Chapter 3

"You want my mother to spend her most critical post-op night in a standard ward, and then move her back later?" I asked, appalled.

"Ethan Brooks, listen to yourself. Do you even hear how sick you sound?"

His expression darkened.

"Nora, I'm trying to solve a problem here."

"Do you really have to be so aggressive?"

Donna King’s niece burst into laughter.

"Oh, so you two know each other!"

"Even better. Let your fiancé teach you how to behave."

Donna King tilted her chin up arrogantly.

"Ethan, your little fiancée has quite the temper. Once she marries into your family, you're going to have your hands full."

Ethan didn't defend me. He only looked at me with an irritated scowl.

"Nora, your mother needs rest right now. Standing here arguing doesn't help her."

"Here's what we'll do. I'll have the nurses bring over a cot and set it up right next to the hallway in the general wing."

"Just suck it up for tonight."

I looked at the folding cot a nurse was wheeling over.

A paper-thin foam pad sitting on a rusted iron frame with peeling paint.

My mother had a surgical drainage tube sticking out of her chest cavity.

And they wanted her to spend the night on that piece of scrap metal.

The last trace of warmth in my heart died out completely.

I nodded. "Fine."

Ethan let out a relieved sigh. "That's my girl. You’ve always been sensible, Nora."

I pulled out my phone and dialed my executive assistant.

"Contact Horizon International Medical Center."

"Have them dispatch a mobile ICU transport unit to Metro General Hospital, North Wing, right now."

"Patient is post-lobectomy with a severe allergy profile. I need full advanced life support equipment on board."

Ethan’s face went pale. "Nora, you're transferring her?!"

I didn't spare him a glance.

"Also, notify Attorney Arthur Davis."

"Secure all electronic logs for Suite 1208, the payment receipts, ward surveillance footage, and the nursing handover records."

"Inform the board: Lumina Health Foundation is suspending the contract for the post-op rehabilitation wing with Metro General."

"Freeze all pending grant disbursements immediately."

My assistant gasped over the line. "Miss Vance, the public signing ceremony is scheduled for tomorrow morning!"

"Freeze it," I enunciated coldly. "Right now."

Ethan froze as if struck by lightning.

Donna King, totally clueless, sneered loudly, "What foundation? Who the hell are you trying to bluff?"

I gripped the wheelchair handles and turned my mother around.

"Mrs. King, since you love this room so much, enjoy your stay."

"Just make sure you don't live to regret it."

The transport arrived with incredible speed.

When the medical team from Horizon International strode onto the twelfth floor with their gear, the entire ward fell dead silent.

This was no ordinary ambulance crew. It was a mobile intensive care unit designed for critical post-operative transfers.

Two trauma physicians, two specialized nurses, and a certified respiratory therapist.

Cardiac monitors, high-flow oxygen, emergency crash carts—everything was state-of-the-art.

My mother was transferred onto the gurney with absolute care.

Horizon International’s private suite was silent, sterile, and world-class.

The moment she was settled, the chief of pulmonary medicine came in personally to evaluate her.

At two in the morning, her blood oxygen suddenly plummeted.

Because of the specialized monitoring, the doctors caught it within seconds and stabilized her without incident.

Had she been stuck in that drafty general hallway... had a nurse missed their rounds... had the oxygen valve been loose... I couldn't bear to imagine what would have happened.

I sat in the armchair beside her bed, wide awake the entire night.

My phone had been buzzing non-stop since midnight.

Over twenty missed calls from Ethan, six from the head nurse, and several from Metro General’s executive office.

I didn't answer a single one.

At 3:47 AM, Attorney Davis sent me his first evidence dossier.

In the surveillance stills, Brittany Cole had entered Suite 1208 twenty minutes before my mother left the operating room.

Right behind her was Ethan Brooks.

It was Ethan who had personally used his administrative master card to swipe open the door.

Staring at the screenshot, a chill seeped into my veins.

It wasn't a sudden scheduling conflict by the nursing staff. It wasn't an innocent management oversight.

It was him.

My own fiancé had handed my mother's life-saving recovery suite to another woman’s aunt on a silver platter.

At 6:00 AM, my phone lit up again.

This time, it was a message from Ethan on SnapChat.

[Nora, stop being childish.]

[Mrs. King fell critically ill during the night. Things are spiraling out of control here.]

[The hospital director is frantic. Get back here right now.]