Chapter 8:

Vincent's POV:

"If you cannot save her, I will kill every one of you and imprison all your families."

Maybe I had truly gone mad, unable to keep my composure, but all that fury was only to hide the total collapse inside me.

Leon Pembroke, the man I summoned, lived ten minutes away from my mansion. Counting the time my men took to fetch him and the time he needed to prepare, it added up to thirty minutes. That might have been the longest and most terrifying thirty minutes of my life. I held Majori, she was here yet I could lose her at any moment. Her breaths grew more fragile, her body cold and limp.

Even though Harper and Harry were here, even though they were kneeling before me, I did not dare let them touch Majori. I knew this was her doing, with Ryder involved. For so long Ryder had been my personal doctor so there was no other physician in my house. And now I had to hold her tight and wait in despair.

Yes, I should have hated her. She left me, betrayed my love, turned me into a joke. But despite my anger, Majori still held a special place in my heart that I could not erase or deny.

My shaking hands gripped her shoulders and began to shake her harder. My voice cracked and broke through the thick air. "Majori, hold on, wait a little longer. If you can hear me, do not leave, stay here."

No answer came. Only a faint breath like a fragile thread between life and death.

I laid her down. My palms were freezing yet sweat still poured down and fell onto her cheek. I gripped both her shoulders and started pressing on her chest in instinctive compressions, one beat after another. Between compressions I leaned down and blew air into her pale lips, trying to pull her back from that distant place I could not reach.

"Do not leave me, do not leave again," I muttered like a madman, my voice raw and tight in my throat.

Her chest rose slightly with each compression but there was still no real response. My head spun, my arms losing strength, my heart racing in panic and despair.

I kept pressing, blowing, calling her name. Sounds around me seemed to vanish until only my ragged breathing and the frantic beating of my heart echoed in the small room.

"Majori, wake up, I beg you," I shouted, voice trembling with desperation. My breath faltered and tears fell without my knowing, dropping onto her lips and cheeks.

In that moment time seemed to stop. I looked at her face, so peacefully still it frightened me, and all I felt was the terrible fear that this time I might truly lose her.

"Mr. Vincent, Doctor Pembroke has arrived," someone said.

…

"She was poisoned by Noctyra Compound, a toxin that is also called the gentle death. After the poison enters the body, in about thirty minutes the patient begins to show signs of drowsiness and then gradually slips away. Noctyra Compound attacks the heart directly, causing paralysis and stopping the heartbeat within one hour. If treatment had been delayed by even ten more minutes, she would have died."

The ward was filled with cold white light from the fluorescent fixtures. The smell of antiseptic hung in the air, acrid and heavy enough to choke. The heart monitor beeped steadily, each small tone pulling me back from my panic like an anchor.

Majori lay there, her face so pale she almost blended into the white sheets. Her black hair fell soft to both sides, a few strands stuck to her neck with cold sweat. A thin nasal cannula rested along her nose, an IV line entered the back of her hand, the clear solution dripping slowly, drop by drop, as if counting the beats of her life.

Her chest rose and fell with each weak breath. Every time she inhaled I felt my chest constrict. Next to the bed the monitor's numbers flickered and jumped, blue lights reflecting on her cheek, an artificial, cold glow that at this moment was the only proof that she was still here.

I sat on the edge of the bed, silent, watching that face. My hand brushed hers, cold and feeble but still slightly warm. A fragile warmth, so delicate that if I gripped it too tightly it might vanish.

"Miss Majori's health was severely weakened before this, so she must be monitored closely. She may not respond to certain medications or could suffer anaphylactic shock."

"I know," I replied.

A sleepless, horrifying night, yet the nightmare was not over. Majori remained very weak. I looked up at Pembroke. His aged face was stained with fatigue from a night of crisis work.

"Captain, take Dr. Pembroke to see the accountant so he can collect his f*e and then escort him home to rest," I said.

At the mention of payment Pembroke's eyes brightened slightly and some of his weariness eased. He bowed repeatedly.

"Thank you, Mr. Vincent. Thank you, Mr. Vincent."

"It is nothing, you have worked hard. But," I paused for a moment and continued, "leave your assistant here. You go home and rest first and then come back to relieve the night staff when Miss Majori is fully recovered. I will consult you further about her condition."

"Yes, yes sir, do not worry."

After the captain escorted Leon Pembroke away, I looked at Majori once more. Then I stood and called, "Rio."

Rio, my second attendant, stepped in.

"Yes, sir," he answered.

"Send Ryder to my private office."

"Yes, sir."

I waited fifteen minutes, the usual time it took Ryder to walk from his room to my office, and then I stood and prepared to go.

I looked at Majori one last time before leaving. Now her room was crowded with guards, nurses, and attendants. I had brought doctors from the military hospital, not Ryder's people. No one could help her leave me again.

When I opened my office door I saw a familiar silhouette standing with his back turned. At the sound of the door Ryder turned and bowed slightly.

"Mr. Vincent."

Behind his glasses his eyes were red and rimmed with veins, proof that he had also endured a sleepless night. I knew that this work weighed on him. More than anyone, I understood him, and as a doctor, bringing a living person to the edge of death must have tormented his conscience.

"Sit down," I said as I walked straight to my chair. Ryder remained standing frozen in place.

"I told you to sit."

I steepled my hands beneath my chin and gestured to the seat on my right, the place reserved for a close aide, the place meant for Ryder.

"Mr. Vincent, the guilty do not deserve a seat."