Buying My Forever Wife novel Chapter 35

It was very late, and terrified of waking Mrs. Gable or Mr. Foster, Ivy crept quietly downstairs without turning on a single light.

The villa wasn't completely pitch-black, however, as the ambient glow from the garden lights filtered through the large glass windows.

It provided just enough illumination to make out the faint outlines of the furniture.

Ivy blindly navigated her way to the pantry, grabbed a bottle of water, and turned to head back up the stairs.

Suddenly, a deep, magnetic male voice resonated directly above her. "What exactly are you sneaking around in the dark for?"

"Ah!"

Ivy gasped in terror.

Jerking her head up, the sudden manifestation of a tall, imposing shadow looming over her sent a violent shock through her system.

Her foot instinctively scrambled backward, stepping completely off the edge of the stair, throwing her entire body weight backward into the void.

In that split second, Alaric could have easily shot his hand out, grabbed her, and prevented the tragedy altogether.

But repulsed by the thought of her sordid dating history, his disdain overrode his instinct, and he stubbornly withheld his hand.

As a result, Ivy missed the step entirely, plummeting backward and tumbling violently down the wooden staircase without a shred of protection.

She rolled down several harsh steps before crashing onto the bottom floor, instantly bursting into agonizing tears.

"Sob... It hurts! It hurts so much..."

Hearing her pathetic wails, Alaric's handsome face remained an unreadable mask of cold indifference.

He leisurely descended the remaining steps and flipped the light switch.

Standing over Ivy, he looked down at her with absolute apathy and condescension.

"Cut the act. You only fell a few steps. There's no way it's that serious. Tell me, what were you sneaking around in the dark for?"

Tears of blinding agony streamed down Ivy's face. She looked up at Alaric, struggling to force the words through her breathless pain.

"Stella wanted some water. I was terrified of waking you both, so I didn't dare turn on the lights. Mr. Foster, it really hurts. I'm begging you... please call an ambulance."

It felt as though her spine had snapped in two.

She could barely pull air into her lungs.

Glancing down, Alaric did indeed notice a stray bottle of water rolling across the floor, and nothing else.

Had he actually misjudged her?

Seeing the girl didn't seem to be faking it at all—her face completely drained of color and soaked in genuine tears of torment—his demeanor shifted.

How could he have known a simple fall would result in something this catastrophic?

But then again, who told her to be so reckless with her body, throwing herself at every man she met?

He was a notorious germaphobe who detested interacting with women, let alone touching one casually.

His daughter was the sole exception.

That was precisely why he had refused to reach out and catch Ivy when she lost her footing.

But it was only a handful of steps.

How did a minor tumble literally knock her unconscious?

The second he skidded into the hospital entrance, Alaric swallowed his pride, scooped Ivy's lifeless body into his arms, and sprinted into the emergency room lobby.

It wasn't until a swarm of doctors took over and rushed her away that he finally allowed himself to breathe.

Three agonizing hours later.

The doors to the operating room finally swung open.

Alaric was still planted on the waiting room bench, his handsome face stripped of all emotion.