Take My Breath Away

That was when Debbie had been stimulated. In a fluster to avoid the vehicle coming in the opposite direction, she had mistaken the gas for the brake. As a result, the car veered out of control and ran into the river.

Sounding morose, Carlos said, "Although I was disappointed in you, I didn't go to Megan's place. It was indeed Megan who told me about you taking birth control pills, though." It was also true that he had told Megan he would take care of her forever—as her uncle.

"Did you lose your composure because your lie was exposed?" he asked.

Debbie looked at him in disappointment. "So, you think this has nothing to do with her?"

At the moment, Carlos wasn't sure how much he should trust Debbie. It had just been confirmed that she had been taking birth control pills behind his back. Besides, Hayden was never out of her life. "You're a grown woman. You should take your own responsibility when there's a problem instead of blaming others, understand?"

Apparently pissed off, Debbie laughed sarcastically. Grabbing the pillow from behind her back, she threw it at Carlos angrily. "To hell with your 'blaming others'! Get out of my sight! I don't ever want to see you again! Ever!"

Unflappable, Carlos didn't duck. The pillow softly hit him.

"Get some rest." With those three words, he picked the pillow up, tossed it on the sofa, and left.

Left alone, Debbie's eyes reddened. One of the most enjoyable feelings she had with Carlos was his constant reassurances. It was a priceless part of the relationship. Made her feel like a princess. But when he ignored her, it made her feel like a weed in his backyard. Something which he didn't give a damn about and could as well be trampled under feet.

Her phone had been destroyed in the accident, so when Debbie was left alone in the ward, she had nothing to do but aimlessly switch between TV channels. Yet, she didn't find anything of interest.

When she finally got bored with the telly, and Carlos had been gone for more than one hour, she decided to get out of bed to play on the computer in the ward.

Leaving the TV on, she heavy-heartedly dragged herself out of bed and sat at the computer. That was when the TV in the background drew her attention. "CEO of ZL Group, Mr. Carlos Huo, is present at the fashion show." Instantly she turned to check what was on the news.

On Y City Fashion Satellite TV, an international fashion show was being broadcast live.

Countless cameras were on Carlos, the grim-looking, well-dressed man. His date wore a cloud dress and white stilettos. Arm in arm, they walked on the red carpet towards the venue.

Watching all this, Debbie couldn't help but move closer to the TV.

But there was no mistaking the woman next to him—Portia!

Walking beside Carlos, the ever proud and aloof woman enjoyed the envious gazes from everywhere, obvious excitement written all over her porcelain face.

Clenching her hands tightly, Debbie wanted to smash the TV.

'Didn't he say he always kept a low profile? Didn't he say he never allowed the media to take pictures of him? Then what the hell is this?! Everything he says is a lie!

He is a lying, cheating son of a bitch!'

Even after he and Portia had sat in their VIP seats, the reporters kept on taking pictures of the two. After all, it was rare for Carlos to be willing to face cameras. Besides, he and Portia looked great together.

'Previously, there was Olga, and then Megan, and now, Portia! Mr. Huo, aren't you a philandering old dog?!' Debbie cursed inwardly.

Portia was never nice to her. And now she was wrapping her arm around Carlos' in public, for the whole world to see!

Unable to take in the eyesore anymore, Debbie grabbed a glass form the bedside cupboard and smashed it angrily against the TV, sending the nurses gasping in shock.

In a short while, still on the set at the fashion show, Carlos got a call from Tristan not long after he had sat down. "Mr. Huo, Mrs Huo..."

"What's wrong?" a panicky Carlos asked. Although he tried as much as he could to remain calm, the anxiety was detectable in his tone.

"Mrs. Huo smashed the TV."

"Why? What happened?"

Regretting having come here, Tristan turned to Debbie, who had wrapped herself in the covers in bed. Disturbed, he tapped his middle finger at the side of his forehead, now sinking deeper into thoughts. Why did he have to walk into the ward just when Debbie was about to smash the TV? Now he had to be the one telling his boss what she was up to. While he fumbled for words, Debbie shouted in the background, "Well, do you ever get tired of fooling around with all kinds of women? Aren't you such an amorous wild flower that entertains anything and everything, from poisonous bees to deadly butterflies? You philandering, thoughtless scumbag!"

Tristan listened on without a word; his anxiety only grew worse. Carlos said calmly, "Ask her if she had a good time smashing things. If one set is not enough, give her more sets to smash." It had only been a short while since he had left, but she had already started creating drama.

He was livid. He couldn't even find the right words. "Yes, Mr. Huo," Tristan answered respectfully.

Sitting next to Carlos, Portia listened carefully to the conversation on the phone. She couldn't hear anything from the other end of the line, but she got every word that Carlos had said.

'Who is this "her"? Is she Carlos' wife?'

Behind the scenes, Portia's parents had pulled a lot of strings to get her this opportunity to attend this fashion show as Carlos' date. And since the chance was here, she had decided to use it to its fullest, making sure she left a favorable, lasting impression on Carlos. The very best she possibly could.

When Carlos hung up the phone, she asked in affected confusion and thoughtfulness, "Mr. Huo, is anything the matter?"

But in an unreadable mood, Carlos simply put away the phone and responded coldly, without even the courtesy of looking at her, "Nothing happened." In an instant, it all began to sound as if he were talking to a stranger rather than his date.

Meanwhile, in the hospital, Tristan moved another TV set into Debbie's ward, just as Carlos had ordered. This infuriated Debbie.

'Carlos Huo, what's this supposed to mean? You don't have time for me, do you? What do you want me to do? Tear this hospital down?'

As soon as the last bottle of IV fluid ran out, Debbie immediately asked the nurses to pull out the needle in her wrist. "I can't stand this place any longer. I want to be out there going about other things. Discharge me right now!" she demanded, on the verge of turning hysterical.

It took Tristan a long while to calm her down. "Mrs. Huo, the gauze is still on your head, and the stitches in your forehead haven't been taken out yet. Why not wait until the cut heals before you start throwing tantrums?" he urged.

"I don't give a damn about the stitches. My husband is showing off out there as a couple with another woman! Do you want me to sit here and wait? Get me an invitation to the show! I have to get in there and personally witness whatever mischief he is up to!"

Without waiting for an answer, Debbie got out of bed and started searching for clothes in the cupboard. Looking at her, Tristan began to regret his thoughtless promise to Emmett that he'd take care of Debbie for him.

After a moment of searching in the room, she found there were no spare clothes she could wear, not to mention a suitable outfit for her to wear to the event. "Your boss' wallet was lost in the river. Get him a new card when you can. Wait, didn't Carlos tell you to get me some clothes? There's nothing here," she bitterly grumbled. By now she was getting very frustrated.

Tristan shook his head and responded, "Mr. Huo intended to let you stay in the hospital for a week. There are still five days to go, so I haven't prepared the clothes yet."

'Me being here for a week, while he plays around with his other women?' At the mere thought of it, Debbie was on the verge of ripping the gauze off. How would she convince him that she had recovered and was ready to leave the hospital soonest?

But then as she studied the anxious nurses around her, she had an idea. "Fine. Then I guess I'll have to stay."

Half an hour later, Tristan called Carlos again. "Mr. Huo, is this a good time?"

To which Carlos snappishly replied, "Go ahead." Just a glance at the model on the runway and he almost lost his temper.