She Was the Treasure All Along novel Chapter 918

Chloe came rushing back up the stairs with the innkeeper and a spare key card, only to find Giselle's door blown wide open, the lock completely splintered. Before she could even gasp, Hank walked out, carrying Giselle in his arms.

Giselle was curled against his chest, her face ashen and completely drained of color.

Chloe froze, staring in shock. "Mr. Lonsdale?"

Hank ignored the question, striding straight for the stairs. Knowing this was an emergency, Chloe didn't ask questions and sprinted after him.

"Open the car door," he barked.

Chloe snapped back to reality. "Right, right, yes!" She bolted ahead to the black SUV, yanking the passenger door open.

Hank carefully set Giselle into the seat, slammed the door, and vaulted into the driver's seat. Before Chloe could even blurt out, "I'm coming too," the engine roared to life. The SUV peeled out of the lot, its taillights bleeding into the darkness before vanishing entirely.

Stomping her foot in frustration, Chloe hailed a passing cab and ordered the driver to chase them down.

Hank steered with one hand, his other tightly gripping Giselle's icy fingers. "Giselle? Hang on, we're almost at the hospital."

He glanced over. She was deathly pale, a muscle in her jaw twitching violently.

He instantly knew she was going to be sick. Without a second thought, he released the steering wheel and cupped his hand beneath her chin.

Giselle violently threw up right into his bare hand.

The sharp, sour stench immediately filled the cramped car. The shock of it brought Giselle back to her senses for a fraction of a second. She looked down, saw what she had done, and tears instantly spilled down her cheeks.

"I'm so sorry..." she sobbed, her voice raw and broken.

Hank didn't even flinch. He whipped the car into the hospital drop-off zone, grabbed a handful of tissues to casually wipe his hand, and scooped her out of the seat.

Giselle was rushed into the ER. After confirming it was just a severe case of gastroenteritis, the doctor moved her to the IV lounge.

A nurse handed Hank her chart. "Gastroenteritis. Probably ate something contaminated, or her stomach couldn't handle the heavy grease. She's fine, but the cramping will linger. Take this to the pharmacy, get her meds, and bring her to the IV lounge. She needs to eat clean and rest for a couple of days."

Giselle sat slumped in a borrowed wheelchair. She felt wretched but was lucid enough to realize Hank had been sprinting her around the hospital for the last hour.

She was moved to a standard chair in the IV lounge, the needle piercing her vein. The IV fluids made her arm feel cold and stiff. She tried to shift into a more comfortable position, but the slightest movement sent sharp spikes of pain through her stomach, leaving her rigidly pressed against the hard plastic backrest.

Hank took off his jacket and draped it over her, rolled up his sleeves, and sat down right next to her.

After a few minutes of heavy silence, he finally spoke. "The guy who took you out tonight. He's not right for you."

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