Chapter 222

After that day, Vincent couldn't shake the odd tension that swept through him whenever he was around Hannah. Therefore, he abandoned his original plan to stick to her side and instead barricaded himself in his top-floor suite, a self-imposed exile. He started avoiding face-to-face encounters, monitoring her movements through the ever-watchful security cameras.

Meanwhile, Hannah relished the sudden peace that came with Vincent's absence. She tossed him from her mind without a second thought.

One night, she went to bed early, only to be jolted awake at the crack of dawn by a sharp pain in her lower abdomen. A hot flush spilled out of her and soaked the sheets, and dread curled in her chest.She threw off the covers and slid from bed, panic nipping at her heels. She remembered stashing her sanitary pads in the second drawer of her wardrobe. Blindly, she edged forward,hands stretched out.

In her rush, her knee smacked hard against the cabinet's edge. The pain made her double over,clutching her leg with a stifled gasp.

Upstairs, Vincent's eyes were glued to the monitor,his jaw tightening as he watched Hannah's face contort with pain. Assuming she'd collided with something dangerous-maybe shattered glass-he didn't stop to reconsider. He sprang from his chair and charged for her room, urgency driving every step.

Still wincing, Hannah finally reached the drawer.Her fingertips found the cool metal handle just as the bedroom door banged open behind her, splintering the quiet.

"What's going on?" Vincent's voice rang out, low and sharp, but he stopped short the second he saw the scene before him. A wide, dark stain had blossomed across the bed, while Hannah knelt on the floor, herskin chalk-white. Scarlet streaked the hem of her silk nightgown, stark against the pale fabric.

His gaze fell lower-blood was trailing down her bare thigh. A flash of alarm shot through him, recalling the time she'd mentioned an episode of heavy bleeding.His expression turned grim, a muscle ticking in his jaw. What sort of illness could make her bleed like this?

Without a second thought, he swept her into his arms, his tone edged with urgency. "I'm taking you to the hospital,now."

Caught off guard by the sudden lit, Hannah struggled against his chest, protest flaring in her eyes. "No! I'm not going to the hospital!"

Inside, she rolled her eyes-this was just her period,nothing remotely life-threatening.

But Vincent wouldn't budge. "You're losing way too much blood. We're going, end of discussion."

It finally clicked for Hannah-he'd completely misunderstood what was happening. Mortified and bristling, she snapped, "Who said anything about heavy bleeding?"

Vincent stiffened, bafflement flashing across his face."Wait-it's not that serious?"

Hannah's eyes narrowed, her frustration flaring. "No,obviously not!" She squirmed in his arms, voice rising."Put me down. Right now."

Only then did Vincent glance down, finally noticing her fingers digging into her abdomen, knuckles white.

A slick line of blood slid down her thigh, smearing across his wrist where his grip hadn't loosened.

Time seemed to freeze; even the air grew heavy,charged with awkward silence.

For a few suspended seconds, Vincent's mind blanked out. But he wasn't that clueless-his cheeks flushed, understanding flickering in his eyes.

Flushed and desperate to escape, Hannah squirmed free from his hold. Her trembling hands searched blindly for the sanitary pads, heart thumping in her chest.

Vincent hastily snatched a tissue, swiped at his wrist,then reached for a light blanket and draped it around her shoulders. Hannah protested, twisting away.

"You don't want to catch a cold," Vincent muttered,voice gravelly and taut with something he couldn't name.

His gestures were fast, bordering on rough.

Without another word, he spun on his heel and stalked into her walk-in closet.

She heard him fumbling through drawers, his uneven breathing and the restless swish of fabric betraying an urgency rare for someone usually so composed.

A flicker of curiosity ran through Hannah. What was he frantically looking for? Was he actually looking for her sanitary pads? Did he have the faintest clue where she kept them?Vincent reappeared, a fresh pack clutched in hís grip.He pressed it into her palm, silent and brisk. "Go handle it," he muttered, his fingertips lingering just long enough for a flicker of warmth to pass between them.

Hannah snatched the pack, shuffling hastily toward the bathroom.

Vincent hovered outside, his jaw clenched tight with uncertainty. Remembering she couldn't see for now,he called out, "Need help?"

"Absolutely not." Hannah shot back, her words bristling with indignation and mortification.

A sudden crash rang out from the bathroom. Vincent didn't pause. He twisted the lock open and barreled inside.

"What the hell are you doing? Get out!" With a startled edge to her voice, Hannah pulled the towel around herself in a rush.

Vincent's eyes swept over the mess strewn across the floor as he took a step forward. "Come on,Hannah. We've been married before. What's left to be embarrassed about? Just let me help."

He scrubbed his hands at the sink, deliberately slow,and then turned to her. A faint red crept up his neck,but due to her sightless eyes, she didn't notice.

Hannah snapped, "Back off!"

Ignoring the sting, Vincent edged in, determined.The bathroom looked like a war zone, as if they'd been brawling.

His efforts were awkward-every gesture stiff, every movement hesitant-but he pressed on, refusing to leave her struggling alone.

Hannah, weakened and pale, triedto push him away,but the cramps sapped her strength, leaving her powerless to resist.

Eventually, Vincent took charge,sorting out the mess himself.

He tugged at his collar, swallowing against a throat that felt parched. His nerves were shot-more shaken than he'd ever been clinching a billion-dollar merger.

Just as he turned to go, Hannah caught his wrist,her tone sharp as a blade. "Not a single word of this to anyone.Got it?"

"Yeah, okay." Vincent agreed, her touch still burning on his skin as he stepped away.