“She’s sleeping at three fucking p.m.,” I mumble defeatedly. “What do you think?”
Silence falls on the other end of the line. For long enough that I check if he hasn’t hung up.
“That’s… not how it works, Levi.”
I frown, analyzing his words. Until my buzzed brain catches up to the meaning behind them. “You know.”
It’s not a question. It’s a confirmation. And I’m suddenly feeling the sharp sting of jealousy at Taewon knowing about Cece’s struggles more than me.
“You’d know too if you just searched the symptoms, man.”
“I have,” I say quickly, a bit too defensively.
“Okay, well, she’s struggling now. But I’m sure she’ll be fine in a couple days. She’s very meticulous about her management,” he adds reassuringly. But I can’t seem to believe him.
And I know why.
Dots connect a little too fast for my alcohol soaked brain.
She’s sleeping in the middle of the day. She didn’t do her skincare—something she rarely ever misses. Hell, she even made sure to do it the night fucking Gareth attacked her.
I stagger back a few steps, leaning against the counter.
Fuck. I’ve never faced this type of silence from her. There was something entirely too different about it. Something terrifyingly eerie.
Because it lacked control. It lacked choice.
She’s been a gracefully quiet person who weighs her words carefully. But there was absolutely nothing controlled about how she stumbled into the bed a few hours ago, her lips unmoving.
And I’m a stupid fucking moron to have missedthe signs when I’ve researched the hell out of her condition.
Jesus fucking Christ.
“Taewon,” I whisper.
“What is it?”
I have a million questions running through my head. But there’s one glaring question that I can’t seem to remember the answer to.
Had I been any type of attentive fiancé these past few days—hell, months—I’d have known it.
And I don’t want Taewon to answer it either, even if he knows.
I want Cece to tell me instead.
“Nothing, I’ll call you back.”
Hanging up without a second thought, I sprint to our bedroom. I don’t know what I’m planning. In fact, I have no clue how to ask this question that could potentially unravel things further between us.
But I need to know.
So I push the door open as quietly as I possibly can. And there she is.
Sitting up straight on the bed, back leaning against the headboard. The dim overhead lights catching her mussed hair falling down her forehead.
For a second, I just stand there. Watching her. She looks impossibly small, curled up like that.
I walk over slowly, settling down on the edge of the bed.
