chapter 112
Elena's POV:
The paramedics were there then, gently but firmly pulling me back as they swarmed around him with practiced efficiency.
"We've got him, ma'am. Please give us room to work."
I watched through blurred vision as they worked over him—checking vitals, securing his neck with a brace, sliding a backboard beneath him.
The ride to the hospital passed in a blur.
Someone cleaned the cuts on my hands from the broken glass, checked my blood pressure, asked me questions I answered on autopilot.
Marcus was waiting when we arrived at the hospital, his usually composed face drawn with concern. "Mrs. Vane—"
"Where is he?" I cut him off, beyond social niceties. "Where did they take him?"
"Surgery. They rushed him straight in." He fell into step beside me as I headed for the surgical wing, his voice carefully neutral. " Mr. Vane is strong, and the paramedics said his injuries, while serious, appear manageable."
His voice carried a gentle firmness, meant to reassure. "But you need to rest, my lady. You're carrying a child—you must think of the baby too."
I stopped walking, turning to face him fully. "This wasn't an accident."
"No," he agreed quietly. "The truck driver is in custody. He's already admitted he was paid to ram your car. He didn't expect..." He gestured helplessly. "He didn't expect Mr. Vane to intercept."
"Vivienne." It wasn't a question. Even from her jail cell, she'd managed this. One last act of vicious spite.
"Perhaps she allowed herself to be caught deliberately—to lure you out." Marcus's voice was grim with realization. "She knew that only if you left the penthouse would she have an opportunity to strike."
I sank into one of the chairs, my hand moving instinctively to my belly where our child rested, safe and oblivious to how close we'd come to losing everything. "She wanted to kill me. Kill us."
Marcus's voice held an edge of steel. "And she'll pay for this. I promise you that."
I still processed the depth of Vivienne's hatred. Then, surprising even myself with the coldness in my voice, I looked up at Marcus. "Don't let her die. Let her spend the rest of her life as a drooling fool rotting in prison."
Marcus's eyes gleamed with dark approval. "Consider it done, my lady. She'll live a very long, very confused life."
My fingers found the silver crucifix at my throat, the one Sebastian had fastened there himself though I couldn't recall exactly when—it seemed to have always been there, a weight both foreign and familiar against my skin.
The metal was warm from my body heat as I clasped it between trembling hands, closing my eyes and doing something I hadn't done since my mother's death.
I prayed, the words tumbling out in desperate whispers, promising anything to any power that might be listening if only Sebastian would survive this.
The waiting stretched endlessly, each tick of the wall clock another eternity of not knowing whether the man I'd tried so hard to hate but couldn't help loving would live or die.
When the emergency room doors finally swung open and a surgeon in blood-stained scrubs emerged, I shot to my feet so quickly that Marcus had to steady me.
"Mrs. Vane?" The doctor's face was grave but not defeated, and I clung to that small mercy as I rushed forward, my questions spilling out in a breathless torrent.
"Is he—how is he? Will he be all right? Please, I need to know—"
"He's through surgery and stable. Three broken ribs, a punctured lung that we've repaired, significant bruising, and a concussion. However, the injury to his leg is quite severe. We'll need to monitor it closely over the coming days to determine the full extent of the damage and the best course of treatment."
Relief flooded through me so intensely that my knees nearly buckled. "As long as there's no danger to his life, that's all that matters." My voice came out as barely more than a whisper, the crushing weight of fear finally beginning to lift.
"Can I see him?"
"He's being moved to recovery now. Once he's settled in the ICU, we'll let you sit with him." The doctor's expression softened. "He's going to be fine, Mrs. Vane. It'll be a difficult recovery, but he's young and strong. And from what the paramedics said, very motivated to live."
After he left, I sank back into the chair, the adrenaline finally leaving my system and leaving only bone-deep exhaustion in its wake.
An incident of this magnitude couldn't be kept from the Vane family, of course.
Within the hour, Margaret swept into the waiting room like an avenging angel in vintage Chanel, her usual composure cracking when she saw me—hair disheveled, Sebastian's blood still staining my clothes.
"Oh, my dear child," she murmured, gathering me into an embrace that smelled of gardenias and old money. "Look at you. You need to go home, change out of these clothes, rest for a moment. I'll stay with him."
"No." I shook my head stubbornly, pulling back. "I can't leave him. What if he wakes up and I'm not here? "
"Elena." Her tone brooked no argument, every inch the matriarch who'd ruled the Vane empire with an iron fist wrapped in velvet. "You're carrying my great-grandchild. You will not risk your health or the baby's by exhausting yourself. Sebastian would never forgive me if I allowed it."
In the end, I was too tired to fight both my body's demands and Margaret's immovable will.
Marcus drove me back to the penthouse, where I mechanically showered off Sebastian's blood and changed into clean clothes, my movements automatic and numb.
I'd barely finished pulling on a fresh sweater when my phone rang—Margaret's number flashing on the screen.
"He's awake," she said without preamble, and I was already reaching for my coat before she'd finished speaking. "He's asking for you."