Anna's POV
The hospital's fluorescent lights cast a harsh glow over Sean's pale face. His head was swathed in white bandages, a stark contrast against the dark bruise spreading from beneath them. Despite his injuries, his eyes focused on me with an intensity that made me uncomfortable.
"Ms. Shaw, why are you still here? You should go home and rest. I'm fine," Sean urged, his voice carrying more anxiety than pain. His eyes kept prompting me toward the door, as if my pregnant presence in the sterile room was somehow more concerning than his own head injury.
Beside me, Marcus stood silently observing Sean's face. I caught his brief, assessing glance, but Sean seemed oblivious to it, his attention locked entirely on me.
"I'm not tired," I smiled, trying to ease his tension. "All I did today was eat, drink, and sleep. I barely moved." It was true-George Simpson's forced hospitality had involved a lot of sitting around in luxurious rooms.
