CHAPTER 69: DRAWN TIGHT

The next morning, Rita—unsurprisingly—took another fake day off. When Erisia questioned it, she just waved her off and practically shoved her into the bathroom, declaring, "If I’m skipping work, then you’re going to look divine to make it worth my sacrifice."

Erisia barely had time to protest that she didn’t ask her to take an off day—that she was clearly just using her as an excuse—before Rita started barking orders from behind the door.

"Use the lavender shampoo! No, not that one—the other one. And the citrus body scrub! I want you smelling like a refreshing breeze or a blooming garden, not like freshly bought fabric!"

Erisia rolled her eyes and yelled back, "I don’t think ’refreshing breeze’ is a scent!"

"Whatever, just use it—you’ll smell nice!"

Erisia couldn’t suppress a smile but followed along anyway. The warm water and the carefully chosen scents did exactly what Rita intended—they relaxed her, easing the restless tension that had lingered from the night before.

By the time she stepped out, a towel wrapped around her hair, Rita was already standing by the vanity like a stylist ready for a magazine shoot.

"Finally!" she exclaimed, clapping her hands once. "Alright, sit. Moisturizer, toner, serum—let’s go."

Erisia sat obediently, amused. "You sound like you’re prepping me for a movie premiere."

Rita smirked, dotting moisturizer on her cheeks. "Same energy. You never know what’s going to happen when you walk into that hospital and meet Kealith. He could fall in love at first sight."

"Rita," Erisia said dryly. "I highly doubt that. Actually, it’s impossible. Everyone knows how Kealith Asheborne is. And this is a hospital visit, not a red-carpet event."

"Exactly why we need to overcompensate," Rita shot back. "I know my friend’s charm is off the charts especially for a first meeting."

The next several minutes passed in a flurry of hair-drying, light makeup, and outfit coordination. Rita adjusted the pleats of the gray skirt, tucked the off-shoulder sweater just so, and stepped back with a satisfied smile.

"Okay, now hair. Hair down, loose waves—yes. You will look composed but approachable in that style."

Erisia gave her a flat look through the mirror. "I’m very approachable, thank you."

Before Rita could reply, Erisia’s phone buzzed on the dresser. She reached for it—and her posture straightened the moment she saw the caller ID.

"Seliora," she murmured, then tapped to answer. "Hello?"

"Good morning, Erisia," came Seliora’s warm voice. "I hope I didn’t call too early. How was your night? Did you sleep well?"

Erisia smiled faintly, glancing at Rita, who gave her an ’Okay!’ sign behind her and Erisia shook her head. "I did, thank you. And you? Did you sleep well too?"

There was a pause on the other end, "I did. Thank you for asking."

Rita mouthed, ’Oh, you’ve got an ally in the family,’ but Erisia ignored her, biting back a laugh.

Seliora continued, "I called to let you know that in a few minutes, a driver will arrive to take you to the hospital. There’s no rush, of course—he’ll wait as long as needed."

"Oh," Erisia said, glancing down at her still half-done hair. "That’s very kind of you, but I’m still getting ready. It might take a little while."

"That’s perfectly fine," Seliora replied easily. "Take your time, Erisia. There’s no need to hurry. The driver will wait until you’re ready."

The call ended shortly after with warm goodbyes, and as soon as Erisia lowered her phone, Rita swooped in with a grin.

"She so likes you," she whispered conspiratorially. "That tone? That whole driver arrangement? Yeah, I can bet a 100 bucks that she wants you as her daughter-in-law."

Erisia rolled her eyes but couldn’t fight the tiny smile tugging at her lips. "And I can bet 100 bucks that you are not alright, Rita. She’s just being polite."

"Polite my ass," Rita muttered, picking up the curling iron. "Now hold still. We’ve got twenty minutes to turn polite into unforgettable."

...

By the time Erisia stepped outside, the car was already waiting—a sleek black sedan with tinted windows. The driver, dressed in a gray suit uniform, opened the door with a polite nod.

"Miss Wrenford?"

"Yes," she said, smoothing her skirt as she stepped in.

The door shut softly behind her, and the car eased onto the road. The city outside was quiet in that midmorning lull—just after the rush hour, before the midday noise returned. Erisia leaned her head against the seat, fingers idly tracing the stitching on her bag.

Now on her way to the hospital, Erisia was nervous. Honestly, it wasn’t only about meeting Kealith—it was everything and nothing at the same time.

Just then, Echo’s calm voice sounded in her mind.

[ You do not have to be nervous, Erisia. Though Kealith Asheborne was a character in the story, there is a high probability that he won’t be exactly as he was portrayed. ]

’Really? Then why haven’t you ever told me this when I met other characters?’ she asked silently.

[ Because, in the story, they were only cannon fodder. It doesn’t apply to them since they are more in control of themselves than the "specially written" major characters. ]

"Right," Erisia murmured under her breath. She understood, but she wasn’t in the mood to talk, so she leaned back and closed her eyes.

She wasn’t someone with great memory, so she only recalled the general plot, not the finer details. Still, a scene between Kealith and Asher surfaced in her mind.

In that scene, both attended a business summit. Though Kealith had already undergone surgery, he still couldn’t walk, so he arrived in a wheelchair.

No one had expected him to show up—he rarely attended any business or social gatherings. The last time he’d been seen publicly was before he lost the ability to walk.

But contrary to everyone’s expectations, he came. As the guest speaker, he delivered a precise and sharp address, using the opportunity to present a solution to several pressing issues—an innovation developed by an Asheborne subsidiary.

Asher rejected it, pointing out some supposed flaws in Asheborne’s solution and pitching his own idea instead. But Kealith dismantled him effortlessly—coolly noting that Asher’s proposal was still in its trial-and-error phase and that pitching an idea didn’t mean it was viable. Then, he methodically pointed out the errors in Asher’s concept, thoroughly humiliating him. When the summit ended, Kealith left immediately, leaving Asher to stew in embarrassment.

Unknowingly, Erisia smiled at the memory—but the smile faded as she remembered that Kealith couldn’t walk, even after the surgery. Her expression darkened slightly before she shook her head.

It’s not the same as the story,

she reminded herself. This is reality. He’ll definitely be able to walk.

Erisia reassured herself, then opened her eyes and looked out the window.

Everything under the Asheborne conglomerate was top-tier—and the same applied to its owners. From the mother, Seliora, to the son, Kealith, excellence was practically in their blood.

The same went for the hospital Kealith was treated in—Asheborne Medical. A private facility owned by the conglomerate, it was renowned for its advanced care and impossible-to-book specialists.

She remembered how the dog author had described it once: the hospital spanned several states, with its main branch ranking among the top hospitals in the country.

The drive took nearly forty minutes. When they finally turned into the hospital grounds, Erisia’s gaze lifted to the sleek modern building ahead—glass and steel, understated yet imposing. The hospital’s name was etched into a marble sign near the entrance, flanked by manicured greenery. Security was tight but discreet, the staff moving with quiet efficiency.

The car rolled to a stop beneath a covered entrance. The driver quickly stepped out and opened her door.

"Welcome to Asheborne Medical, Miss Wrenford."

Erisia stepped out, the faint scent of antiseptic mixing with the crisp morning air.

"Mrs Arsheborne told me to lead you. Please follow me."

Adjusting her bag on her shoulder, she took one steadying breath and walked toward the entrance, following the man.

The lobby spread out before her—spacious, bright, and meticulously organized. The hum of conversation blended with the rhythmic beeping of distant monitors and the low murmur of wheels against the floor. Nurses moved around. A doctor passed briskly, flipping through a tablet, while a receptionist answered calls.

The man guiding her didn’t slow down. He led her past the reception desk and toward a sleek silver elevator at the far end of the corridor—one noticeably different from the others. No one else seemed to be using it. He stepped inside first and held the door open for her.

Erisia followed, glancing at the control panel. The man pressed the button for the highest floor.

The elevator rose smoothly, the whirr of machinery filling the silence. The numbers climbed—twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three. It took nearly two minutes before the doors finally slid open.

The change was immediate. The air felt quieter—different from the sterile bustle below. As they stepped out, Erisia realized this entire floor looked more like a private residence than a hospital ward.

A long, wide hallway stretched ahead, lined with sleek glass partitions and muted lighting. Through one open space, she glimpsed what looked like a modern lounge, complete with a sofa, coffee table, and television. Another area resembled a small kitchen—fully equipped, spotless, and clearly meant for comfort rather than function.

A bedroom lay beyond that, the sheets perfectly folded, untouched. At the far end of the corridor, a brass plaque read "Theatre — Authorized Personnel Only." Beside it was another elevator, this one smaller and more discreet, likely for internal transfers.

Erisia’s steps slowed as her guide finally came to a stop before a large sliding door. He turned to her, offering a polite nod. "This is where I’ll stop, Miss Wrenford. You may go in."

Her pulse quickened. "Thank you," she said quietly.

When she pushed the door open, she froze.

Inside the private room, three men in white lab coats stood near the bed, their expressions grave. Two other male–nurses, judging by their attire—moved quietly, tension visible in the set of their shoulders.

Standing in the middle was Seliora, but her face drawn tight with worry. The atmosphere was heavy.