The rapid toxicology panel was still processing when the double doors of the ICU swung open.
The lead surgeon stepped out, looking harassed. He scanned the waiting room, his eyes sliding over the weeping Lydia and landing squarely on Aria, who was currently checking her cuticle oil while Zoe held her purse.
"Mrs. Sinclair," the doctor said. "Mr. Vale is conscious. He's... agitated. His vitals are unstable, but he is demanding to speak with you before we sedate him for the procedure."
Lydia shot up from the beige sofa like she had been electrocuted.
"I'm his wife!" she cried, rushing forward, her heels clacking on the linoleum. "I should be the one to—"
She didn't make it three steps.
Two of Damien's guards simply stepped sideways, closing ranks. They didn't touch her; they just existed in her path. Lydia slammed to a halt, looking up at a wall of black wool and indifference.
