CHAPTER 107: CHAPTER 107: ONCE BELONGED TO CLAIRE CALDWELL

Why did she lose her head and disturb him at a time like this?

What would he think? Sympathy, annoyance, or suspicion of ulterior motives.

This call was so untimely, reckless, and embarrassing.

The dialing number displayed on the phone screen lasted only a few seconds, like a bucket of icy cold snow water poured over her head, making her shiver and suddenly bringing her to her senses.

But now was not the time for self-blame and regret, as Jesse was still unconscious.

She took a deep breath, the air in the room was icy and biting, forcing her nearly collapsing nerves to tense up again.

She unlocked the screen, her fingers trembling with tension, took several attempts to accurately hit the emergency call button.

She pressed the phone tightly to her ear, while the other hand kept gently tapping her daughter’s arm, futilely trying to wake her up.

"Hello, hello, is this the emergency center?"

The moment the call connected, Jean Ellison’s voice rushed out, her voice urgent due to extreme panic and forced restraint.

"My daughter... my daughter has fainted, won’t wake up, unresponsive... please, come save her quickly."

"Ma’am, please don’t worry, take your time, where is the address?"

The voice on the other end was calm and professional, trying to soothe her emotions.

"The address, the address is..."

Jean suddenly choked, her mind going blank for a moment due to panic, desperately recalling, and spoke incoherently.

"Sovera, yes, Sovera, Building 7... Room 2801, please hurry, her face is so pale, she’s barely breathing..."

Her tears uncontrollably welled up and rolled down her pale cheeks.

"Alright, Sovera, Building 7, Room 2801. We’re dispatching a vehicle immediately. Please keep your phone line open, observe the child’s condition, and try not to move her..."

The dispatcher quickly recorded and repeated the address, providing professional guidance.

Jean listened, nodding frantically, even though the other party couldn’t see her.

All her attention was divided in two, half listening to the instructions on the phone, the other half fixated on her daughter’s lifeless little face.

She repeatedly checked with her fingers the faint, almost disappearing carotid pulse, each touch sending her heart racing.

Just as she ended the call with the emergency center, before she could even put down the phone, it suddenly vibrated unexpectedly, ringing urgently.

Jean was so startled she nearly dropped the phone.

In her panic, she looked down to see the caller ID flashing on the screen, it was Justin Holden.

He called back?

He saw her missed call?

For that split second, she felt a dependency on him again.

Almost instinctively, she pressed the answer button immediately, quickly putting the phone to her ear, her voice still tinged with fear and sobs, almost blurting out without caring: "Justin..."

However, on the other end of the line came a woman’s voice, light and somewhat noisy with background chatter and faint laughter, sounding familiar like Justin Holden’s sister, Zoe Holden.

"Hello? Hi, who is this, what do you need my brother for? He just went to the bathroom, he’ll be back soon."

The voice was relaxed and easygoing.

Next, she faintly heard Mrs. Holden’s vague inquiry.

"Who is it?"

It seemed a bit distant from the microphone.

Then a clearer and gentle laugh was discernible, as if sitting nearby, soft and graceful.

"Zoe, who’s looking for Justin?"

These voices intertwined, forming a vivid and glaring picture.

A lively and warm family gathering, the clinking of glasses.

Joyful and harmonious, full of laughter.

All the words of urgency and fear ready to spill from Jean’s mouth were stuck fast in her throat, forcibly swallowed back down.

He wasn’t busy with work.

He was at a family gathering.

There was his sister, his parents, and from the sound of it... Leah Sutton too.

They were dining together, joking, and enjoying an ordinary warm evening.

And here she was, with only despair, an unconscious child, and a cold, empty apartment.

The sense of dependence she had developed on him felt utterly ridiculous.

She suddenly bit her lower lip so hard she tasted a hint of blood.

This slight pain helped forcibly pull her back to her last shred of waning rationality.

She took a deep breath, forcing her voice to sound normal, twisting out a trace of deliberate calmness and detachment, even though her hand holding the phone trembled badly.

"Sorry, wrong number."

After saying that, without waiting for the other side to respond, not even giving Zoe a chance to ask another question, she quickly pressed the hang-up button as if throwing away a hot potato.

*Click.*

The world fell into silence once more.

Only her heavy, stifling breath was particularly clear in the empty living room.

She looked at the darkened phone screen, then suddenly turned to the sofa where her daughter still lay unconscious, feeling as if her chest was blocked, cold and painful, making even breathing extremely difficult.

She hugged her trembling arms tightly, sobbing uncontrollably.

At the Holden family’s villa dining room.

The crystal chandelier cast a bright, warm glow, the dishes on the table exquisite, the atmosphere lively.

Zoe Holden listened to the abrupt busy tone on the phone, slightly puzzled, pursing her lips, and casually put the expensive phone back on the table by Justin Holden’s seat.

"Who was that?"

Mrs. Holden asked casually.

"I don’t know, it was a strange number."

Zoe picked up a wine glass, took a sip, and shrugged indifferently.

"It sounded like a woman, said she was looking for Justin, and when I said he wasn’t there, she just coldly said wrong number and hung up. Honestly, no sense, let’s eat, this fish is really well done."

She soon brushed the insignificant episode aside.

Justin Holden had just returned from the bathroom, wiping his fingers with a tissue, and resumed his seat.

His gaze habitually glanced at his phone, its screen dark.

He casually asked, his voice even.

"Did I just hear my phone ring?"

"Hmm," Zoe was focused on picking fish bones, not lifting her head, her tone light, "nothing important, probably a telemarketing call, try this, Mom had the kitchen make it specially for you."

She placed a piece of deboned fish on Justin’s plate.

Justin didn’t pay much attention, just letting his eyes linger for half a second longer on his inactive phone screen, then picked up his chopsticks, saying mildly, "Thanks, sis."

Laughter around the table resumed, and the clinking of bowls and plates filled the room once more.

Mr. and Mrs. Holden talked over tomorrow’s plans, Leah smiled in agreement, occasionally praising a dish appropriately.

It wasn’t until Jesse was carried onto the ambulance by the paramedics that Jean realized the phone in her hand wasn’t the one she usually used but rather a phone from five years ago...

In her rush, she had grabbed a phone and dialed without noticing this detail.

This number, Justin Holden knows, used to belong to Claire Caldwell.