Chapter 515

Ivy looked at him, surprise flickering in her eyes.

Naylor quickly realized he was being a little too attentive and rushed to explain, “I’ve had a drink, so I can’t drive. And besides, Jamison’s married. It wouldn’t look right for him to–well, in front of you–”

“No, no–” Ivy interrupted before he could finish. “That’s not what I meant. I just feel like I’m troubling you too much tonight…”

At a time like this, she couldn’t care less about propriety between men and women.

“Please, don’t mention it. The important thing is to help her.”

Ivy was deeply grateful. “Thank you, Mr. Wilson.”

Naylor leaned down to pick Katrina up, but not before carefully pulling her bathrobe tighter to make sure she was covered.

He was the perfect gentleman–thoughtful and discreet.

Ivy noticed the gesture and remembered what Jamison had told her: Naylor might be charming, but he wasn’t reckless. He treated women with genuine respect, and every relationship he’d had ended with dignity.

And now, seeing him mindful of Jamison’s marriage, willing to step up so Jamison wouldn’t have to carry another woman in front of his wife–she found herself appreciating Naylor’s character even more.

No wonder he came from such a well-educated family.

Just as the three of them were about to leave with Katrina, Boyd hurried in.

“Uncle, what’s going on–”

“You’re just in time. We’re taking her to the hospital. Stay here and speak to the police, especially about the cup on the nightstand–it’s important evidence. We’ll sort out the details when Katrina wakes up.” Jamison rattled off instructions before dashing after Naylor and Ivy.

In the elevator, Ivy couldn’t stop trembling. She glanced at her best friend, pale and unconscious in Naylor’s arms, and though Katrina was safe now, the lingering fear brought tears to Ivy’s eyes.

Jamison squeezed her hand gently. “She’ll be alright. I promise,” he murmured.

Once they reached the car, Jamison called the ER, giving them a heads-up so they’d be ready for Katrina.

Ivy took the front seat but kept glancing back, worry etched on her face.

In the back, Naylor still cradled Katrina, laying her across the seat as best as he could.

They sped through the city, the car bouncing now and then over potholes.

At first Katrina was just limp and out cold, but then she began mumbling incoherently, her body restless and twitching.

Ivy heard the noises and turned around. “Is she waking up?”

Naylor caught Katrina’s hand as she flailed, checked her face, and shook his head. “No, she’s still out. Just moving around–probably unconscious from the alcohol.”

Before he could finish, Katrina suddenly rolled over, nearly tumbling off the seat. Naylor reacted instantly, grabbing her and hauling her back up.

“Ms. Lester? Ms. Lester?” He tried calling her, but Katrina only muttered, her words slurred and unintelligible. She kept squirming, her hands reaching out, clutching at anything within reach.

Ivy frowned, worry growing. “Katrina? Katrina? Katrina!” She called over and over, but got no answer–only watched as Katrina began clawing at her bathrobe and scratching at her skin, like she was crawling with ants.

Jamison glanced in the rearview mirror, his face tight with anger. “Sheridan must have drugged her. There’s residue in that cup by the bed.”

Ivy’s heart pounded. She looked at her husband. “What do we do? Is there any way to help her?”

“I’ve already told the ER. They’ll be ready for her.”

Relief washed over Ivy for a moment–until she saw Katrina clawing at Naylor’s shirt now, pulling at his clothes in confusion.

Ivy’s eyes widened in dismay. Embarrassment burned in her cheeks.

“Mr. Wilson, maybe we should switch places. I could sit with her in the back…” She trailed off, awkward and unsure, knowing how inappropriate it looked–her friend, out of her mind, grabbing at a man she barely knew.

But before she could finish, Katrina gave a wild jerk and slid off the seat again.

Naylor lunged to catch her, but she was limp and uncooperative, heavy as wet sand.

“It’s alright. She’s really out of it–you wouldn’t be able to manage,” Naylor said, struggling to haul Katrina back onto the seat, pulling her robe closed again.

Ivy knew he was right. Drunk, drugged people were almost impossible to handle. Still, she couldn’t help but feel awkward–their clothes disheveled, bodies tangled–it all felt wrong.

“Just ten more minutes. Hang in there!” Jamison called out, his voice tense.

Ivy let it go, not wanting to waste precious seconds. She turned back to Naylor, apologetic. “I’m sorry, Mr. Wilson. She’s not herself. If she’s out of line–”

“It’s alright. I understand,” Naylor assured her, tightening his grip on Katrina to keep her from slipping again. He locked her in a gentle but firm embrace.

He let out a long breath, wiped the sweat from his brow–only for Katrina to seize her chance: she grabbed his collar, pressing her cheek to his neck, nuzzling against him with desperate confusion.

Naylor frowned, tightening his hold on her hands. “Ms. Lester, please–calm down. We’re almost at the hospital…”

“Hot… hurts… it hurts–Dad, please… please, let go, Auntie…” Katrina mumbled, lost in a feverish delirium.