CHAPTER 45: CHAPTER 45: WARMING HER UP

Rhys Hawthorne burst into her villa with no regard for anything, imagining that perhaps Victoria Monroe had fainted in the bathroom.

But he never expected to open the door to such a cruel scene.

Victoria Monroe was sitting in last night’s gown, leaning against a bathtub filled with a quarter of water.

Her hands were raised behind her head, bound by a tie to the faucet, unable to move.

As she lifted her eyes to look at him, they held tears, pleading with an vulnerability he had never seen before: "Rhys, save me."

This scene was shocking.

In Rhys’s mind, the thread of reason completely snapped.

He ran towards her without hesitation, only realizing up close that Victoria Monroe was in worse shape than he imagined.

A bathroom without air conditioning felt like an ice cellar in tonight’s temperature.

The snowflakes from outside drifted in, piling a thick layer of white on the countertop.

And her hair, even her eyelashes, were covered with frost.

The water on her body had turned to icy cold under the chilly wind.

Rhys couldn’t imagine how a pregnant woman like her could have endured this entire night.

The customary indifference in his eyes slowly filled with bloodshot intensity.

He quickly shut the window, turned on the bathroom’s heating equipment to the maximum, opened the hot water, providing her warmth immediately.

Victoria Monroe had already lost consciousness, so she couldn’t see Rhys Hawthorne’s usually steady hands trembling uncontrollably as he untied the tie.

Seeing the tie that left blood marks on Victoria Monroe’s wrists, the once soft fabric could also inflict deep harm.

He deeply regretted not making a call to her last night.

If he had at least sent her a message, he would’ve known she had deleted him and thus suspected something was wrong.

It was his excessive caution and restraint that had led to today’s outcome.

His fingers felt her shoulder, and it was ice cold to the touch.

He instinctively checked the bathtub, relieved to see no blood.

Though there was no miscarriage today, he didn’t know if the embryo could still develop normally after such a cold night.

Compared to the embryo, he was more worried about Victoria Monroe, who had lost consciousness.

He murmured softly, "Forgive me."

At this moment, he couldn’t bother with propriety between men and women, unhooked the chain behind Victoria Monroe’s neck, and immediately peeled off the frozen stiff dress from her body.

He held Victoria Monroe’s hands and kept rubbing them, but her body was already ice-cold.

The bathtub was too large to be filled with hot water quickly.

Calling 911 at this point was useless; he needed to restore her body temperature quickly.

Rhys decisively took off his clothes, covering her firmly with his tall, burning body.

Her body was like ice, and he didn’t let go, instead holding her tighter inch by inch.

He thought of that winter when a little boy followed a little girl into a rundown house.

That was the first time he realized how dark and cold the nights in the slums were.

The little girl said her warm home had drafts on all sides, and the little boy stood at the door thinking even his "Merry" wouldn’t live in such a place.

"Merry" was his award-winning border collie, having won many awards.

When the little girl took out the best food her house had to offer to host him, he felt a sense of shame for his thoughts.

The bodyguard didn’t find him, so that night he stayed at the little girl’s house.

At five years old, he already knew the differences between genders, refusing to go to bed.

The little girl stubbornly dragged him onto the bed, and he, shy and reserved, slept at the edge where it was cold enough to make his hands and feet numb.

She got out of bed, used a glass bottle to hold hot water, and placed it in his arms. Her body pressed against him from behind, hugged him tightly, and whispered in his ear: "Young master, once you find your family, make sure to give me lots of money!"

His big eyes had a trace of surprise, having seen many people plead with his family, all pretentiously righteous, yet with eyes full of deceit.

Her eye was clear, but she plainly expressed her intentions.

He answered gloomily, "I’m not."

"I’m not a fool. The coat you’re wearing, the scarf around your neck, I’ve never seen such materials. You must be a young master lost from some family, right?"

He told her the scarf was woven from the softest, most refined cashmere wool from the abdomen of young Kashmara goats.

She didn’t understand what Kashmara was, but her eyes brimmed with envy, saying she must visit that place one day to see the lambs he talked about with such soft fur.

He remembered that night, the little girl holding him from behind, warming him with her whole body.

Just like now, he held the unconscious Victoria Monroe tightly.

As he felt her body gradually warming up, he finally exhaled in relief.

The phone rang, and he answered the call.

Assistant Woods’s voice came through: "The doctor and the car are outside, but the door is locked. We can’t get in. Should I break in?"

After all, this was Julian Fordham’s house. Breaking in would indeed cause some trouble.

"Give me five minutes," the man said before hanging up.

He got up, wiped off the water on himself, redressed, and cautiously placed Victoria Monroe into the warm water before walking into her master bedroom’s closet.

His upbringing never allowed him to enter a woman’s closet, let alone a girl’s bedroom.

Now, forced to rummage through a woman’s wardrobe, his ears turned a shade of red.

Without lingering, he quickly found clothes for Victoria Monroe, dressed her, and grabbed a blanket, wrapping her tightly before heading downstairs.

Outside the villa, seven to eight cars waited, with Assistant Woods prepared to confront Julian Fordham directly or wrest control by force.

He waited anxiously at the entrance, not daring to enter without Rhys’s order.

The electric gate slowly opened before him.

Through the swirling snow, he saw a man in a black cashmere coat, carrying a tightly wrapped, impenetrable woman, his eyes filled with a deathly calm.

Assistant Woods hastily opened an umbrella and rushed over, shielding them from the snow.

Rhys walked steadily, carrying Victoria Monroe into the ambulance.

Soon, seven to eight cars disappeared at the street corner.

Dawn broke, and the lights of the operating room finally turned off.

A nurse wheeled Autumn Fordham out, and Julian Fordham hurried over, "Doctor, how is my sister?"

"Rest assured, President Fordham, Miss Fordham’s surgery was successful. The nurses will inform you of the necessary precautions later."

Julian Fordham finally breathed a sigh of relief.

Beside him, Lana Jameson, looking at the pale, yet to awaken Autumn Fordham, continually complained: "I’ve told you, the fortune-teller said that woman curses our family. You should’ve separated from her sooner, but you didn’t believe it. See, Autumn..."

Lana Jameson’s words suddenly made Julian Fordham realize something.

The effects of the alcohol were utterly gone, and the scene of his departure vividly flashed in his mind.

Victoria Monroe was still tied up in the bathroom!

Panic washed over him, and without caring for Lana Jameson’s continued chatter, he sprinted outside.

"Victoria, stay safe."

Just as he ran out of the hospital, he was met with an expanse of white.

It was snowing!

It’s over! Something terrible happened!

Victoria Monroe had been trapped in the bathtub all night! Was she okay?

With this thought, fear and anxiety overwhelmed Julian Fordham, his legs gave out, and he fell hard into the snow.

His palms were cut by sharp stones, and blood instantly poured out.

The crimson blood stung his eyes, filling him with a foreboding sense of dread...