The Last Time I Cried Your Name novel Chapter 99

After Petty recovered from hypothermia, her fever just wouldn’t quit. She barely made it an hour after leaving Franco’s room before her temperature shot up again. Even the next day, she was still running a low fever.

Hans was in full-on panic mode, ready to hire someone to perform a cleansing ritual in Franco’s room. He was convinced Petty must’ve picked up some kind of bad luck or curse.

Watching him pace made Petty’s head spin, so she finally sent him back to The Green Estate.

Once Hans was gone, Petty closed her eyes, hoping for a little peace. Somewhere between waking and sleeping, she felt a warm hand resting on her forehead. She jolted awake in a cold sweat, but when she saw the elegant woman standing by her bed, she relaxed.

“Nanette, what are you doing here?” Petty asked, her voice shaky with relief.

Nanette gently pressed her shoulder, keeping her from sitting up, and tucked the blanket around her. “I heard something happened, so I had Owen bring me over to check on you. How are you feeling?”

“Much better, thank you,” Petty replied, stubbornly sitting up anyway. She felt like she’d just stumbled out of a nightmare, her nerves still rattled. With bodyguards posted both inside and outside the room, she knew she was safe. No one with bad intentions could get in.

Nanette was Owen’s mother. Years ago, she’d had a huge fight with Owen’s father. They’d separated but never divorced. Petty had joined The White Family when she was seven, and Nanette had always treated her kindly. She knew Nanette and Nash were old classmates of her mother’s, too.

Even though Nanette didn’t live with The White Family anymore, she still cared about Petty. Last year, when Petty was pregnant, Nanette sent her all sorts of supplements and checked in with calls every few days.

Nanette reached out, gently touching Petty’s face, her voice full of concern. “You’ve lost weight. When you’re out of the hospital, come stay with me for a while. I’ll make sure you get stronger.”

Petty started to reply, but before she could say anything, a clear and lazy voice called out, “Mom, Franco’s got her covered. Why are we worrying?”

Owen was lounging on the sofa, peeling an apple. He looked sharp in a suit, like someone straight out of a magazine. The apple looked tiny and delicate in his long, pale fingers.

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