A tall, sharply dressed young man entered, his tailored suit gleaming under the ward’s lights. His aura screamed wealth, privilege, and arrogance.
He was Francis.
Alice’s pursuer. The man who had been orbiting her for years, desperate for her attention, desperate to get the Sinclair family’s approval.
The moment he stepped inside, his sharp eyes immediately sought Alice.
“Alice!” he exclaimed warmly, striding toward her. Without hesitation, he reached for her hand, gripping it with false familiarity, his thumb brushing across her knuckles.
Michael’s brows furrowed, his jaw tightening slightly.
He could see the disgust on Sophia's face.
Wasn’t the grandmother the sick one? He thought darkly. So why is he clinging to her hand?
“I came as soon as I heard,” he said, his voice filled w
