FOUR: THE LAVENDER ROOM

SEAN

The smell of lavender is supposed to be calming. It is supposed to soothe the nerves, to bring peace, to remind me of spring meadows and sunlight. But to me, it smells like death.

The scent is thick in the air, pumped through the vents of the private suite on the top floor of Mount Sinai. It chokes me. It masks the antiseptic sting of the hospital, but it cannot mask the underlying stench of decay.

I stand by the floor-to-ceiling window, looking out at the New York skyline. From here, the city looks like a circuit board of gold and steel.

I own half the buildings in my line of sight. I can crumble companies with a phone call, and I can ruin men’s lives with a signature.

I am Sean Cooper, but the press calls me the “God of War”. They say I have ice in my veins and a calculator for a heart. But right now, I am powerless. All the money in the world but I can’t..

"Sean." The voice is a whisper, dry like autumn leaves scraping against pavement.

I turn. The movement is stiff. My muscles are coiled tight, ready for a fight that isn't coming because there’s no enemy to punch. There is only the cancer eating away at the brain of the only woman I have ever given a damn about.

I walk to the bed and my mother, Peculiar Cooper, looks small. Too small. The sheets swallow her frame, her skin is the color of ash, and her hair, once a vibrant mane of chestnut, is gone, hidden beneath a silk wrap.

"I'm here, Mom," I whisper. My voice sounds strange to my own ears. It’s rough and broken. I take her hand. Her once warm hands are now so cold, her fingers are frail, and the bones prominent beneath the translucent skin. I’m afraid that if I squeeze too hard, she will shatter.

"Don't look like that," she breathes, her eyes fluttering open. They are milky now, unfocused, but I know she sees me. She always sees me. "You look... like you want to... kill the grim reaper."

"If I could find him," I growl, tightening my jaw until my teeth ache, "I would rip his fucking throat out."

She tries to smile, but it comes out as a grimace of pain. The monitor beside the bed beeps a steady, sluggish rhythm. It is a countdown.

"My time... is done, Sean," she whispers. "But yours... yours is just starting."

"Mom please don't," I warn her, feeling the burn of tears I refuse to shed. "Don't say goodbye. Not yet. I have the best specialists flying in from Zurich tonight. We have..options."

"No options," she says firmly. A spark of her old fire returns for a second. "No more... needles. No more... pain." She squeezes my hand with surprising strength. "I have... a request."

"Anything," I promise. "Name it. Do you want a wing of the hospital named after you? Do you want me to buy an island? Done."

"My heart," she says.

I freeze. "What?"

"My heart," she repeats, her breath hitching. "My brain is... rot. But my heart... my heart is strong, Sean. It still loves. Don't... don't let it rot in the ground."

"Mom.."

"Promise me," she interrupts, her voice rising with panic. "Give it... to someone who needs it. Someone who knows... how to love. You’ll find her. Please let me... live on."

"I can't," I say, shaking my head. The thought of them cutting her open, of them taking a piece of her, makes me sick already. "I want to bury you whole. You deserve that dignity."

"Dignity is... in giving," she gasps. Her chest heaves. The monitor speeds up, the beeps becoming erratic. "Promise... me... Sean..."

Her eyes roll back. Her grip on my hand slackens.

"Mom?"

The beeping turns into a long, singular, high-pitched tone.

Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep.

The sound drills into my skull. It is the loudest sound I have ever heard.

"Mom!" I roar. I grab her shoulders, shaking her gently. "Please wake up! Don't you dare leave me! Mom!"

She doesn't move. The chest that held the heart she just offered me is still. I let go of her, and I stumble back, hitting the wall. I want to punch through the drywall. I want to shatter the glass and scream at the city that failed to save her.

"Fuck!" I scream, grabbing a vase of lavender from the bedside table and hurling it across the room. It shatters against the opposite wall, water and purple flowers exploding everywhere.

"Fuck!"

The door bursts open. Dr. Laurel rushes in, followed by two nurses. They stop when they see me, and the broken glass and the flatline on the monitor.

Laurel looks at the bed, then at me. She doesn't call a code, she knows the D-N-R order was signed weeks ago, she just bows her head.

"Time of death," Laurel says softly, checking her watch. "Four thirty-two PM."

The silence that follows is heavy. It presses against my eardrums.

"Leave us," I command, my back to them. I stare out the window again, because I can't look at her body. If I look at her, I will break, and Sean Cooper does not break.

"Mr. Cooper," Laurel says. She doesn't leave, instead she steps closer.

"We need to discuss her..wishes."

"Get out," I snarl.

"Sean, She wanted to donate," Laurel persists. Her voice is calm but firm.

"She was adamant about it, Sean. She screened for it weeks ago without telling you."

I spin around. "You went behind my back?"

"I followed my patient's orders," Laurel says, meeting my gaze. She is one of the few people who isn't terrified of me. One of the few.

"Her heart is viable, It’s strong. But we have a very short window. We need to harvest it now if we are going to honor her wish."

"I said no," I say, walking toward her. I tower over her, using my height to intimidate. "She is my mother. She goes into the ground intact. I won't have you vultures parting her out like a stolen car."

Laurel doesn't flinch. She reaches into the pocket of her white coat and pulls out a file. A beige, unassuming folder.

"I have a patient," Laurel says quietly. "A young woman. She is twenty-two. She has suffered more in the last month than most people suffer in a lifetime."

"I don't care," I say. "Everyone always has a sob story."

"She saved a man's life," Laurel continues, ignoring me. "She gave him her heart. Literally. She donated her heart to her husband because he was dying, and she took a mechanical device. And now... that man has betrayed her. He threw her out and he left her to die."

I pause. The story is tragic, yes. But the world is full of tragedy.

"Her mechanical heart is failing," Laurel says. "She has days, maybe hours and she’s pregnant, Sean. She is fighting to stay alive for a child that has no father."

Pregnant.

I look at my mother’s body. Her words echo at the back of my head “Give it to someone who knows how to love.”

"Why are you telling me this?" I ask, my voice devoid of emotion.

"Because your mother’s heart is a match," Laurel says. She holds out the file. "A perfect match. It’s fate, Sean. Two women. One leaving this world, one trying to stay in it. Don't let your grief waste a miracle."

I stare at the folder. I hate fate. Fate took my father when I was a boy and fate gave my mother cancer. Fate is a bitch, but I promised her. In those final seconds, I didn't say the words, but my heart promised hers.

I snatch the file from Laurel’s hand and I open it. The first thing I see is the photo.

It’s a mugshot-style photo from a hospital ID. The girl is pale. Her dark hair hangs loosely around a face that is too thin. But her eyes…

Her eyes are a startling, vivid green. Even in the flat, glossy photo, they look haunted, broken. They look like the eyes of a soldier who has seen the battlefield and lost everyone.

Gianna Meyers.

The name sounds familiar. The Meyers family. The construction empire. The scandal with the hit-and-run.

I look closer at the photo. She’s a kid, she looks weak, and pathetic. But there is a set to her jaw that suggests stubbornness.

"She is pregnant?" I ask, running my thumb over the edge of the paper.

"Yes," Laurel says. "But without this heart, she and the baby dies."

I look back at my mother. She looks peaceful now, the pain is gone. If I bury her heart, I bury her last wish. If I give it to this girl...

A strange feeling twists in my gut. It isn't charity or kindness. It’s something darker. Control.

If this girl lives, she lives because of me. She lives because of my mother. That heart belongs to the Cooper family. I snap the folder shut.

"Fine," I say. The word feels like ice leaving my throat.

Laurel lets out a breath she was holding. "Thank you, Sean. You won't regret this. I'll prep the team immediately."

"Wait," I command.

Laurel stops at the door.

I look at the file in my hand again. I own this girl now. If she carries my mother's heart, she is no longer a free agent. She is an asset. And I protect my assets.

"She can have the heart," I say, my voice dropping an octave, turning dangerous. "But draw up the paperwork. Not just the medical consent."

"I don't understand," Laurel says, frowning.

I turn to the window, looking out at the city I rule. The rain has started to fall again, washing the grime off the streets.

"I want custody," I say calmly. "I want full medical and legal power of attorney over the recipient."

"Sean, you can't.."

"Those are my terms," I interrupt, cutting her off. "She gets the heart, but she belongs to me. Body and soul."

I turn back to Laurel, my eyes cold, red-rimmed, and serious.

“Do we have a deal?”

“Shit! Fine.”

"I’ll take that as a yes. I’ll have my lawyers draft the contract. Make sure she signs it before she goes under. If she wants to live, she lives on my terms."