The Billionaire's Forgotten Bride
"You owe me five years of birthdays, Ethan Cole. You owe me Christmas mornings and school plays. You do not get to take the easy way out. Fight."
The heart monitor beeped erratically, a fragile tether between the living and the dead.
When they burst through the double doors of Seattle General’s Level 1 Trauma Center, a swarm of doctors descended. They ripped the stretcher from Zara’s grip, sprinting down the blinding white hallway toward Surgery Bay 1.
"Ma'am, you can't go in there," a nurse intercepted Zara, placing a firm hand on her chest.
"That's my husband," Zara lied, the word slipping off her tongue with a desperate, heavy truth. "Save him."