"What the hell do you think you're doing?"
Maxwell shot up from the bed, his hand snapping around Bill's wrist like a steel trap. His face twisted into a mask of pure rage, his eyes glinting with murderous intent.
"So it was you." His voice dripped with venom. "It was really you all along. Grace, you've got a death wish, messing with my head like this?"
His tone was glacial, laced with barely restrained violence. The truth was, he'd been awake the moment she stepped into the room. He knew her obsession too well. She was the type who'd rather die than share the man she loved with anyone. The second she sensed competition, she'd strike.
And just as he'd predicted, she'd fallen into his trap completely.
His razor-sharp gaze flicked between Grace and the trembling hospital administrator.
