As Chelsea stepped out of the hospital room, she spotted Altsin sitting on a bench against the wall. A cigarette rested between his fingers, unlit.

He sat there, rigid, almost petrified.

The door to the hospital room had been left ajar, which meant he had likely overheard her entire conversation with Irene. Those four words she had spoken—he had heard them loud and clear.

Their eyes met for just a moment before Chelsea looked away and walked past him without a second glance.

Altsin’s fingers trembled slightly as he held the cigarette, his throat dry.

He had no one to blame but himself.

Closing his eyes, he cursed under his...