Half an hour after Charlotte left...
"Mom, I’m stepping out for a bit. I need to make a call."
Kristoff’s gaze lingered on the sleeping newborn in the bassinet beside the bed. Beneath the pale blue blanket, the baby’s tiny chest rose and fell in soft, steady breaths, his delicate face untouched by the chaos of the world.
So small. So fragile. So completely his.
For the briefest moment, the icy indifference in Kristoff’s gray eyes melted away, replaced by a rare warmth—an unmistakable look of pure bliss that softened the hard lines of his face before vanishing just as quickly.
Then he turned and strode out of the room.
The sharp rhythm of his polished shoes echoed through the quiet hospital corridor. Every step carried the commanding presence of a man used to being obeyed.
When he reached the nursing station, several nurses instinctively looked up.
"Nurse."
The woman behind the counter froze.
She had seen attractive men before, but none like him.
He was devastatingly handsome—tall, broad-shouldered, with aristocratic features like someone who stepped out of a painting.
His dark brows framed a pair of piercing deep gray eyes that seemed capable of stripping away every secret she had ever hidden. His nose bridge was high and elegant, while his thin lips carried a dangerous sort of allure that made her heart skip without permission.
For several seconds, the nurse could only stare, completely mesmerized.
Kristoff’s expression darkened.
"Hey." His voice turned impatient. "I’m talking to you."
The nurse jolted back to reality, her cheeks burning crimson.
"S-Sorry, sir..." the nurse stammered.
"Where’s the woman from Room 301?"
Her fingers hurried across the keyboard as she searched the records.
"She was transferred to Room 366 at the end of the corridor," the nurse explained softly. "But... she checked out earlier."
Kristoff frowned sharply.
"What?"
Disbelief flashed across his face.
"She checked out?" he repeated, his voice dangerously low. "How could she leave? She just gave birth yesterday."
The nurse swallowed nervously beneath the pressure of his gaze.
"She officially checked out at eleven this morning, sir."
Eleven o’clock.
Thirty minutes ago.
Kristoff’s jaw tightened.
What the hell was that woman thinking? Had her body even recovered from childbirth?
Almost instinctively, he pulled out his phone to call her.
But the moment his thumb hovered over the screen, he froze.
He didn’t have her number.
Every interaction with Isobel had always gone through his assistant. He had never once bothered to contact her personally. He didn’t need to because she was always waiting for him at his villa.
A strange irritation rose in his chest.
After a brief pause, he scrolled through his contacts and called the butler assigned to the villa where Isobel stayed.
The call connected almost immediately.
"Is Isobel there?" Kristoff asked coldly.
There was silence on the other end.
His brows furrowed.
"She’s not there?"
Perhaps she was still on the road.
"Call her," he ordered curtly.
He ended the call and began walking back toward Room 301, though his pace had noticeably slowed.
For the first time in years, impatience gnawed at him.
A few moments later, his phone rang.
"Sir," the butler said carefully, "I can’t reach Miss Isobel. Her phone appears to be switched off... or out of battery."
Kristoff stopped walking.
The lights above cast shadows across his sharp features, making his expression unreadable.
Something dark flickered through his eyes.
After a long silence, he finally spoke.
"Forget it."
His voice was indifferent.
"If she doesn’t want to come back, then let her be."
But the grip around his phone tightened unconsciously.
Then he resumed walking, this time much faster than before.
He had taken two days off specifically to stay with his son.
And for some reason he refused to acknowledge... the empty space Isobel left behind suddenly felt impossible to ignore.
...
Isobel stood quietly in front of the tall glass window, her gaze drifting toward the sprawling garden below.
The afternoon sunlight bathed the landscape in gold, illuminating the carefully manicured hedges, marble pathways, and blooming flowers swaying gently beneath the breeze.
The room itself was luxurious yet elegant—far larger than any hospital suite she had ever seen.
Just from the interior alone, Isobel could already tell it cost a fortune.
Her fingers unconsciously tightened around the edge of her shawl.
This room must be expensive...
And the garden view...
It reminded her too much of the private recovery suite Kristoff had arranged for her before she gave birth.
For a brief moment, pain flickered across her eyes.
Before she could sink deeper into her thoughts, the door suddenly creaked open.
Isobel turned around.
Standing by the doorway was a woman in her early thirties dressed neatly in business attire. Her posture was straight, almost military-like, and her sharp expression made her appear extremely capable.
Behind her stood two younger women.
One carried several luxury shopping bags while the other carefully held a tray of food covered with cling wrap.
"Hello, Miss Lancey."
The older woman stepped forward slightly.
"My name is Cindy Stone. Mr. Foster sent me here to take care of your needs while you recover."
Her tone was respectful yet professional.
Then her gaze shifted toward the untouched bed.
"But first, you should have lunch," Cindy added. "The babies will wake up hungry soon."
Only then did Isobel notice the rich aroma filling the room.
The scent instantly awakened the hunger she had been ignoring.
Her eyes landed on the tray.
There was a bowl of warm chicken soup garnished with fresh moringa leaves, the rich broth steaming gently beneath the light. Beside it was roasted rosemary chicken with buttered vegetables and soft bread rolls still warm from the oven.
Everything looked nourishing.
Comforting.
Like someone had carefully considered what a recovering mother needed.
For some reason, Isobel suddenly felt her chest tighten slightly.
No one had ever taken care of her this thoughtfully before.
Not even when she nearly died giving birth.
Well, Kristoff used to be, but that was before she gave birth.
"Please eat while it’s hot," Cindy urged softly.
This time, Isobel did not refuse.
The moment she tasted the soup, warmth spread through her exhausted body almost instantly. The flavors were rich and soothing, easing both her hunger and the lingering weakness from childbirth.
The roasted chicken was tender and fragrant with rosemary, so delicious that she quickly forgot her reservations and continued eating without needing further encouragement.
The three women quietly waited until she finished.
Afterward, one of the younger assistant stepped forward and handed Isobel the shopping bags.
"We bought clothes suitable for breastfeeding mothers," she explained with a shy smile. "They’ll make it easier for you to feed the babies anytime."
Isobel looked inside the bags and found several soft dresses, nursing tops, and comfortable sleepwear—all high quality and carefully selected.
For a moment, she was speechless.
Then she looked up at them sincerely.
"Thank you," she said softly. "You’ve all been very kind to me."
At those words, the younger assistants smiled warmly.
But Cindy remained quietly observant.
Because for some reason... she suddenly understood why Morgan Foster had become interested in this woman.