Chapter 494

Vivian hesitated, glancing at her buzzing phone in the dim hotel room. Who could be calling at this ungodly hour? She bit her lower lip thoughtfully before swiping to answer, her pulse quickening with anticipation.

"Ms. Hartley?" A professional male voice inquired through the receiver.

"Yes, speaking." Her response came sharper than intended, laced with sleep and curiosity.

The caller continued smoothly, "I'm calling regarding Mr. Julian Montclair. He sustained injuries while assisting an elderly woman and is currently at Crestwood General. We require immediate payment for his treatment—"

Before he could finish, Vivian threw back the silk sheets, her bare feet hitting the plush carpet. "Text me the address. I'll be there within the hour."

She ended the call and grabbed Adrian's discarded dress shirt from the armchair, heading toward the ensuite bathroom.

Adrian removed his wireless earbuds, his piercing gaze following her movements. "What's the emergency?"

Vivian squeezed minty toothpaste onto her brush, speaking around the bristles. "Hospital run. And order us some fresh clothes from the concierge, would you?"

Adrian set aside his tablet and stalked toward the bathroom doorway, his muscular frame blocking most of the light. "Who needs medical attention at four in the morning?"

Spitting into the sink, Vivian emerged with a damp face, hastily drying it with a towel. "Julian. Apparently he played hero for some stranger. I'm covering his bills."

Adrian's sculpted eyebrows shot up, disbelief twisting his handsome features. "Julian Montclair? Helping strangers?" A sardonic chuckle escaped his lips. "The man has a personal staff of twelve. Why does this responsibility fall to you?"

The doorbell chimed. Vivian strode past him, tossing over her shoulder, "You know how private he is about family matters. The nurse said it's serious—broken ribs at least. We went to university together, Adrian. It's basic human decency."

A uniformed attendant entered with an armful of garment bags. Vivian selected a fitted black turtleneck and tailored taupe trousers from the selection, her movements efficient.

Adrian sank onto the velvet sofa, watching her through hooded eyes. "So you're abandoning me in this five-star prison to play Florence Nightingale?"

Vivian peeled off her sleep shirt without hesitation, meeting his gaze defiantly in her lace bralette. "Who said you can't come? Unless you have more important things to do than chaperone me to a hospital."

His stormy eyes traced the fading love bites along her collarbone before he abruptly looked away, grabbing a charcoal henley and dark jeans. With exaggerated resignation, he sighed, "Fine. But I'm driving."

As she fastened her watch, Vivian muttered, "Honestly, what was he thinking? A man who wears thousand-dollar suits shouldn't be playing Good Samaritan in back alleys."

Adrian paused at the bathroom threshold, his voice dripping with irony. "Sweetheart, you clearly don't know Julian Montclair at all."

Dawn painted the sky in pale watercolors when they arrived at Crestwood General. The sterile hospital lights revealed Julian sitting alone on an emergency room bench, his usually impeccable appearance disheveled. The harsh fluorescence accentuated the shadows under his eyes and the blood staining his once-pristine white shirt, making the aristocratic man look startlingly vulnerable.