Charles cut him off impatiently. "I already promised Freya. No one will hurt her."
He answered his phone, lowering his voice deliberately.
"Good. Bring it in."
A knock. Footsteps approached. A doctor entered the room.
"Mr. Charles, this is the hallucinogenic drug that Ms. Freya imported from overseas."
Morgan's face twisted with reluctance. A flicker of something—pity, perhaps—crossed his eyes.
"These drugs are extremely dangerous. Don't you think this is too cruel to Mrs. Charles...?"
Charles walked to my bedside. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to my forehead—gentle, almost tender.
"Five years ago, I was dying. I cried every day. Even the doctors had given up."
"It was Freya who tested drug after drug for me. She even donated her own kidney. She pulled me back from the edge of death."
His voice wavered. He fell silent for a long moment before continuing.
"I owe her everything. I can never repay her."
"How could I possibly stand by and watch her get hurt?"
Tears spilled from my eyes before I could stop them. My heart felt crushed in an invisible fist.
The savior he couldn't stop talking about.
It was me.