He Buried Me But I Painted My Own Resurrection novel Chapter 125

Inside the VIP ward, the cold, clinical scent of disinfectant hung in the air.

Advanced medical machinery beeped in a steady, rhythmic cadence, making the room feel overwhelmingly dead.

Lyla Lennox walked into the VIP sector carrying a bouquet of champagne roses. She had applied a remarkably pale makeup look and tied the ends of her hair with a light blue ribbon, perfectly curating the image of an elegant, worried companion.

Madeline Gauthier was sitting by the bed. Seeing her arrive, the gloomy cloud over her face lifted considerably.

"Lyla, you're here." She stood up to take the bouquet, bringing her nose close to sniff it. "You're always so thoughtful. You knew exactly what Eleanor loves."

Lyla arranged the flowers in the bedside glass vase with feather-light movements, as if afraid to disturb the silence.

"Madeline, how is Eleanor today? What did the doctor say?"

"Same as before." Madeline sighed, her gaze shifting back to the pale, sunken face on the hospital bed. "She hasn't woken up. She's just being kept alive by these machines."

Her tone plummeted into ice. "It's been so long since Eleanor's accident, and that Sawyer bitch hasn't even shown her face once."

Lyla lowered her head, her eyelashes fluttering. After a long beat, she whispered softly, "Madeline, Sienna... she might have her own difficulties."

"Difficulties?" Madeline scoffed, raising her voice as if she'd heard a hilarious joke. "I say she never respected this family in the first place!"

"Eleanor protected her so fiercely, and how does she repay her? By dragging the entire Gauthier family down with her. If I knew she was this heartless, I never would have let her join the family."

She patted the back of Lyla's hand, her eyes full of admiration. "You're the good one. If anyone else had dirt thrown on them like she did to you, they would have run for the hills. But you... even with the family in this state, you never turned your back on us. You're always here."

Lyla brushed her fingertips against the rim of the vase, pressing her lips together in an act of enduring immense, silent grievance.

"It's what I ought to do. As long as Eleanor can recover and the Gauthier family can get back on its feet, I'm willing to do anything."

The words practically brought tears to Madeline's eyes.

She was about to say more when the ward door was pushed open from the outside.

Grant Gauthier stood in the doorway. He had noticeably lost weight over the past few days. His jawline was rigid, and inescapable dark circles shadowed his eyes.

He still wore his immaculately tailored suit, but an aura of hollow exhaustion radiated from him.

"Grant," Madeline called out.

He didn't respond. His gaze swept over the bed, landed on Lyla for a fraction of a second, and quickly moved away.

Lyla approached him, pitching her voice soft and sweet. "Grant, you're here."

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