Jasmine
Two options: get to the hospital and get him an EpiPen, or run back in there and look like a fool. I can’t alert him of that when he’s with her, even if some wicked part of me would enjoy watching his perfect composure shatter.
He deserves to suffer for being such a f*****g hypocrite. But I know how bad a peanut allergy can get, so the latter doesn’t really seem like an option.
I’d messaged him the address to his suite at Santo Mauro and sent a cab to take him there; hopefully he’s still breathing in his room.
The thud of my heels against the tiles echoes through the silent hallway as I sprint toward his room, my heart pounding against my ribs, the EpiPen clenched tightly in my fist.
I don’t wait to catch my breath; I press the key against the scanner and pull the door in
