The treatment room in the private clinic near the Isle of Skye felt frigid, despite the heater being cranked to its maximum setting. Julian lay there, his face as pale as parchment, staring at the white ceiling as if it were mocking his own stupidity. An IV drip remained his silent companion, pumping fluids that were, in truth, powerless to heal his shattered spirit.
The door burst open with a violent jerk. Laura, Julian's manager, usually the epitome of calculated composure, marched in, her expression primed to explode. She slammed a stack of magazines and a tablet onto the small bedside table.
"You're insane, Julian! You've completely lost your mind!" Laura hissed, her voice shrill yet strained to keep from echoing down the corridor. "Flying across the Atlantic in the middle of a grueling filming schedule? Who do you think you are, an action movie hero?"
Julian merely closed his eyes, his head throbbing with a rhythmic intensity. "I had to see her, Laura. Just for a moment."
