Chapter 12 – Shadows in White Walls
The hospital room smelled faintly of antiseptic and freshly changed linen. Machines hummed in steady rhythms, their blinking lights casting trembling reflections on the pale walls. Emily lay motionless on the bed, her bridal gown replaced with a plain hospital gown that looked too large for her fragile frame. Her skin had lost its usual warmth, her cheeks drained of color. Even her eyelashes trembled faintly against her skin, as though she were caught in a dream she couldn't wake from.
Adrian sat in his wheelchair a few steps away from the bed. He didn't move. His posture was straight, controlled, every line of him radiating a kind of silent vigilance. His eyes stayed fixed on Emily, but he did not reach for her nor call her name. He kept a distance, not coldly, but with a careful restraint only he understood. Whatever emotion stirred inside him remained locked behind that still, unreadable face.
Damian stood at the foot of the bed with his arms folded tightly across his chest. His jaw clenched and unclenched, his breath coming in uneven pulls. He kept glancing at Emily as though expecting her to suddenly open her eyes and end the nightmare. Clinton leaned quietly against the window, almost blending into the shadows. His gaze was sharp, observant, scanning every detail of the room, every movement, every breath. He looked less like a man grieving and more like a man calculating.
The door opened softly, and the doctor walked in. His presence shifted the tension instantly. He skimmed through the chart in his hand, then looked up at the three men.
"She is stable now," he said, his voice gentle but firm. "Her collapse was caused by a sudden drop in blood pressure, but…" He hesitated, weighed his words, then continued, "the pattern points to something else, a stimulant."
Damian's head jerked upward. "A stimulant? Are you saying someone gave her something?"
The doctor inhaled deeply, his shoulders lifting slightly before he nodded. "That is the most likely explanation. Her symptoms were sudden and intense. We'll run more tests, but this did not come from stress or exhaustion alone."
Clinton's eyes darkened. His posture straightened just enough to show that the conclusion matched something he had already suspected. His fingers curled slightly against the windowsill.
Adrian remained still. His eyes didn't leave Emily, not even for a second. His expression stayed calm—too calm—but his jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. "The important thing is that she recovers," he said quietly. "Do whatever you need to do."
The doctor nodded and stepped out, leaving a heavy silence behind him.
From the corner of the room came the rustle of fabric. Mrs. Adrian rose slowly from her chair, her shawl sliding elegantly across her shoulders. She looked at Emily the way one might look at an object that had failed to perform its duty. The sterile lighting caught on her rings, making them glint like cold stars.
"Well," she said, her voice low and dismissive, "since she is not dying, I see no reason to stay here any longer."
Damian spun toward her. "You must be joking. She collapsed at her wedding—your son's wedding—and nearly died. That is all you have to say?"
Mrs. Adrian raised a brow. "Damian, please. The empire will not run itself. I have meetings, ongoing negotiations, partners who expect results. Save me the pity party." She picked up her bag, smoothing its handle between her fingers. "She had better recover quickly and finish what she started. The wedding is still pending."
Her words sliced through the air, leaving behind an icy chill.
Clinton's eyes narrowed, though he said nothing. His expression was calm, but the tension in his jaw betrayed the internal storm.
Damian stepped forward, visibly struggling to keep his voice from shaking. "Emily is a human being, not one of your business assets."
"A responsibility," Mrs. Adrian corrected instantly, her tone crisp and metallic. "One she accepted the moment she agreed to this arrangement. And responsibilities don't vanish because someone chooses to faint in the middle of them."
Clinton's fingers twitched slightly. Damian's eyes widened with disbelief.
Mrs. Adrian turned toward the door, adding almost lazily, "I can't stay here babysitting. The empire won't run itself. You all know where to find me."
Her heels echoed sharply down the corridor until the sound faded completely.
For a long moment, no one spoke.
Damian dragged a hand through his hair. "Unbelievable. How can someone be that cold?"
Clinton finally pushed away from the window. He took a step closer to Emily, his voice quiet but firm. "This wasn't an accident. Someone wanted her weak. Someone wanted today to fall apart."
Damian stiffened. "You think she had something to do with it?"
He didn't say Mrs. Adrian's name, but it hung in the air like a ghost.
Clinton didn't answer, but the look he gave Damian was more than enough.
Adrian remained silent, still watching Emily. He did not defend his mother. He did not accuse her either. His emotions stayed buried deep, unreachable—yet something shifted ever so slightly in his expression, a faint flicker of something like conflict… or restraint.
Emily stirred under the sheets. Her fingers twitched. A soft, fragile sound escaped her lips, but her eyes stayed closed. Damian rushed forward instinctively but stopped himself at the edge of the bed.
"Emily?" he whispered.
Her breathing hitched, but she didn't wake.
Clinton's voice dropped even lower. "Her body is fighting something. She needs time."
Damian nodded weakly, frustration lining his features. He paced once, twice, then sank into the chair beside the bed with a rough exhale.
Adrian continued to watch her without blinking. Though he said nothing, his eyes softened just barely—an emotion so controlled it almost went unnoticed.
Minutes passed in silence. The hum of machines filled the room with an eerie calm.
Outside the window, the world continued its relentless pace—cars moving, people passing, lives unfolding with no idea what was happening behind these sterile white walls.
Inside the room, everything felt suspended, like time had paused, holding its breath alongside Emily.
Clinton finally spoke again. "Whoever did this wanted to break her. But Emily doesn't break easily."
Damian nodded, though his voice carried a tremor. "I just hope she wakes up soon."
Adrian said nothing, but his gaze remained fixed on Emily as though he were silently willing her to open her eyes.
The future of an empire–and perhaps the unraveling of long-hidden secrets—rested in the hands of a woman still hovering between consciousness and silence.
In this quiet room, between one shallow breath and the next, Emily's fate waited patiently… suspended on the edge of awakening.