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His steps a little more rapid than before he reached the hospital, thanks to the powerful painkillers he had talked out of a doctor, and multiple cups of extra sweet, black coffee, Stone entered the private room where Alice had been placed.
The teen, despite being visibly both tired and affected by the ordeal she had been through over the last couple of days, was sitting up in bed and sipping from a steaming mug; on the table that was positioned over the bed was a plate, on which Stone saw an assortment of biscuits and cakes, while next to the bed, holding his daughter’s hand as if he intended never letting her go, was Owen Keating.
Whether it was because of her ordeal, or because her father was rich, Stone wasn’t sure, but he got the impression that Alice Keating was being treated w
