything in those photographs and documents pointed directly at me.
My fingers tightened around the papers as I desperately searched for some explanation, but nothing came to mind.
Whoever had prepared this evidence had made it convincing enough that even I couldn’t immediately see how I could prove it was false.
“You can choose what to do.” I slowly lowered the photographs onto the bed and closed my eyes, releasing a long, exhausted breath.
If I wanted to prove that I was innocent, I would have to investigate everything from the beginning.
I would need witnesses, records, evidence, and enough time to uncover how my name had ended up attached to a car I had never owned.
But time was the one thing I didn’t have.
I had already been told that I had only six months left to live, and if I became involved in a criminal investigation, there was a very real possibility that I could spend much of that time trying to prove my innocence instead of living whatever life I had left.
I opened my eyes and looked at the woman lying motionless beside me.
Perhaps this was my only option.
Perhaps I really had to find a way to wake her, regardless of how impossible it seemed.
Because if I wanted to survive the situation I had been thrown into, I couldn’t afford to waste the little time I had left fighting a battle that I might never win.
“Stay here and accompany her.
You have to wake her up.” With those words, the Alpha turned away from me and walked toward the door, leaving me standing beside the bed with no explanation and an order I had no idea how to fulfill.
I stared after him in disbelief.
How was I supposed to wake her up?
She was cold—ice-cold.
When I had first touched her, there had been barely any warmth beneath her skin, and she hadn’t moved or responded to anything around her.
Even her breathing had been so faint that I had struggled to determine whether she was actually alive.
Yet this man had looked at me as though waking her were the simplest task in the world.
I glanced back at the woman lying beneath the sheets.
“How am I supposed to do that?” I whispered, although he was already walking away.
“I’m not a doctor.” He didn’t turn around.
The door opened, and he stepped through it without offering another word.
A moment later, it closed behind him.
I remained where I was, staring at the door.
For a few seconds, I wondered whether he would come back and explain what he meant, but the room remained silent.
I slowly approached the door and placed my hand against the handle, intending to follow him and demand some answers.
The moment I tried to turn it, I realized it was locked.
I pulled harder, but nothing happened.
“Wait!” I knocked against the door, but there was no response from the other side.
I knocked again, louder this time.
“Open the door!” Still nothing.
I pressed my ear against the wood, listening carefully for footsteps or voices in the corridor, but there was only silence.
Whoever had locked me inside had no intention of letting me out.
I slowly stepped away from the door, my stomach tightening as the reality of my situation settled over me.
They had left me here.
Alone.
With a woman who appeared to be barely alive and an impossible order hanging over my head.
I turned toward the bed again.
The room suddenly felt much larger than it had before and far too quiet.
The expensive furniture, the heavy curtains, and the enormous bed that had seemed impressive when I first entered now only made me feel more isolated.
There was no servant nearby, no doctor, no nurse, and no one I could ask for help.
I was alone with the unconscious woman.
I swallowed heavily, still unable to understand why everyone seemed convinced that I was responsible for what had happened to her.
The photographs showed me behind the wheel of Sylvia’s car, while the documents somehow connected my name to the vehicle, yet I knew I had never owned it, let alone driven it.
Now, after being accused of hurting her, I was expected to somehow wake her.
None of it made sense.
I approached the bed slowly and looked down at her.