Whispers Turn to Whimpers: Could He Ever Change? novel Chapter 1220

Francis gave a nod and a wave. “It’s late. Everyone head home.”

“Good night, take care,” came the reply.

Without another glance at his crew or a word to the drivers waiting by the other car, Francis ducked into Rebecca White’s vehicle.

Sherilyn and Gilbert stood side by side, watching as the door closed and the car pulled away.

“Sherilyn.” Gilbert looked down at the woman beside him. “Let’s go.”

Their driver had already circled around, pulling the car up to the curb.

Gilbert hurried ahead, opening the door for her. “After you.”

“Thanks.”

Sherilyn stepped forward slowly, her gaze lingering on Gilbert. Suddenly, she stopped and narrowed her eyes.

Francis and Gilbert—how alike they looked.

There was no blood between them, yet by some twist of fate, they shared the same sharp features, the same sly glint in their eyes, even the same streak of cruelty deep in their bones.

Like people joked online: brothers from different mothers.

“What’s wrong?”

Gilbert’s brow furrowed as Sherilyn froze without warning.

She snapped out of it at the sound of his voice, shook her head, and managed a faint smile. “Nothing. Let’s go.”

…

Six in the morning.

For days now, Gilbert had been getting up at this hour, quietly closing the bedroom door behind him as he left.

As the lock clicked softly, Sherilyn’s eyes flew open. She tossed back the comforter and headed for the bathroom.

She opened the cabinet, took out a bottle labeled “conditioner,” and tipped out half a sleeping pill.

“Sherilyn?”

Gilbert looked just as shocked. He’d come back for his watch—he owned plenty, but only one matched Sherilyn’s. He hadn’t expected to find her up, let alone mid-sip and apparently half-choking.

“Sorry, did I scare you?” He hurried over, hand raised to pat her back. “Here, let me—”

“No—cough—don’t!”

Tears sprang to Sherilyn’s eyes as her coughing fit worsened. She raised her arm to fend him off, waving him back. “I’m—cough—fine! Really—cough—”

“Fine? You can barely breathe.” Gilbert’s brow knit in concern. “Are you sure you didn’t get water in your airway? Maybe we should go to the hospital.”

“No, I’m—cough—fine…” Sherilyn managed, waving him off again. “Just—pass me the tissues—cough!”

“Alright.” He grabbed the tissue box, pulled out a few sheets, and handed them to her. Then, kneeling down, he started wiping the water off the floor.

Suddenly, his gaze froze.

“What’s this?”