“Ernest?” Linda’s voice trembled as she gripped his arm. “Did I say something wrong? Please… say something.”
He looked at her for a moment, then gently pulled his arm away.
In that instant, something hollow settled in her chest. Linda’s heart felt empty.
“Yes.” He nodded slowly. “You’re right.”
He pulled out a chair and sat down, adding, “The air conditioning’s a little low. That’s all—I just felt cold. Don’t overthink it.”
Hearing that, Linda blinked, caught off guard.
His words felt empty—calculated and distant. But he had still offered them as an excuse. As a way out. A way to keep peace. So, for now, she let it go.
“Alright.” Forcing a calm smile, she lifted the hairdryer. “Let me dry your hair, then. You just got over a fever. You really shouldn’t risk catching another chill.”
“I’m fine.” Ernest shook his head and took the hairdryer from her hands. “I don’t like using it anyway. A towel is enough.”
Hearing that, Linda froze. She didn’t believe him. She knew he just didn’t want her close.
Quietly, she folded her hands in her lap and offered a faint smile. “Alright, if that’s what you want.”
After a moment, she added softly, “You should rest and recover soon before our wedding. Speaking of which…”
She hesitated and then looked up at him. “Do you have a date in mind?”
Ernest paused, his hand lingering over the cabinet before setting the hairdryer down. His brows drew together faintly.
“I’m not sure yet,” he said. “I’ll talk to Grandma and let her decide.”
“I see.” Linda smiled again, but her gaze dropped to her legs. After a beat, she whispered, “It can’t be too far off, though. I’m worried… I might not be able to wait that long.”
L?t?st ch?pt?rs in g?lnovels.c?m
His brow twitched. He didn’t answer. He simply closed the cabinet in silence.
Linda wheeled herself toward the door. “Get changed and come down for something to eat. It’ll help you recover faster.”
As she left the room, she spotted Quentin waiting just outside.
“Miss Harris,” he greeted politely.
Linda gave him a brief nod as they passed each other in silence.
The door clicked shut behind Quentin, and whatever conversation followed was no longer within her reach.
“Mr. Flynn.”
Ernest gave a slight nod before asking at once, “Any updates?”
Quentin’s expression darkened as he shook his head. “Nothing yet.”
Ernest had expected that. Still, he clung to a sliver of hope.
“Keep looking. Don’t let up,” he said.
“Yes, Mr. Flynn.”
Quentin understood that this wasn’t a simple order. Ernest wanted them found, no matter the condition. Alive or dead, he needed answers—the uncertainty couldn’t be allowed to stretch any longer.
.
.
.