The boardroom sat in silence, tension permeating the air. Caspian was presiding at the long table, trying to keep his head together despite the hammering in his skull. Sunlight poured in through high windows, glinting off polished surfaces and half-finished cups of coffee. Directors, bleary-eyed from nights of turmoil, fiddled with pens or drummed impatient fingers. Talia stood slightly aloof to the wall, picking apart every face for cracks of loyalty; Celeste sat opposite, her gaze steady on Caspian, sensing his growing pressure.
He attempted to outline a last resort strategy to regain control of the compromised financial systems, his voice catching on to some of the words. Outside the glass doors, staffers bustled with phones pressed to their ears, seeking to salvage the day's operations. The tension thrummed, minute by minute, building the pressure on Caspian's shoulders. No one knew how little sleep he'd stolen the night before, how the edges of the world faded at the corners of his eyes.
As he finished, the lead director leaned forward and prepared to bombard him with questions. But Caspian's eyes blinkered suddenly, unseeing. He took a sharp inhale as if battling phantom hands gripping at his awareness. Celeste jumped upright, alarmed, catching his pallor turn pale. A hush fell. Then, without warning, Caspian rocked, hands sliding off the table, knees collapsing beneath him.
"No—!" She echoed Celeste's voice across the room in wild panic. Her arms shot around him as he started to move down the floor. Directors leapt to their feet, dumbfounded by the sight of their CEO crumpling in the middle of the meeting. Talia rushed in, panic evident in her trembling hands as she assisted in the delicate lowering of him. Caspian's eyelids flickered but did not lift; his breaths ragged, and his lips turned blue with fatigue.
"M-Medic, get some paramedics!" Celeste's cry rose above the confusion. There was a flurry of motion; phones came out, and frantic calls were made. One director knelt to check Caspian's pulse, his brow furrowed at how weak it seemed. His head cradled in Celeste's arms, the prospect of him slipping through her fingers thundered through her. She fought back tears, remembering each sleepless night he had braved, how often she pulled him to a halt.
Minutes snaked on, the tension thick enough to make it heavy on their tongues. And finally, the paramedics showed up, their uniforms bright amid all the business suits in the boardroom. They lowered Caspian onto a stretcher, clipped, professional tones directing each movement. Celeste followed them through the hallways, ignoring curious looks from employees. An ambulance waited outside; its doors opened, revealing stark emptiness and a metallic bleach smell.
She climbed in behind him, hand never leaving his. The paramedics attempted to rouse Caspian, saying his name and beaming a small flashlight across his half-lidded eyes. But his eyes stared right through me, his body drooping. Celeste felt her heart race as the ambulance began speeding away, each lurch flooding her with adrenaline. Above the shriek of sirens, she silently begged him to wake up, her terror bouncing off every wailing light.
Hours slipped by in a disorienting haze of bright hospital lights and antiseptic odours. Celeste perched on a stiff-backed chair near Caspian's bed, her pulse racing every time the monitors beeped. The white walls closed in around her, and she replayed the instant of his fall, her mind torturing her with the image of his drawn face. Earlier, Talia and Roman had popped in momentarily, beset by worry, but the doctors mandated only one visitor at a time.
At last, a weary doctor in a crisp lab coat approached to deliver the news. Celeste got up, preparing for the worst. The doctor's face was solemn. "Caspian's insomnia has become critical," he said quietly. "Long-term sleeplessness has put his heart under severe stress. It's triggered an arrhythmia — dangerous, potentially deadly if it goes on untreated."
Celeste's breath caught. She knew that Caspian's nights were filled with restlessness but never imagined his body had begun to slide into collapse. "How… how bad is it?" she asked, voice trembling. Caspian's heart monitor and IV lines were not connected to solitude; the doctor seemed to sigh. "His condition is precarious. He needs to rest in a sedated state for a few days, and then we transition to a stricter medical regimen. If that strain continues to increase, we could have a deadly arrest."
Numbness cascaded over her. She slumped onto the chair, her eyes tight on Caspian's limp form, face softened into slumber, skin bleached of colour. Memories flickered: the many evenings she'd pleaded with him to sleep, his hushed revelations of nightmares he'd never escape. Guilt and anguish roiled in her chest.
Taking a shaky breath, she thanked the doctor, who nodded curtly and departed, his footsteps echoing down the hall. Alone, Celeste gingerly stroked a hand over Caspian's damp brow. He looked vulnerable in a way she never saw, eyes flickering under closed lids.
Nearby, a nurse adjusted one of the monitors. With compassion in her eyes, she took a moment to tell me that Caspian had been missing doses of critical medication that was supposed to stabilize his heart rhythms and eliminate the worst of his insomnia. He'd filled the prescription many times but only taken a portion of the pills.
"Pride, maybe," the nurse suggested gently, giving Celeste a sympathetic smile. "He was trying to sound strong, in control." Celeste blinked back tears that stung her eyes, rage mingling with heartbreak. Actually, Caspian had always claimed he could, refusing to appear weak, either in front of Soren or the board. Now, pride threatened to swallow him whole.
Gazing at the tangle of I.V. lines and the beeping machines, Celeste understood the war for Hayes Enterprises would be meaningless if Caspian didn't pull through. Behind her tears surged determination: challenge every manipulative force in his life, if need be; she would make sure he found the rest and healing he needed so much.
The mansion corridors had fallen under the hush of night when Valentina, agitated and disturbed, chose to walk through Celeste's empty bedroom. As she looked around the tastefully decorated space, she sensed a kind of subtle disorder — pillows out of place, a corner of the rug hinged up. Some subtle disturbance. An unsettled pang pulled at her, reminding her how Talia had been jittery as of late. Is Talia desperately searching for something here?
She looked underneath the wide oak dresser. Her breath caught at a slight metallic gleam. She stooped down and found a small listening device taped to the wood. Shock and anger boiled through her. And as she gently worked it free, she could see how perilously it could have delivered to Soren or Sterling's private conversations. Celeste may have been living under DEA surveillance, and every whispered fear about Caspian's condition was potentially used against them.
Having the bug in her hand bolstered Valentina as she stormed through the corridor, her outrage fanning her steps. Talia was near the study, sitting high on a window, moonlight highlighting the teary lines on her face. As soon as Talia set eyes on her mother's thunderous gaze, she stiffened. Valentina held the device out with trembling fingers. "Explain this," she ordered, voice slicing through the still air. "You put a bug in Celeste's room?"
Talia's eyes lit with abject guilt, and tears spilt out. She attempted to speak, but the words knotted in her throat. "I—Soren made me do it," she gasped, panic in every syllable. "He was threatening me if I didn't. He wanted to know Celeste's weaknesses and any commentary that could aid him in destroying her in court." She trailed off, burying her face in her hands, shame emanating from every taut line of her body.
Valentina felt her grip on the device tightens. Memories of Soren's manipulations and Talia's earlier complicity lacerated her. But she also witnessed her daughter's naked terror. "So you spied for him?" she said in a choked voice, bitterness seeping into her throat. Talia nodded, voice cracking. "I hated every second," she whispered. "But you know the kind of person he is… If I went against what he wanted, I felt like he was going to destroy me."
For a moment, mother and daughter stood in charged silence beneath the corridor's dim lights, the monstrous shadow cast by Soren looming over both of them. Finally, Valentina breathed a wavering sigh. "I know fear," she said quietly, remembering her own years of silence and compromise. "But this is inexcusable." The tears finally spilt over the edge of Talia's eyes, her lip quivering. "I'll fix it," she said, taking Valentina's hand. "I promise I won't betray them again."
Valentina exhaled, feeling sympathy and residual anger. "One more act of betrayal, Talia," she warned, her voice quaking, "and you will stand alone. I can't protect you from the blowback." Through tears, Talia nodded, clutching her mother's hand out of desperate gratitude. They stared at the listening device, their lives at once intertwined by shattered loyalties and the price of redemption.