Whitney hopped on the bus, snagging a seat by the window. Her eyes drifted to the world outside, but her mind was stuck on her son. She toyed with the idea of quitting her new job, even though it was just her first day. The afternoon had dragged on, each awkward moment making it feel like a lifetime.
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In the cozy confines of Cordelia's bedroom, the day had surrendered to the dusky hues of twilight. Ronan, shirtless, wandered into the en suite bathroom. Cordelia lay still on the bed, a heavy sense of despair weighing her down. But then, a thought struck her—Adrian's fake blood pack.
With a dramatic flourish, she scattered the blood pack's contents beneath her and perched on the bed’s edge, clutching her stomach as if in excruciating pain. Ronan stepped out of the bathroom, his eyes widening at the scene before him. His brow furrowed in confusion. How could this be happening?
"What's going on?" he asked, his voice tinged with worry.
Cordelia glared at him, her eyes full of venom. "I told you, but you wouldn't believe me," she said coldly.
The sheets were stained with red, a shocking and visceral sight. A shiver ran down Ronan's spine. Quickly, he grabbed Cordelia's clothes from the hook, wrapped her up, and carried her downstairs. He placed her gently in the backseat of the car and climbed into the driver's seat, noticing the sweat trickling down his forehead.
He punched the steering wheel, regret flooding his senses. "Take me to Victoria's clinic," Cordelia instructed weakly from the back.
"Alright," Ronan croaked out, his voice hoarse with emotion. After calling Victoria, Cordelia dialed Whitney's number.
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