He Buried Me But I Painted My Own Resurrection novel Chapter 7

"So... it's best if you just leave the state."

Sienna looked out the window. The highway was flanked by desolate wasteland, without a rest stop in sight.

The sky grew darker, the storm clouds sitting heavy and low, and the first drop of rain smashed against the windshield.

A torrential downpour on a highway, with no cabs and no bus stops.

Sienna never imagined Grant could be so heartless.

Zachary pulled over onto the shoulder. The rain was coming down hard now, drumming fiercely against the roof.

After Sienna was forced out, the rain instantly engulfed her.

Freezing and relentless, it battered her head and shoulders.

Her white dress soaked through in three seconds flat, clinging to her and outlining her terrifyingly fragile frame.

She gritted her teeth and trudged forward.

Rainwater streamed down her hair, blurring her vision into a wash of gray.

Sienna wasn't actually afraid of the rain.

What she feared was the burning sensation growing increasingly prominent in her chest.

The system's penalty was acting up again.

She thought she could hold out a little longer, but soon, she doubled over, bracing her hands against her knees as a mouthful of blood sprayed onto the asphalt.

Crimson splattered against her white dress, washing away in the rain and trailing down in streaks.

She collapsed onto the wet asphalt, the rain mixing with her blood and dripping from her hem onto the road.

Cars sped past one after another, but no one stopped.

Sienna wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, but it only smeared the blood, staining her skin red.

Her ears started ringing, and her vision swayed.

This body was truly on the verge of giving out.

Just then, a black Maybach approached rapidly from the distance, kicking up massive sheets of water.

As it passed Sienna, the driver slammed on the brakes, the tires skidding through the puddles and leaving long streaks on the road.

The car came to a halt.

The rear window rolled down halfway.

The man inside looked at the figure collapsed by the guardrail. Her white dress was soaked in blood and rain, her entire body teetering as if she would pass out at any second.

When he finally made out Sienna's face, his pupils constricted in shock.

"Why are you... here?" her voice was a breathy, broken whisper.

Lucas looked down at her with deep concern. "Don't speak. Save your strength."

His gaze lingered on her face, his expression incredibly complex.

The girl from eight years ago, who had stood in her studio covered in paint, laughing with wild, radiant confidence...

How had she been reduced to this?

...

When Sienna woke up, the first thing her nose caught was the cold, sterile scent of hospital disinfectant.

But the smell was quickly masked by a subtle, elegant floral fragrance.

The VIP room was spacious, and a fresh bouquet of white lisianthus sat on the nightstand, water droplets still clinging to the petals.

Lucas sat on the sofa by the bed, his jacket draped over the armrest.

He held a medical report in his hands, flipping through the pages with a heavy frown.

Sienna instinctively tried to curl her fingers, but the tiny movement tugged at all her nerve endings, sending a sharp spike of pain through the back of her hand.

The faint rustle of the fabric was magnified in the quiet room, and Lucas instantly stopped turning the pages.