4

4

The ride to Premier Care Hospital passed in a blur. All I could think of was my mother.

'Why had she relapsed so suddenly? Was she going to make it? Should I call my father? Would he even care?’

My thoughts were in such complete disarray that I didn't even realize we had pulled up to the hospital entrance.

I was so consumed by panic that I didn't notice Damian getting out until my side of the door swung open.

He leaned into the vehicle, his broad frame blocking out the streetlights as he reached across me to unbuckle my seatbelt.

"Mr. Sterling—"

"Damian," he corrected softly, his dark eyes locking onto mine as he unlatched the belt. "Call me Damian."

I didn't answer. The moment the buckle released, I stepped out of the car, deliberately avoiding his outstretched hand.

"Thank you for the ride, Mr. Sterling, but I'll take it from here," I said, stepping back when I realized he intended to walk me inside. "You don't need to come with me."

"Arabella—"

"Thank you. But I'm fine... really. I can handle this," I insisted, turning on my heel and hurrying toward the sliding glass doors without waiting for his reply.

Even as I pressed the button for the elevator, I could feel the intense weight of his gaze burning into my back through the glass lobby. But I forced myself to ignore it. Not now. My mother needed me.

The elevator doors opened onto the Intensive Care Unit floor. My throat squeezed tight with panic as I sprinted down the polished corridor.

Just as I turned the corner, the attending physician stepped out through the double doors of the ICU.

I rushed up to him, my heart hammering against my ribs as worst-case scenarios flooded my mind. "Doctor! How is my mother?"

"Her condition has stabilized for now, Miss Morgan," the doctor said, pulling off his surgical mask with a tired sigh. "However, she needs emergency surgery as soon as possible. Otherwise..."

He didn't have to finish the sentence. The pity in his eyes told me everything.

"But I don't understand," I stammered. "I thought the medication was working. She was improving!"

The doctor frowned in confusion. "What medication? I informed your husband a week ago that her body was rejecting the standard treatment. She requires a newly developed medication. Because it hasn't been approved yet, insurance doesn’t cover it."

"W-what?"

The room seemed to tilt. Why had Ethan hidden this from me? Last week, when the hospital called for a mandatory consultation, Ethan told me he'd go on my behalf and sent me to host a charity luncheon for his company instead.

He had told me my mom was fine.

"Your mother's organs are beginning to fail," the doctor explained gravely. "She needs five full doses of this new drug before we can even clear her for surgery. The medication is exceptionally effective—even one dose will ease her pain immediately. But you must secure it before her system shuts down entirely."

"I understand," I breathed, swallowing back the lump in my throat. "I'll get it."

"You can process the requisition at the main pharmacy desk downstairs." 

~~~ 

I stood at the pharmacy counter, staring at the $20,000 printed on the invoice, and forgot how to breathe.

One dose. Twenty thousand dollars.

Even if I retrieved the card I'd left back at Ethan's house, I could cover maybe two doses.

But what about the remaining three? What about the cost of the surgery itself? Even if I sold every piece of jewelry I owned, I wouldn't come close to covering the bill.

Desperation clawed at my chest. ‘Should I call Ethan? Would he help me or just use it to humiliate me further?’

‘What about Dad? Mom is still legally his wife. He couldn't possibly be so cold-hearted... could he?’

My hands shook as I dialed my father's number. The line rang for an eternity, each chime stretching my nerves to the breaking point. Just as I thought he was going to decline the call, he picked up.

"Dad," I gasped out. "It's Mom. S-She had a relapse... The doctor says she needs urgent surgery and some new medication."

Silence stretched over the line. For a second, I thought the call had disconnected.

"Dad? Can you hear me?"

"What are you doing at the hospital?" my father's voice slammed through the speaker, devoid of any warmth. "I told you never to call that whore your mother. Sophia is your mother now."

"Honey, don't be so harsh on Bella," a silky feminine voice cooed in the background. "She's just worried about Sylvia."

My knuckles turned white around my purse strap.

Sophia. My former nanny, now my father's mistress. The woman who had systematically destroyed my parents' marriage, kicked my sick mother out onto the street, and moved her own son into my childhood bedroom—all with my father's approval.

They were the reason my mother was fighting for her life in a public ICU.

"Why are you wasting your time on that useless woman?" my father snapped. "You've been married into the Sterling family for three years. You think you're some big shot now, don't you?"

I bit the inside of my cheek until I tasted copper, choking back the rage. I needed his help. I had to swallow the degradation.

"Dad, please," I begged, tears blinding my vision. "Her organs are failing. She needs immediate treatment."

My father let out a long, deliberate sigh. "Fine."

Relief flooded my veins—until his next words turned my blood to ice.

"Help me secure the Sterling logistics contract through Ethan, and I'll wire the funds for her treatment."

"Dad!" I gasped. "That contract?"

"What? You can't do it?" he sneered. "I've been trying to partner with your husband's firm for six months, and he keeps stringing me along. Secure his signature on that deal, and then we'll talk about your mother's bills."

"Dad, that could take weeks!" I cried out. "Mom doesn't have weeks! She needs medication tonight!"

"Don't tell me you still don't have that man wrapped around your finger," my father barked in disgust. "How utterly useless can you be? Don't call me again unless you have that contract."

The line went dead.

I stared at the dark screen, numb. ‘Why? Why was this happening to me all at once? What had I ever done to deserve this level of cruelty?’

Before I could sink any further into the spiral, my phone vibrated violently in my hand.

The caller ID flashed across the screen: Ethan.

I swiped the screen and pressed the phone to my ear, only to be met by a furious roar.

"It's past midnight! Where the hell are you?!" Ethan bellowed. "Did you walk out of my house just to go out and cheat on me?!"

The sheer audacity took my breath away. He had the nerve to accuse “me” of infidelity when I had walked in on him naked with his secretary hours ago.

I wanted to scream at him. I wanted to tear into him and label him the pathetic hypocrite he was.

Instead, I forced a sharp exhale and squeezed my eyes shut, desperately clinging to the tiny shred of hope that he might still have a conscience.

"My mother suffered a relapse," I said, my voice hollow. "I am at Premier Care Hospital. Why didn't you tell me her body was rejecting her previous treatment?"

"It skipped my mind, alright? It didn’t sound serious," he answered smoothly, without a hint of remorse.

"You forgot?" I whispered, disbelieving. "How could you forget something that involves her life?"

"Are you seriously blaming me for her medical issues?" Ethan scoffed. "As if you've never forgotten anything before."

I pinched the bridge of my nose, fighting back a wave of nausea. 'Calm down…Not now.'

"Ethan... please. Can you lend me some money? I need to pay for her shots and her surgery right now."

A dark, mocking chuckle echoed through the receiver.

"I knew it," Ethan drawled, his tone dripping with satisfaction. "You never cared about me. You were always just after my money."

He paused, letting the insult sink in before continuing.

"Tell you what, Arabella. Come back to the estate right now. We'll have a nice little chat about what you're going to tell the press regarding our divorce, and I'll give you $100,000. Hell, if you take all the blame publicly and make it sound believable, I might even give you more."

A cold, heavy knot twisted in my gut.

Whatever Ethan was planning to make me say to the press, it was going to destroy me completely.