With less than twenty days left until the art exhibition next month.
After Jane and Dashton Xandra knocked off work, Yvonne Finley remained in the studio. A large studio illuminated by a dim wall lamp, casting layers of light on the walls and refracting a beautiful figure.
Her trip to the highlands, where she experienced a brush with death, seemed to have opened Yvonne's box of inspiration. Something was taking form.
It took Yvonne nearly two hours to revise and draw before finally sketching a draft outline on paper. Still, she was not quite satisfied and rose with a sore neck.
Walking to the window, she opened it.
The astringent cold wind that came blowing in scattered the fatigue on her cheeks.
Outside the window was a corridor, designed to be a leisurely balcony with tables, chairs, potted flowers, and plants. The roof was sealed with heat-insulating glass, a decent place for afternoon tea in free time.
But her attention was not on the surroundings.
Instead, it was still on the black windbreaker hanging on the edge.
Yvonne rested her chin in her hand, her eyes slightly narrowed, ceaselessly trying to dig out any information about this person from deep within her memory. But, admittedly, it was all too vague.
Suddenly.....
She felt some regret.
Initially, she should have asked Assault Team No. 37 for his personal information.
Where he was from, his full name, whether he had a girlfriend... And so on.
While deep in thought.
A faint collision sound came from the outside hallway.
Pulling Yvonne back from her thoughts.
She immediately turned around, staring in the direction of the studio door.
The lights outside were all out. Jane and Dashton Xandra had long since returned home. At this moment, she was the only one in the gallery. For safety, several anti-theft systems were set up. After all, the artworks in the gallery were invaluable.
She stared fixedly at the door, the boundless darkness outside corroding the restless heart within, amplifying a sense of thriller and weirdness.
There was silence for a few seconds.
Yvonne moved forward, carefully making no noise, coming to the door.
Her slender hand rested on the door handle.
Within an instant.
The outside returned to silence again.
As if it had all just been a delusion.
Only the faint sound of Yvonne's breathing can be heard by her side. Taking advantage of the silence, she turned the door lock.
She stepped out of the studio.
The surroundings enshrouded in dark seemed fine, with the doors and windows tightly shut, revealing no anomaly.
Yet, something was off -
There was sure to have been some noise just now.
Right nearby.
Yvonne held her phone tightly, while walking outside and opening the dial interface. Her severe vigilance made it impossible for her just to treat that noise as if nothing had happened.
Until Yvonne reached the front door on the ground floor.
The outside street lights cast a faint glow.
She discovered nothing.
But she still dialed Dashton Xandra's number.
Before she could even wait for the call to connect.
Yvonne paused her stride.
She stepped on something; it was soft and sticky- a strange feel to it.
She bent down.
Then she turned on the flashlight on her phone and moved her foot away.
What she saw -
A patch of blood-red under the light was glaring and hair-raising. What she had just stepped on was not anything else but...a skinned rat.
Yvonne instantly backstepped reflexively.
There were convulsions in her stomach.
But her expression was extremely calm, a sort of composed surprise as if she had gotten used to it.
The pile on the ground was still bleeding. It hadn't been dead for long, in other words, it hadn't been thrown in for long -
There was someone.
Indeed, someone had been here just now.
Without any hesitation, Yvonne rapidly pushed the door and went out, leaving the gallery hall and standing in the chilly courtyard outside.
Dashton Xandra didn't answer her call.
But then, Yvonne Finley received another phone call.
It was an unfamiliar number.
Yvonne Finley was staring hard at the glass door. The horrific, bloody scene within made her lips quiver faintly, but she did not look away, answering the phone instead.
"Who is this?"
"Miss Finley, this is the emergency department of Turner Hospital. Are you a close acquaintance of Warrior Tucker?"
Mention of Warrior Tucker caused Yvonne Finley to smooth her hair and turn away, asking, "Yes, I am. What happened to her?"
"Miss Tucker has miscarried, with heavy bleeding. Her emergency contact listed is Miss Finley, so we called to notify you to come and assess the situation."
Yvonne Finley's thoughts were instantly scattered by this news.
Pregnant? Mis-... Miscarriage?
She turned to look at the corner of the street, deep furrows forming between her brows. "How is she now?"
"She just entered the operating room. When can you come?"
"Immediately."
Yvonne Finley's breath hitched slightly. The disturbing event she had just witnessed was immediately cast out of her mind upon hearing about Warrior Tucker's unexpected ordeal. When did she get pregnant?
She ended the phone call.
Yvonne Finley cast another look into the gallery through the glass door.
The shadow of the surrounding trees was cast on the building, their claw-like silhouettes hinting at impending danger.
She averted her gaze, while quickly heading towards the car park, phoning Dashton Xandra on the way, "Someone just sneaked into the gallery and left a dead rat. You have to come over and report this to the police. Also, get the surveillance equipment installed as fast as possible to figure out who did this."
——
Not long after Yvonne Finley's departure,
A shadow gradually emerged from the pine forest next to the gallery, watching the direction she drove off in, seemingly observing. Moments later, it quickly disappeared.
*
*
Turner Hospital is a high-end, large-scale, private hospital chain in the country.
It boasts cutting-edge equipment and the highest level of medical care and handling systems.
In the southwestern region, it belongs to the medical institution of the respected Brown family.
In short, it has a high level of confidentiality and many media personnel prefer going there, whether they are dignitaries or stars. They consider Turner Hospital as their top choice.
Being one of the country's hottest and most commercially valuable female artists in the past two years, any big news related to Warrior Tucker, such as a miscarriage, would typically be instantly picked up by paparazzi. However, Turner Hospital successfully kept it concealed, not a word leaked out. Their strict and swift handling of the situation left people in awe of the command they had over the situation. It made people wonder who was backing Turner Hospital.
When Yvonne Finley arrived,
Warrior Tucker's operation had already ended, and she was resting back in her sickroom.
It was now midnight.
Yvonne Finley had obtained the detailed situation from the head nurse.
She was no more than three months pregnant. Due to some vigorous activity, the lining of her uterus was damaged and her belly was suppressed, leading to spasms, miscarriage, and placental abruption. Warrior Tucker, who was already physically weak, had ended up bleeding, and was brought into emergency within two hours of night filming.
Looking at the woman just waking up from the operation,
Yvonne Finley was peeling an apple quietly. With the fruit knife sliding through the thin skin of the apple, the steadiness of her hand was chilling to witness.
Warrior Tucker felt the same.
Yvonne Finley stayed silent, finished peeling and slicing the apple, blanched it with warm water, and then speared a piece with a fork and brought it to Warrior Tucker's mouth.
Warrior Tucker's normally vibrant eyes were overshadowed by a layer of guilt.
Her pale lips moved slightly.
She took a bite and reached out to hold onto Yvonne Finley's sleeve.
"Yvonne..."
"Hm?" Yvonne Finley continued to prepare apple slices for her, managing to maintain her usually gentle expression, "Are you still hurting?"
Warrior Tucker felt an impending doom, like there was a knife hanging above her neck, ready to sever her head at any moment. That knife bore the name of 'gentleness'.
Although she was usually arrogant,
She was truly terrified of encountering Yvonne Finley in this state.
The age-old countermeasure to undo Yvonne Finley's ire was to feign innocence unabashedly.
"It hurts... Blow on it for me."
Yvonne Finley flicked her eyelashes upwards, fixating her gaze on Tucker, "Whose?"
Warrior Tucker stiffened, her coaxing smile fading instantly.
"An... accident..."
"Who is 'accident'?"
"..."