Chapter 115: Trauma Bay Two

A tall, grey-haired surgeon in blue scrubs burst through the doors of Trauma Bay Two, pulling off his blood-stained rubber gloves.

"This is a critical care unit! Control yourselves or I will have armed security clear this entire floor!"

Kian pushed himself up off the wall, wiping blood from his lip with the back of his sleeve. He stepped toward the doctor before Aaron could.

"I’m her husband," Kian said quickly, his voice raspy. "I’m Kian Carter. I make her medical decisions. How is she?"

The doctor looked between the two men, noticing the blood on Kian’s face and the split knuckles on Aaron’s hand. He let out a harsh, exhausted breath.

"Mrs. Carter is in extreme danger," the surgeon said plainly. "The impact caused massive abdominal trauma and severe internal bleeding. Her pelvis is fractured, and her blood pressure is dangerously low. We need to take her into emergency surgery right now to stop the bleeding, or her heart will fail on the table."

"Then do it!" Kian demanded, stepping closer. "Do whatever you have to do! Save her!" He paused, his breath catching in his throat, his eyes darting toward the glass room behind the doctor. "What... what about the baby? How is the baby?"

The doctor’s expression turned guarded. He looked down at his clipboard, then back up at Kian. "Mr. Carter, right now, our primary focus is keeping your wife alive."

"I asked you about my child!" Kian shouted, his hands clenching into fists. "Is the baby alive or not?!"

"We are monitoring the fetal heartbeat, but the trauma is severe," the doctor said, his tone flat and unyielding. "I cannot give you guarantees about the pregnancy when the mother is actively dying. We need your signature on the surgical consent forms immediately."

"Give them to me," Kian said, grabbing the pen from the doctor’s hand. He signed the paper against the wall with jagged, frantic strokes. "Save them both. You hear me? Save both of them!"

Aaron stood three feet away, motionless. He didn’t try to take the pen. He didn’t try to claim legal authority he didn’t have. He just stared through the glass window of Trauma Bay Two.

Inside, under the harsh white surgical lights, Isabella lay on the metal table. Her face was deathly white, almost translucent, surrounded by a tangle of clear tubes and wires.

A nurse was pumping a manual oxygen bag over her nose and mouth, her chest rising and falling in unnatural, rigid jerks.

Aaron’s jaw worked silently. Please, he thought, his hand clenching so tight his split knuckles dripped dark red onto the clean floor. Just live, Isabella. That’s all you have to do.

...

Twenty miles away, inside the quiet, opulent master bedroom of the Kingston estate, Alice stood near the high French doors, clutching her phone to her ear.

"Pick up," she whispered angrily, her manicured nails digging into the casing. "Pick up, you idiot..."

The line just kept ringing.

She slammed the phone down onto her vanity table, turning around and pacing across the thick rug.

She picked up a silver hand mirror, stared at her reflection for two seconds, then threw it against the wall. It shattered into a dozen pieces.

"Useless!" she spat, her breath coming in fast, shallow gasps. "Useless fools!"

She grabbed the remote control and turned on the wall-mounted television.

The screen flickered to a live news broadcast. Rain was pouring over a crowded highway bridge, flashing red and blue lights reflecting off the wet asphalt.

"...recap our top story," the news anchor reported, her voice solemn. "The victim of the horrific three-vehicle collision on the River Bridge has been identified as Isabella Kingston, daughter of the late business tycoon Lance Kingston, and wife of chairman of the Kingston group, Kian Carter. Emergency crews worked for twenty minutes to extricate Miss Kingston from the wreckage..."

Alice leaned forward, her eyes wide, scanning the ticker at the bottom of the screen.

"...transported to St. Jude’s Hospital in critical condition. Doctors report she remains unstable..."

"Critical?" Alice whispered, her face twisting into a hideous, ugly mask of fury. "Critical?!"

She grabbed her phone again, frantically dialing the hitman’s number. "I paid you to finish it!" she screamed at the silent phone as it went straight to voicemail. "I paid you to put her in the ground, not in a hospital bed!"

Outside her bedroom door, a shadow moved along the carpeted hallway.

Luke stood in the dimly lit corridor, his hand resting lightly against the mahogany doorframe. He had his head tilted slightly, listening to the muffled, hysterical screaming coming from inside the room.

His eyes grew dark. He didn’t need to hear another word.

He turned quietly on his heel, preparing to walk down the grand staircase, when a soft voice called out from the darkness of the linen corridor.

"Luke?"

Luke stopped instantly. He turned around, his posture relaxing, a polite, completely neutral smile appearing on his face as Aria stepped out from the utility room, holding a stack of clean white towels.

"Madam Aria," Luke said smoothly, inclination his head slightly. "I didn’t see you there."

Aria’s dark eyes narrowed as she looked at him, then glanced past his shoulder toward Alice’s closed bedroom door. "Why are you standing outside Alice’s room?"

"Mr. Carter asked me to deliver a message," Luke lied without a single flicker in his eyes. "Checking to see if she required anything from the estate before he returns."

Aria watched him silently for three long seconds. She knew Luke worked for Kian, and she knew Kian’s men were never in this wing without a reason. But she simply nodded once. " Alice is resting. You should leave."

"Of course," Luke said.

He walked down the stairs, pulled out his phone as soon as he reached the heavy oak front doors of the mansion, and dialed Kian’s private line.

"Talk," Kian answered on the second ring, his voice sounding hollow and bruised.

"It was Alice," Luke said plainly, standing on the covered porch while the rain poured around him. "I just heard her throwing a fit in her room because the news reported Isabella was still alive. She ordered the hit."

There was a long silence on the other end of the line. No anger, no swearing. Just the sound of Kian’s ragged breathing.

"Sir?" Luke asked. "Do you want me to handle her?"

"No," Kian whispered, his voice dangerously flat. "Don’t touch her. Not yet. Keep an eye on the estate. If she tries to leave, break her legs. Otherwise, leave her alone until I get back."

"Understood."