CHAPTER 317: AUGUSTINE IS WAKING UP.

"Madam! You?" Gustave nearly jumped, his eyes widening at the unexpected sight of Anne.

Anne’s gaze sharpened instantly with suspicion. "Why? Can’t I come here?"

His lips twitched into a crooked, half-forced smile that only made his face look strained. "I was just... surprised to see you so early in the morning."

Inside the room, Augustine froze where he lay. A bead of cold sweat slid down his temple.

’Too close.’

He had just returned, and now Anne was here. His mind reeled. He had seen her fast asleep before he left.

’Was she pretending?’ The thought made his chest tighten.

Finished

He scrunched his nose, knowing Anne’s temper would flare. She would never let go of his lie so easily. How on earth was he supposed to justify himself?

Holding his breath, he strained his ears to catch every word of their exchange.

"Yes, I came early," Anne replied evenly, "because I missed my husband. And you—why are you here so early? Or were you here all night?"

"I..." Gustave faltered, caught off guard. "Uh, no... I just arrived a few minutes ago."

"Oh?" Anne arched a brow, her expression hardening. "And you are already leaving? After being gone all these days, now that you are finally here, you can’t even stay beside your boss a little longer?"

Her head tilted, eyes turning as sharp as blades. "Or is it because you think like the others—that he is useless now that he is lying in a coma? That he should be replaced?"

The sting of her words hit Gustave square in the chest. His face turned pale, but his voice rose with quiet defiance. "Madam, you are wrong. I haven’t been away to conspire. I’ve been working to fix the problems that arose in his absence. I’ll never betray him."

Without waiting for her response, Gustave brushed past, his shoulders stiff, his steps brisk.

Anne stood rooted in place, Gustave’s words circling in her mind like an echo. She had been angry with him for days, and when she finally faced him, her temper had lashed out before her heart could stop it.

But she instantly felt sorry—she had accused him instead of trying to know the reason behind his sudden disappearance, not even giving him a chance to explain.

’Did I just make a mistake?’ She wished she could swallow her words back.

Inside the room, Augustine lay rigid on the bed. A knot twisted in his chest.

’She is furious... I’m done for today. How am I supposed to face her?’

He debated whether to continue feigning unconsciousness or finally reveal the truth. The sound of her approaching steps reached him, followed by the scrape of a chair against the floor as she settled into it.

Augustine lay motionless on the bed, straining for her words. If she revealed she had seen through his act, he was prepared to confess and beg forgiveness for keeping up the pretense all this time.

But she remained silent, tightening the knot around his chest.

’Why isn’t she saying anything?’ he fretted inwardly. ’Is she furious with me?’ His body grew even more rigid.

"Augustine."

His throat almost betrayed him, his body instinctively ready to answer, but he bit it back just in time, staying motionless.

"Were you at home last night?"

His mind roared in panic. ’What? No—no, this is it. I’m finished.’

There was a tremor in her tone. He could almost see her tears forming, and it broke him. But even then, the courage to rise and confess deserted him. He lay there, frozen, every nerve alive under the weight of her gaze.

"I had the strangest dream last night," she murmured. "You came home... you held me while I slept. It felt so real." Her eyes lingered on his face, searching, waiting for the smallest twitch of recognition. Nothing came. The hope in her mind dwindled, and she dropped her head with a weary sigh.

"When I woke, I saw your photo on the nightstand," she poured her heart out. "I remember clutching it against my chest before sleep, but I don’t remember putting it back."

Her lips quivered faintly. "For a moment, I thought it wasn’t a dream at all—that you really came home, that you were the one who put the photo back there."

On the bed, Augustine fought to keep steady, his chest rising and falling with a soundless sigh of relief. ’She doesn’t know. Not yet.’

Anne, lost in her longing, went on, "Maybe it was me... and I simply forgot. I’ve been missing you so much that I can’t even tell what is real anymore. I just—" her voice cracked, "—I just want to see you awake."

Her trembling hand found his, fingers curling around his palm. The moment her skin brushed his, she froze. His hand was damp, clammy in a way that made her heart stumble.

"What’s this?" She stared at it, a sudden jolt of unease running through her. She brushed her thumb across his slick palm. "Why are you sweating like this?"

Her eyes darted up to his face, the doctor’s words flooding back - ’Maybe he can hear you.’

A rush of hope surged through her veins.

"Can you hear me? I’m talking to you, Augustine. Please... give me a sign." Anne leaned closer, with hope and eagerness mingling in her face.

Her mind raced, desperate to find a way. "If you can hear me, give me a signal. Just move your eyeballs. I’ll understand," she blurted, almost breathless.

Augustine’s chest tightened. The hope in her voice nearly broke his resolve. Every part of him longed to open his eyes, to gather her into his arms, and tell her he was right there with her. But he still held himself back.

Too many eyes were watching, too many ears listening. If his enemies discovered he was awake, their careful trap would snap shut before he could strike. He should maintain this façade for the time being.

However, he couldn’t bear to crush her hope and let his eyes glide from left to right, then back again.

A small gasp escaped her throat, tears pricking her eyes. "Your eyes... they moved. You are giving me a sign."

Joy surged through her so swiftly she shot up from her chair. She ran for the door. The moment she opened it, she halted abruptly.

"Gustave?" Surprise cut into her excitement. "Why are you back again?"

His gaze flicked past her toward the side table. "I... forgot my phone," he muttered, pointing at it.

"I see."

Crossing the room, Gustave took the phone and turned to leave.

But Anne stopped him. "Hey, Gustave," she called with urgency. "Can you call the doctor?"

He turned back to her and asked with concern. "What happened?"

"He moved his eyes," she declared with joy. "Augustine just gave me a sign. He can hear me."

"What?"

"Yes!" she insisted, her whole face alight. "I asked him to move his eyes if he could hear me, and he did. He can hear us. He is waking up, I know it."

Gustave’s gaze moved to Augustine. ’Of course, he can hear you,’ he thought.

But Augustine wasn’t ready yet to reveal the truth, and Gustave was well aware of the risks.

There was still unfinished work before he could leave this hospital bed.

"Call the doctor," Anne urged again, this time with urgency.

Gustave shifted his weight, unease flickering across his face. He rubbed the back of his head, his hesitation obvious.

Anne’s smile faltered. Her excitement ebbed into confusion as her eyes searched his. "Why are you still standing there? Didn’t you hear me?"

"Huh..." Gustave exhaled. "Madam, you don’t understand what is happening outside these walls. There are people who want him dead. If word spreads that he is waking up, they’ll come back to hurt him again."

Anne’s hands flew to her mouth, the glow of joy draining from her face, replaced by dread.

"Please. Don’t tell anyone what you saw. If your voice gives him strength, keep talking to him—but no one else can know his condition is improving."

Gustave turned and walked out.

Anne’s eyes lingered on Augustine, but her mind replayed Gustave’s words like an echo she couldn’t silence. She had not thought that the enemies were still around, waiting for the right moment to strike again. She had thought the security was tight enough to keep Augustine safe. But after what she had just heard, she couldn’t stop her heart from trembling with dread.

Sam had warned her before, but in her rush of joy, she had let it slip from her thoughts. The idea that her happiness, her eagerness to share Augustine’s response, could bring him closer to danger sent a chill down her spine. If silence was what it took to keep him safe, she wouldn’t breathe a word.

Her steps dragged as she moved back to the chair. She lowered herself beside him and reached for his hand.

"I’m sorry." Her throat burned. "This... this happened because of me. You are injured because of me. I can’t shake the guilt. I just want to see you open your eyes."

No reassurance would soothe her until she saw him awake, alive, whole.

Augustine’s chest tightened with rising frustration. ’Gustave...’ His teeth clenched behind closed lips. ’You’ve worried her. For that, you’ll pay.’