Dusk Snow Hides All Return (Rowan and Adrienne) novel Chapter 15

Chapter 15.

Desmond didn’t seem to pick on the edge in her voice. Or more likely, he heard it just fine and chose to ignore it.

He kept going in that same innocent, slightly wounded tone. “Addie, are you still out looking for Rowan? Honestly… if Rowan chose to leave on his own, just let him go. He was never really part of our world. Going back to the life he had before… maybe that’s better for him…”

“Desmond!”

Adrienne cut him off. Her voice came out ice–cold, cutting, harder than she’d ever used on him before.

The other end of the line went dead silent.

Adrienne gripped her phone so tight her knuckles went white. Every word came out like she was forcing it through her teeth. “He is my fiancé. Engagement papers, signed off by both families–that fiancé. Where he belongs is not something you, an outsider, get to decide. And watch your mouth. What do you mean, ‘the life he had before‘? What do you mean, ‘not part of our world? Don’t forget–you’re the impostor heir.”

Desmond was clearly thrown. A few seconds passed before his voice came back, shaky, disbelieving, hurt. “Addie, you… how can you talk to me like that? It’s me.

Desmond. I…”

“Enough.” Adrienne didn’t have the patience to listen to another word. She hung up on him.

She stood there with her phone pressed to her ear, listening to the dial tone, exhausted, leaning against the cold wall. Out the window, the neon lights of this foreign city blurred together. The spot where her heart should be felt hollow. A dull ache that wouldn’t quit.

Rowan, where are you?

A week later, the Private Investigator finally turned up a thin lead.

A month before Rowan left the country, he’d already quietly secured permanent residency in Canada.

And just a few days ago, the new Canadian bank account in his name had a small charge logged at the Community Clinic in Quebec Province.

Quebec!

Adrienne latched onto it like a drowning woman grabbing a rope. She booked the next flight to Quebec City that same night.

She landed in Quebec City in the dead hours before dawn.

The old French–speaking city sat quiet and foreign under the dark sky.

She found the Community Clinic using the address.

The place was small. The equipment looked dated.

She went up to the front desk, explained what she was there for, asked if she could look up the medical record of a man named Rowan Ashford.

The woman at the desk was middle–aged, brown hair, blue eyes. She turned Adrienne down politely but firmly–patient privacy. Adrienne wouldn’t back off. She offered to pay whatever it took. Asked to speak to hospital administration.

The nurse just kept shaking her head. Not an inch of give in her.

Adrienne’s heart slammed against her ribs. Her voice came out tight. “A follow–up? What’s wrong with him? What was he being treated for?”

The nurse dropped her voice even lower. “He… he wasn’t in good shape. Post–surgical infection from chronic gastritis, caused some inflammation. And… he had an old rib fracture that hadn’t healed right. He had a lot of bruises on his body, too. Fading, but still visible. He came in alone. Thin. His color was really bad. Almost no blood in his face.”

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