Escape from Mr. Whitman (Emma and Theodore) novel Chapter 244

Theodore’s illness had hit him like a ton of bricks—just as the saying goes.

At first, he’d thought the fever would break for good after taking the medicine Fallon had given him. But as soon as he crawled back into bed, he drifted off again, and by nightfall, the fever returned with a vengeance. He’d take more meds, the fever would drop, then spike again—a punishing cycle that dragged on for three days. It wasn’t until the fourth day that his temperature finally stayed down.

By then, the worst had passed, but the illness had left its mark. He’d lost noticeable weight, and he felt drained, as if someone had sucked the life out of him. There was no way he’d made it to the office during those days.

Still, Cecilia, Jared, and the others kept the group chat going, sometimes messaging him privately to ask why he’d vanished. Not wanting them to worry, he brushed it off, saying he was just taking a few days off at home to handle some personal matters.

On the fifth day, his phone rang.

It was a call from a designer’s studio. The woman on the line asked if he was Mr. Whitman. She explained that the custom-made fall collection Ms. Bennett had ordered months ago was finally ready. They could deliver it, ship it, or whatever he preferred—they just needed him to confirm if everything was to his satisfaction or if anything needed adjustments.

Emma had always managed his wardrobe. He knew she usually ordered from a particular tailor, sometimes mixing in pieces from another brand, but he’d never paid much attention to the details. He just paid the bills.

The staff member continued, “Ms. Bennett hasn’t been reachable by phone or WhatsApp for a while. She left us your number, so we hope you don’t mind our calling.”

“Is it men’s or women’s clothing?” Theodore asked.

“Both. Ms. Bennett placed the order at the start of the year, and everything’s just now been finished.”

He glanced at the clock. It would still be night in Europe—Emma was probably asleep. “I’ll come by and take a look myself,” he said. After being cooped up in bed for nearly four days, he needed to get out anyway.

“Great,” the woman replied. “I’ll text you our address.”

“Thanks.” He stood, already searching for a change of clothes.

Forty minutes later, Theodore arrived at the studio.

How could he tell the assistant that nothing ever got sent back for alterations because he’d never tried any of it on in the first place?

Still, every piece always fit him perfectly.

“Is something wrong, sir? Is there anything you’re not satisfied with?” the assistant asked.

“No,” he replied, shaking his head as he turned side to side. “Everything’s great.”

“There are a few more outfits…” she prompted, reaching for the next set.

“That’s okay. Just wrap them up and I’ll take them with me.” He started to slip off the jacket, but the cuff caught on the shirt’s button, snagging as he tried to pull his arm free.