Chapter 2 - The VIP Suite
St. Agnes smelled of iodine, wet floor wax, and the metallic hum of fluorescent lights.
Julian stayed exactly half a step behind me as we walked past the triage desk. He did not hover, and he did not hold my arm. He understood that tonight, I did not need a caretaker. I needed a witness.
The charge nurse guided us to a private suite on the second floor.
"He's stable," she said quietly, stopping outside Room 214. "The woman with him sustained minor lacerations. She refused to leave his side."
"Thank you," I said.
I pushed the heavy wooden door open.
Nathan was sitting up in the hospital bed, his left arm in a thick white cast, a bandage taped over his eyebrow. He looked bruised, exhausted, and incredibly comfortable.
Sitting in the chair pulled flush against his mattress was Sienna Sterling.
She was the twenty-four-year-old daughter of the Sterling Group’s founder—the exact demographic of wealthy, naive heiresses Nathan had spent the last three years courting for his private philanthropic firm. She wore a torn silk evening gown, her blonde hair perfectly messy, holding Nathan’s uninjured hand with both of hers.
They looked like a tragic, romantic tableau.
Until they saw my seven-month pregnant silhouette in the doorway.
Sienna snatched her hands back. Nathan’s jaw tightened. He did not look ashamed. He looked annoyed, as if I had interrupted a business meeting he had specifically asked me not to attend.
"Emily," Nathan sighed, shifting against his pillows. "Who called you?"
"The hospital," I said, my voice perfectly, terrifyingly flat. "They tend to notify the next of kin when a man wraps his Mercedes around a guardrail."
I stepped into the room. Julian stepped in behind me, closing the door until the lock clicked shut.
Nathan’s eyes darted to Julian, his annoyance flaring into instant, arrogant hostility. "What is he doing here? This is a private family matter."
"Julian drove me," I said, resting my hands on the curve of my stomach. "Because my husband was too busy crashing his car with a twenty-four-year-old to make sure his pregnant wife was safe."
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Sienna stood up, smoothing the ruined silk of her dress. She looked at me with the sharp, condescending pity of a woman who believed she had already won the war.
"Mrs. Carter, I know this looks bad," Sienna said, her voice dripping with manufactured grace. "But Nathan and I... we have a profound connection. He was going to tell you tomorrow after the gala. He’s outgrown this life. We’re building a future together."
