My hands trembled as I pulled out my phone. Forcing my raw throat to make a sound, I whispered hoarsely.
“Book me two plane tickets. Tomorrow, I’ll take my brother and leave this place for good.”
As for that press conference, I would make sure Bryson walked away from it with absolutely nothing!
The words had barely left my mouth when the door of the ward was shoved open.
Bryson stood at the entrance, his expression unreadable.
“Hedy,” he asked, voice low, “where are you booking tickets to?”
Half his face was swallowed in shadow, making it impossible for me to see him clearly.
I hung up the call, meeting his gaze with an icy expression.
“It has nothing to do with you.”
His brows furrowed, and after a pause, he extended his hand toward me.
“Hedy, I know you’re still upset about yesterday, but I had no choice. Debbii was badly hurt, too. And your wounds haven’t even healed yet. Please, don’t run around recklessly, alright?”
His tone was gentle, coaxing—pretending as though he wasn’t the one who had caused these injuries in the first place.
I let out a sharp laugh.
“Relax. I won’t delay tomorrow’s press conference.”