SCARLETThe air still carried the unmistakable hospital smell of alcohol and industrial bleach, a familiar smell that always made my chest feel tight and one that served as a quiet reminder of the long nights I had spent standing vigil by my father’s bedside during his own time of critical care.I knew every corner of these hospital buildings like the back of my hand. I knew how quickly perfectly right things could go awfully wrong. But right now, I couldn’t afford to let my mind drift into the past. I needed to clear whatever issue was waiting downstairs and get back up to the VIP suite. Julian was there, holding the line alone, and his composure was already under enough strain from the live broadcast.When the elevator doors finally opened, I stepped out into the ground-floor reception area and was immediately met with muted pulses of camera flashes from a small crowd of paparazzi and financial reporters, barred from the sidewalk by a thin line of security guards standing shoulde
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