Vivian raised an eyebrow, leisurely crossing her arms over her chest. "Didn't you beg me to come?"
Jonah cast a worried glance at Amara, terrified that Vivian's words would upset her. "Amara, rest for a bit. I need to have a word with Vivian."
Amara bit her lip and nodded pitifully.
That fragile, helpless damsel-in-distress act made Vivian want to grind her teeth.
Taking a deep breath, Vivian let the man grab her wrist and yank her out of the room.
"What the hell are you doing?" Jonah demanded coldly. Realizing how harsh he sounded, he took a deep breath and tried to soften his tone into a compromise. "Vivian, we agreed on this, right? You apologize to Amara so her mood improves, and then she can be discharged sooner."
"Who agreed to that?"
"..."
Vivian let out a scoff, the sarcasm on her lips entirely unfiltered. "Besides, who told you a simple apology from me would cure her?"
As long as Amara wanted, her heart condition could continuously worsen.
Vivian had seen her flush her medication down the toilet with her own eyes!
But she knew that even if she told them, Dominic and Jonah would never believe it. In their eyes, Amara was a gentle, obedient, and perfect little angel.
And she, Vivian, was the rebellious, unpredictable villain who defied all the rules.
The irritation in Jonah's dark eyes was nearly impossible to suppress. His lips moved slightly before he spoke in a low, reprimanding voice, "Don't you know how much Amara cares about you?"
Vivian didn't bother arguing. Instead, she stared straight into his eyes and asked, "What about you?"
"..."
"Who do you care about?"
Truthfully, it was a question that didn't need an answer.
But perhaps Vivian just wanted to watch him lie—to see that torn, desperate attempt to hide the truth, looking no different from a complete clown.
Jonah remained silent, though a flash of blatant impatience crossed his face.
But Vivian had no intention of letting him off the hook.


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