From His Invisible Wife to the World's Icon novel Chapter 135

He stared deeply into her beautiful eyes, but found only a dead, vacant indifference staring back. She let out a noncommittal "Mm" in response.

She was acting perfectly submissive, yet the complete lack of life in her eyes sent an inexplicable surge of rage through his chest.

When she flinched in discomfort, Frederick finally dropped his hand.

Halfway through her medical treatment, his phone rang loudly.

She closed her eyes, listening as Frederick gave orders to Caleb.

"Stay here with her."

Hearing Caleb agree, Lydia opened her eyes and watched Frederick's tall, broad figure walk away. He was getting further and further out of reach.

Suddenly, he stopped and looked back.

Their eyes met, but she simply turned her head away.

A moment later, the sound of his receding footsteps echoed down the hall.

"Caleb, you can head back."

"I'll be done here soon anyway."

"Mrs. Foster, Mr. Foster's feelings for Ms. Sutton aren't what they seem."

"He actually..."

Lydia shot a sharp glare at the nurse changing her IV bag.

Caleb immediately shut his mouth.

Once he left, she marched straight into the attending doctor's office. She needed the truth.

"The chances of a complete recovery are incredibly slim. However, with modern medical technology, if we can successfully stimulate ovulation, we can extract the eggs and perform in-vitro fertilization. That has a very high success rate."

"I'm so sorry, Mrs. Foster."

Lydia had already mentally prepared herself for this. Silas Bennett had thoroughly explained the near-impossible odds of a full cure, and he was a brilliant doctor.

Her face was ghost-white. "Does my father-in-law know?"

"Charles was informed, yes," the doctor admitted.

Lydia pushed herself up from the chair, the suffocating wave of despair practically crushing her. "I understand. Thank you for your time."

"Please, keep this between us. Especially from my mother."

"You have my word, Mrs. Foster."

Just to keep her locked in this miserable marriage, Charles had even lied to her dying mother.

Leaving the hospital, Lydia drove straight to Moonlight Cove.

The moment the elevator chimed on the twelfth floor, her phone vibrated.

It was a video call from Wesley West.

She answered it.

Eleanor Michel's frail, deathly pale face filled the screen.

"Lydie?"

"Grandma Eleanor?"

"Why haven't you and Xavier come to see me?"

Startled, she realized Xavier hadn't gone to the hospital yet tonight. Why hadn't he? She stopped in her tracks, looking over at unit 1201.

"Wesley told me you two were out on a date."

"Huh?"

She looked closer at the screen and saw Wesley standing behind Eleanor, winking frantically and making pleading gestures at her.

She had no idea what was going on, but she played along. "Yeah..."

"It's late. Are you two home yet?"

"I really want to see you and Xavier..." The second she finished the sentence, a violent, hacking cough seized her frame.

The second her fingers brushed his skin, his eyes snapped open. The dark irises were hazy, completely devoid of their usual sharp focus.

In the split second she froze, his hand shot out and clamped around her wrist.

The grip wasn't bruising, but it carried an undeniable, burning heat that refused to let go. His fingers tightened, dragging her relentlessly toward his chest.

She threw her free hand out, trying to brace herself against the imminent collision.

The violent pulling motion suddenly stopped.

The veins in his forehead bulged. His breathing turned ragged and harsh. He shoved her hand away. "Get out."

The scalding heat of his grip still burned on her wrist, sending a phantom shock straight to her heart.

While she stood there in a daze, his eyes rolled shut, and his massive frame pitched forward, completely losing balance.

She lunged forward to catch him, only to be crushed beneath his heavy, muscular body on the mattress.

Meanwhile, having finally pacified Sierra, Frederick arrived at his pitch-black mansion.

A deep scowl carved into his forehead.

She wasn't home.

He pulled out his phone and dialed her number. The automated voice clicked on immediately.

It was the exact same recording he had heard the last time he tried to call.

She had blocked his number.

A dark, violent storm brewed in his eyes. He opened his messaging app and hit the video call icon, only to be met with a red exclamation point.

She had deleted him.

Boiling with rage, he stormed out of the house. Spotting the white Ferrari in the garage, he frowned deeply before climbing into his silver Bentley and peeling out.

He pulled up to Moonlight Cove, took the elevator up to the twelfth floor, and began typing in his passcode. Suddenly, he heard the muffled sound of a woman struggling. It was coming from the open door of 1201 across the hall.

The voice sounded agonizingly familiar. Frederick turned around, his slow, heavy steps carrying him straight toward 1201.