Chapter 338

The driver accidentally brushed against her forehead and looked up in alarm. "Sir, she's burning up. I think she has a severe fever."

Santino barely reacted. "Carry her inside."

"Yes, sir."

The driver scooped her up and practically sprinted toward the villa. Santino dragged his injured leg, limping leisurely behind them.

She had already been fighting a cold that morning. After standing in the freezing rain, a massive fever was inevitable.

Her temperature spiked to 103 degrees.

Latisha drifted in and out of a hellish, fever-induced delirium. The nightmares were relentless. Most of them starred Clifford the teenage boy in the crisp white shirt who used to hold her so protectively.

She dreamed of the day he took her to the arcade. He won so many dolls they filled an entire room.

It was supposed to be a beautiful memory. But suddenly, the pile of stuffed animals shifted, and Santino clawed his way out from beneath them, his eyes locked on hers.

Latisha jolted awake with a silent gasp.

Her eyes flew open, only to find Santino's face hovering inches from hers. Panicked, she yanked the blankets up to her chin, unable to distinguish the nightmare from

reality.

Santino pulled back, sitting casually in a chair beside the bed. He rested his chin on his knuckles, that omnipresent, chilling smile on his lips.

"What were you dreaming about?"

Latisha's eyes darted around the room. Avoiding his gaze, she pushed herself up against the headboard.

Santino drawled lazily, "You've been unconscious for three days. And guess what? Clifford hasn't asked about you a single time."

Latisha kept her head bowed, ignoring him completely. She knew better than to trust a single word out of this man's mouth.

Despite his taunts, her first instinct was to scramble for her phone and open WhatsApp.

Clifford still hadn't added her back.

Santino let out an exaggerated sigh and stood up, only to sit right down on the edge

of her mattress. He picked up the remote and flicked on the flat-screen TV.

The instant the screen flashed to life, she heard Clifford's name.

"Mr. Lambert, could you please clarify your relationship with Ms. Winslet?"

Latisha's head snapped up. Clifford was dominating the broadcast, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Yesenia.

He was dressed in a razor-sharp, custom-tailored suit, a faint, polite smile on his lips. Yesenia looked flawless in a designer gown, radiating elegance as she stood beside him.

A sea of reporters aggressively shoved microphones toward them.

"There are rumors circulating that you're already married! Is it to Ms. Winslet?"

"You've reportedly been together for years! Why keep the relationship a secret? And

why has Ms. Winslet never posted a photo showing your face?"

The barrage of invasive questions made Yesenia's smile strain at the edges. But Clifford maintained his calm, aristocratic composure.

His smile was perfectly polite, yet completely devoid of warmth.

Once the reporters finally paused for breath, Clifford slightly dipped his head, surveying the rabid crowd. His lips parted.

"And what does any of this have to do with you?"

The collective silence in the room was deafening. The reporters were utterly stunned by his blatant dismissal.

One brave journalist finally stuttered, "We're... we're just asking standard questions.

Isn't this the normal procedure for a press conference?"

"Standard procedure involves interrogating a man about his private life?" Clifford's voice dropped an octave. You're wasting your talents in journalism. You'd make excellent paparazzi."

Yesenia frowned ever so slightly.

When Clifford had agreed to

accompany her, she thought he was finally going to announce their

relationship. Instead, he was treating

the media like garbage.

Realizing Clifford was a brick wall, the reporters pivoted their attack to the easier target.

"Ms. Winslet! Could you tell us—are you and Mr. Lambert married, or just dating?"

Yesenia shot a desperate glance at

Clifford. He didn't work in the

entertainment industry; he didn't rely on public opinion or traffi But she did. If she answered this poorly, the internet would tear her to shreds.