In a short while, still on the set at the fashion show, Carlos got a call from Tristan not long after he had


    sat down.


    “Carlos, Debbie…”


    “What’s wrong?” a panicky Carlos asked. Although he tried as much as he could to remain calm, the


    anxiety was detectable in his tone.


    “Debbie smashed the TV.”


    “Why? What happened?”


    Regretting havinge here, Tristan turned to Debbie, who had wrapped herself in the covers in bed.


    Disturbed, he tapped his middle finger at the side of his forehead, now sinking deeper into thoughts.


    Why did he have to walk into the ward just when Debbie was about to smash the TV?


    Now he had to be the one telling his boss what she was up to. While he fumbled for words, Debbie


    shouted in the background, “Well, do you ever get tired of fooling around with all kinds of women?


    Aren’t you such an amorous wild flower that entertains anything and everything, from poisonous bees


    to deadly butterflies? You phndering, thoughtless scumbag!”


    Tristan listened on without a word; his anxiety only grew worse. Carlos said calmly, “Ask her if she had


    a good time smashing things. If one set is not enough, give her more sets to smash.” It had only been a


    short while since he had left, but she had already started creating drama.


    He was livid. He couldn’t even find the right words.


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    “Yes, Carlos,”


    Tristan answered respectfully.


    Sitting next to Carlos, Portia Listened carefully to the conversation on the phone. She couldn’t hear


    anything from the other end of the line, but she got every word that Carlos had said.


    ‘Who is this “her”? Is she Carlos’ wife?’


    Behind the scenes, Portia’s parents had pulled a lot of strings to get her this opportunity to attend this


    fashion show as Carlos’ date. And since the chance was here, she had decided to use it to its fullest,


    making sure she left a favorable, Lasting impression on Carlos. The very best she possibly could.


    When Carlos hung up the phone, she asked in affected confusion and thoughtfulness, “Carlos, is


    anything the matter?”


    But in an unreadable mood, Carlos simply put away the phone and responded coldly, without even the


    courtesy of looking at her, “Nothing happened.” In an instant, it all began to sound as if he were talking


    to a stranger rather than his date.


    Meanwhile, in the hospital, Tristan moved another TV set into Debbie’s ward, just as Carlos had


    ordered. This infuriated Debbie.


    “Carlos, what’s this supposed to mean? You don’t have time for me, do you? What do you want me to


    do? Tear this hospital down?’


    As soon as thest bottle of IV fluid ran out, Debbie immediately asked the nurses to pull out the


    needle in her wrist.


    “I can’t stand this ce any Longer. I want to be out there going about other things.


    Discharge me right now!” she demanded, on the verge of turning hysterical.


    It took Tristan a long while to calm her down.


    “Debbie, the gauze is still on your head, and the stitches in your forehead haven’t been taken out yet.


    Why not wait until the cut heals before you start throwing tantrums?” he urged.


    “I don’t give a damn about the stitches. My husband is showing off out there as a couple with another


    woman! Do you want me to sit here and wait? Get me an invitation to the show! I have to get in there


    and personally witness whatever mischief he is up to!”


    Without waiting for an answer, Debbie got out of bed and started searching for clothes in the cupboard.


    Looking at her, Tristan began to regret his thoughtless promise to Emmett that he’d take care of Debbie


    for him.