His Wicked Obsession (Archer and Virginia) novel Chapter 333

"Yes, and no," Kian stood up and walked over to the water dispenser to pour a cup. "When Wesley's accident happened, The Suttons didn't just give up on him; they dumped all the blame onto her. She carried Wesley, who had become vegetative, while juggling her studies and part-time jobs."

"Mr. Vanderbilt, you're so used to sitting on your high horse, you can't possibly fathom what it takes for an eighteen-year-old girl to survive in that kind of absolute despair."

Archer's hands clenched tightly at his sides, the veins on the back of his hands bulging.

"I assume you already know what she went through after that," Kian turned around, looking him dead in the eye. "Cyberbullying, being fired from the hospital. She developed severe post-traumatic stress disorder. If her mentor hadn't happened to stumble across her dissertation... she would have been completely destroyed."

Archer closed his eyes.

The oxygen in his lungs felt as if it were being violently siphoned away, a suffocating wave of despair crashing over him.

Five and a half years ago, it was him who had used his connections to strike her name off the hospital's promotion list, ultimately getting her fired.

He had thought he was doing it out of a sense of responsibility, to keep her from being dragged down by him. But in reality, it was him who had personally shoved her into an even darker abyss!

"Mr. Vanderbilt," Kian warned, "I know you looked into Ginny for Chloe Caldwell's sake, but I advise you to drop that idea immediately. There is no way she will take Chloe's case."

Archer opened his eyes, his dark gaze entirely unreadable.

"I won't force her."

Dropping those words, he turned and strode out of the therapy room, though his retreating silhouette looked somewhat frantic.

South Hill.

The air conditioning in the living room was set perfectly, keeping the air cool and comfortable.

Virginia wore a smoky-pink silk slip dress with a thin, matching cardigan draped over her shoulders. Her long hair was casually pinned up with a claw clip.

She sat cross-legged on the sofa, a sleek laptop resting on her lap playing a video of a speech Doctor White had delivered at an overseas seminar.

The electronic lock at the entryway clicked open.

It was Archer.

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