NovelUSAChapter 303 Maybe it was the hell Hastings put her through the day before, but that night, Citrine cdown with a fierce fever-a rare occurrence for her.
The next morning, as soon as the shrill whistle cut through the dorm, the three roommates scrambled out of bed.
"Citrine?" Noticing Citrine didn't move, Ingrid called her na few times.
Follow on NovᴇlEnglish.nᴇtThree calls, no answer. At last, the three realized something was wrong.
Lisa hurried over and pressed her hand to Citrine's forehead. Her face went pale. "She's burning up! How did she get such a high fever?" "We have to get her to the hospital. Now." Without hesitation, they bundled Citrine up and rushed her to the hospital. After a quick discussion, it was decided that Ingrid would stay behind to look after Citrine while the other two returned to the training grounds.
That morning, Hastings gathered the entire group, scanning the assembled trainees. The moment he didn't spot Citrine among them, his brows drew together in a deep scowl.
He wore the look of a man convinced the world owed him a fortune. "Speople are always late. Incredibly poor behavior. When she finally shows up, she can look forward to three hundred push-ups." Just then, Jane and Lisa jogged up, breathless.
Hastings knew they shared a dorm with Citrine. He glanced behind them, saw no sign of her, and his expression turned icy. "Why are you late?" Jane, hair plastered to her forehead with sweat, spoke up immediately. "Sir, our roommate, Citrine Carmichael, cdown with a fever. We took her to the hospital. Ingrid's there with her now." Lisa wiped her brow and nodded in agreement. "That's right, sir. We'd like to request leave for both of them." Hastings let out a sharp, humorless laugh. "A fever? Did Citrine Carmichael put you up to this?" "No, sir," Jane and Lisa answered in unison, shaking their heads quickly.
He gave a cold, skeptical smile. "She'll do anything to get out of training, won't she? Faking illness, dragging her roommates along, and now sending you two to cover for her with a lie." The girls stiffened, caught between anger and anxiety.
Lisa hurried to explain, her voice tight. "It's not a lie, sir. Citrine is really sick. We wouldn't make something like this up." Jane felt Hastings's bias against Citrine more sharply than ever. Gathering her courage, she spoke up. "Sir, is it really us lying, or do you just have something against Citrine?" "She's the best performer out of everyone here, but you're always finding fault with her. Yesterday you had her training under the blazing sun all afternoon, without a single break. Then you made her get up on stage and sing so she'd embarrass herself in front of everyone. Are you seriously going to stand there and say you weren't targeting her on purpose?" "If you hadn't been so heartless, she wouldn't have ended up with a fever of a hundred and four, collapsing in the middle of the night." She really had a fever?
Hastings's face went dark. He'd been ready to hand out a punishment, but Jane's last words seemed to hit him somewhere deep. He pressed his lips together and swallowed whatever he'd been about to say. Without another word, he turned away and barked at the two girls, "Both of you- back in line."
Follow on Novᴇl-Onlinᴇ.cᴏmJane had been bold, but now, remembering who Hastings was, she felt a wave of dread What if he decided to get even later? But seeing that he let the matter drop, she finally allowed herself to breathe. She and Lisa exchanged glances, then silently slipped back into formation.
Meanwhile, at the hospital, Citrine's fever refused to break. She drifted in and out of consciousness, while Ingrid kept a silent vigil by her bedside.
At that moment, across town in the Carmichael Group office, Raymond sat in a glass-walled conference room, barely listening as the company's upper management droned on with their usual nonsense.
He was restless, impatient to the point of agony. He couldn't explain why, but all day a sense of unease gnawed at him, leaving him irritable and on edge.
As the executive's project report devolved into useless chatter, Raymond finally lost his patience. He slammed his palm on the table with a sharp crack.
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