Chapter 1130

Joe rarely showed weakness. Many considered him unyielding, an immovable force. Yet, seeing him pale and weak in bed, Skylar felt an overwhelming wave of emotion.

“Are you feeling any better?” she asked. His food allergy, and subsequent collapse, suggested considerable discomfort.

His voice, laced with vulnerability, replied, “I’m hungry.”

“What do you want?” The refrigerator was well-stocked.

He considered it. “Pasta.”

“Okay, rest while I make some. Paul and the others are still outside. Do you need to speak with them? If not, I’ll send them home,” Skylar said, glancing at the clock. It was already 1:00 AM.

Joe nodded. As Skylar turned to leave, he grabbed her hand. She turned back, startled.

“Is something else bothering you? Should I call Dr. Grey?” she asked urgently.

The heaviness in his heart lifted under her concern. “You’re really worried about me,” he murmured, feeling lighter, a sweetness blooming inside him.

“Of course,” Skylar said. “If you feel unwell, you must tell me.”

“I’m fine now. Don’t worry. Just send them home.” Their presence felt intrusive.

Leaving the underground parking lot, Lizzie and the others parted ways, except for Paul, who accompanied Lizzie. Lizzie was a night owl; the later it got, the more alert she became. Despite escorting her, she drove; she hadn't been drinking, unlike Paul, who yawned incessantly.

At a red light, Lizzie glanced at him. “How are you this tired? It’s not even 2:00 AM.”

“Just relying on my skills,” he replied defensively, stifling a yawn.

Lizzie chuckled. “Right, your skills.”

“Seriously, you and Joe are breaking off your engagement soon. What are your plans?” Paul asked, sensing a hollowness in Lizzie, a polished exterior masking the bright, confident woman he’d known in college.

“What plans? I’ll keep playing my violin.”

Paul yawned again, staring out at the nearly deserted streets. The desolate scene mirrored Lizzie's mood. “I saw Muriel Sandoval a year ago. She doesn’t seem to be doing well.”

Lizzie slammed on the brakes, startling Paul; his phone tumbled to the floor.

“What was that? They’ve been separated for years,” he said.

“What’s she doing?” Lizzie’s gaze remained fixed on the road.

“After dropping out, she stayed in Jipsburg. I heard her dad went to prison, and she’s living with her mom. Last time I saw her, she was selling handmade bracelets at a night market. We chatted briefly, but she was busy.”

Lizzie gripped the wheel. “Selling handmade bracelets?”