Chapter 725: Annabelle Linton, What’s Wrong?

Chapter 725: Chapter 725: Annabelle Linton, What’s Wrong?

Was this really how it was going to be for them?

A determined look flashed in Annabelle Linton’s eyes. ’No, I won’t let Leona Grant die.’

’I won’t. I absolutely won’t.’

...

Leona Grant was gone for two days.

The suppressant for this virus was only effective for about four or five days. Vivian Yates had given Annabelle Linton two pills—one for her and one for Leona Grant—but Annabelle had given both to Leona Grant, taking none for herself.

Then, her symptoms began to manifest.

Late at night, Annabelle Linton began running a fever. She lay in bed, her head dizzy and throbbing, tossing and turning, unable to sleep.

As she was drifting in and out of consciousness, she suddenly felt someone pinning her down. The overwhelming stench of alcohol washed over her.

Annabelle Linton’s heart trembled.

The familiar scent... She knew who it was without even thinking. Annabelle Linton pushed at him, frowning as she said, "Leona Grant, don’t."

Annabelle Linton felt a wave of discomfort. She pushed and tried to dodge him, struggling. Because she felt so unwell, her voice came out raspy. "Stop it..."

It had no effect at all. Leona Grant just tore at her clothes.

Annabelle Linton had felt so wronged these past two days. Smelling his scent and thinking about their future, she couldn’t help but start crying. She then clung to him, hitting him over and over.

Leona Grant’s body went rigid. Hearing her muffled sobs, his heart lurched, and he quickly turned on the light.

Annabelle Linton just held onto him tightly, so very tightly.

Seeing her cry, Leona Grant felt an indescribable pain in his heart. He lifted her into his arms and asked nervously, "Annabelle Linton, what’s wrong?"

Thinking of their future separation, Annabelle Linton’s heart felt like it was about to shatter.

’I don’t want to leave him. And I don’t want to hurt him at all.’

’But why did everything turn out like this overnight?’

She hated the hand fate had dealt her. Tormented across two lifetimes, she had thought they would never have to be separated again, but now... this...

Annabelle Linton closed her eyes in despair, gritting her teeth and swallowing her pain.

’I can’t cry anymore. If I keep crying, he’ll figure it out.’

She turned to face him, wiped her tears, and cursed, "Get lost! Don’t touch me!"

But when she saw the state he was in, the tears started falling again against her will.

Leona Grant was in a white shirt, his fiery eyes, shot with blood, fixed on her. The buttons of his shirt were undone haphazardly, his tie hung loosely around his neck, and his hair was a mess.

He looked nothing like his usual elegant or cold self.

Looking at him, Annabelle Linton felt a sharp, swift pain in her heart, like a bee sting.

’He said he couldn’t live without me. If I die, will he become like this?’

If this disease were like other cancers—with an incubation period of a few years before it became terminal, and still with no cure—she definitely wouldn’t be acting like this.

She would have been willing to spend those years with him, to leave without a single regret.

But this disease had no incubation period. It left a person with only three or four months to live. How could she just stand by and watch him die?

He was still so young. His status, wealth, his entire life—it was all so privileged. There was still a glimmer of hope for him. How could she give that up?