C2 What Does He Want to Do?

Hilda's tears cascaded down uncontrollably, but the pain in her heart overshadowed the physical discomfort she felt. She was overwhelmed by humiliation, resentment, anger, and a profound sense of helplessness.

Clutching at the fabric of her dress, which had been accidentally torn in her struggle, Hilda seemed to be trying to maintain a shred of dignity. It wasn't until her tears had dried that she bit her lip and mustered the strength to get up, desperate to flee from this place.

But her dress was in tatters, and any movement risked exposing too much skin. She was trapped, unable to leave.

Left with no other option, Hilda dialed Ken's number. She barely got a word out before his cold, disdainful voice cut through the line, "I heard Kimball left? You couldn't even keep one person around. What use are you to me?"

"I..."

"If you can't stay with Kimball, I'm not paying for your mother's medical bills anymore."

"Wait! My mother's medical bills can't be cut off. She's in such a condition, you..."

Ken interrupted her, his voice dripping with impatience, "Whether they're cut off is up to you. The James family doesn't support useless burdens!"

Then Hilda heard a sweet voice on the other end, "Daddy, the wedding dress has arrived. Do I look pretty?"

"Yes, Aimee, you look exceptionally beautiful," Ken replied contentedly.

Holding the phone tightly, Hilda finally managed to speak through clenched teeth, "Dad, right now I..."

"Don't call me Dad. I don't acknowledge a daughter who brings nothing but failure. Figure it out yourself!" Ken's voice was harsh and indifferent, a stark contrast to his previous tone. Without waiting for a response, he hung up.

Hilda let out a bitter laugh as the line went dead. This was her so-called father, who couldn't spare a moment of concern for her.

Taking a deep breath, Hilda painfully rose from the bed. After searching the entire room, she found only a bathrobe.

With no other choice, she donned the bathrobe, which, despite looking odd, offered some modesty. She then hurriedly opened the door, only to find a man in a sharp suit standing before her.

He courteously lowered his gaze to avoid staring at Hilda's disheveled appearance and bowed slightly, saying, "Ms. James, Mr. Walton has instructed that you rest well and not leave this room."

Recalling the recent encounter, Hilda was fuming inside. "It's my right to go where I please. Are you trying to illegally detain me?"

The man responded with a calm confidence, "Mr. Walton advises you to get some rest."

Ignoring him, Hilda was determined to leave, but to her surprise, the man blocked her path. "I've encountered plenty of women like you. Your tactics won't work on Mr. Walton. Go back and wait patiently, or else—leave the bathrobe from the hotel behind."

Hilda instinctively clutched the lapel of her bathrobe tighter. To remove it now would be to trample on the last shreds of her dignity.

"...What exactly does he want?"

"Perhaps you should pose that question to Mr. Walton yourself tomorrow, Ms. James," the man suggested, his smile unwavering, yet his eyes betrayed a hint of scorn.

Hilda spent a restless night, only managing to find a semblance of sleep as the sky began to lighten. She dozed off on the sofa, still clothed, but was soon awakened by a knock on the door.

"Who is it?" Hilda called out, on alert.

A pleasant female voice answered from the other side, "Good morning, Ms. James. I am Mr. Walton's secretary. He has sent me to deliver something to you."