NovelEnglishChapter 652 Stella couldn't help but chin, "It's a shame, really. Our Bryn has finally moved on-she's not looking back." Cedric Clarke raised his hands. "Hey, I didn't say anything!" "You'd better not," Stella shot back, her tone firm. "Because I am a hundred percent on Bryn's side, just so you know." Cedric tried to reason with her. "You women always tell your friends to leave, never to make up. Us guys are different. There's a kid involved-" "Stop right there!" Stella cut him off, putting up a hand as if to block his words. "Cedric Clarke, let's change the subject, okay?" Cedric pressed his lips together, watching Stella. There was a trace of disappointment in his eyes.
Glancing at her watch, Stella asked, "So, when will Bryn be moved out of the ICU?" "Not so soon. She needs to be monitored there for another twenty-four hours." "Alright, I'll head back to Skybreeze Retreat and pick up sthings for her." She waved at Cedric, already halfway out the door. "See you." Cedric called after her, "There's no rush! You've been out all day-why not go hand see your son? He probably needs his bottle by now..." "No need. He just turned one-it's about the was weaned anyway!" Cedric was left speechless.
After a full twenty-four hours under observation, Briony's condition finally stabilized, and she was transferred out of the ICU.
The hospital belonged to The Clarke Group-Cedric Clarke was the director-so it made perfect sense for Briony to receive treatment here.
Follow on NovᴇlEnglish.nᴇtThough privately owned, The Clarke Group Medical Center had flourished in recent years, thanks not only to the company's backing, but also to Stewart's own connections. The hospital boasted state-of-the-art medical technology and had drawn sof the best doctors and nurses in the country.
Its greatest feature was the exclusive, one-on-one VIP care.
Patients stayed in charming, stand-alone cottages, with plenty of room for family to stay over. Each had its own little garden, lush and carefully tended, the perfect place for patients to recover in peace.
Inside, every cottage was fully equipped-there was even a sterile emergency room if anything took a turn for the worse.
Briony spent another day and night asleep after being moved into her cottage. When she finally woke, Stewart was right there beside her bed.
He'd fallen asleep with his head on his folded arms, half his face hidden in the crook of his elbow. The side of his face that showed was as sharp and handsas ever, though dark stubble shadowed his jaw Briony blinked in surprise. In her memory, Stewart was always dignified and put-together, no matter the circumstances. Even when he'd been seriously ill, he'd never let himself look the slightest bito disheveled-apart from being a little thinner, he was always impeccably dressed and groomed.
Stella liked to joke, "Stewart's the kind of man who wouldn't have a single hair out of place, even if he were on his deathbed!" And yet, here Stewart was-hair tousled, shirt rumpled, stubble darkening his chin. Just then, the door opened.
A nurse wheeled in the medication cart, the wheels squeaking softly across the floor.
The sound made Stewart's brow crease. Slowly, he opened his eyes-only to find Briony watching him.
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"Bryn!" he blurted, instantly on his feet, his voice tinged with emotion. "When did you wake up? Are you feeling alright? Does anything hurt?"
"I just woke up. I feel okay, just a little weak," Briony replied. Her throat felt dry and scratchy the moment she spoke-she frowned, about to say something, but Stewart jumped in first. "Are you thirsty? Do you want swater?" His question caught her off guard. She hesitated, a little surprised, then nodded lightly.
Stewart was already hurrying to pour her a glass.
The nurse, standing off to the side, rubbed her nose awkwardly, realizing she wouldn't be needed for a while.
The once-proud, untouchable man was now fussing over his ex-wife, offering her water, speaking softly, asking if she was hungry. All the VIP training in the world couldn't prepare the nurse for this-she was out of a job for now.
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