Chapter 376: Infected
Emily didn't know how long she'd been sitting there when a figure stopped in front of her.
Kate.
She held out a cup of hot water, no preamble. "The old man kicked you out?"
Emily didn't answer. Her eyes were rimmed red.
Kate sat down beside her, voice low but steady. "Emily, this isn't your fault. Don't turn Charles's choice into your guilt."
Emily's throat was raw. "But he only got shot because of me—"
Kate cut her off. "He got shot because he loves you."
She fixed Emily with a hard stare. "You think leaving will protect him? No. You'll only hurt him more."
"He didn't take that bullet so you could walk away. He took it so you could live."
Emily's fingers trembled slightly, as if clutching at something she was afraid to hold. "But Ollie—"
"Ollie wants the Windsor family safe. He wants Charles to be a weapon. But Charles isn't a weapon—he's a man. He loves you. That was his decision. If you leave now, you're telling him his choice doesn't matter."
Emily's tears finally spilled over, splashing against the rim of the cup. "I'm afraid I can't protect him."
Kate draped her coat over Emily's shoulders. "Then that's exactly why you should stay."
"Stay until he wakes up. Stay until he can tell you himself what he wants. If you're going to leave, it should be a decision both of you make—not something you do alone."
Emily bowed her head, fingers digging into the cup.
Just then, her phone buzzed.
A familiar number flashed on the screen—her father.
Emily froze, then pressed accept.
On the other end, Simon's voice was tight with worry. "Emily? I saw the news—there was an explosion at the amusement park in Seraphim. Are you okay? Where are you?"
Emily's throat closed. She could barely get the words out. "I'm… I'm fine."
Immediately, the kids' voices crowded through the line:
"Mommy! Are you okay?!"
"When are you and Daddy coming home?"
"Did you sneak off to work again?"
"Is Daddy with you?"
Emily shut her eyes, tears streaming faster now, but she forced a smile into her voice. "Mommy's okay. Be good for Grandpa and go to bed, alright?"
"But what about Daddy?" Emma's voice was soft, hesitant. "When is he coming home?"
Emily's knuckles went white around the phone.
She lifted her gaze toward the hospital entrance—toward the man inside she would do anything to protect.
Suddenly, it became clear: she couldn't collapse. She couldn't run.
She still had children. She still had a family. And she still had the future Charles had risked his life to give her.
She steadied her voice as much as she could. "Daddy's working. When he's done, we'll come home together."
After she hung up, Emily wiped away her tears and stood, shoulders straightening.
Kate watched her. "Going back in?"
Emily nodded. "Going back."
When Emily returned to the OR corridor, Ollie was still there.
He sat on the bench, expression grim, cane resting across his knees. Atticus stood behind him, motionless.
Emily didn't approach. She simply stood at the other end of the hallway—quiet, waiting.
She didn't argue. Didn't plead.
She just kept watch.
Time stretched unbearably long.
Finally—
The operating room doors opened.
A surgeon stepped out, eyes bloodshot above his mask. "We've stopped the bleeding. His vitals are stable for now. The bullet didn't penetrate the heart, but it caused severe hemorrhaging. We've gotten it under control."
Emily's legs nearly buckled. She braced herself against the wall to stay upright.
The surgeon continued, "He's still in the danger zone—infection risk, lung complications, recovery concerns. He's unconscious right now. Once the anesthesia wears off and his body stabilizes, he may wake up. Or it could take longer."
Ollie closed his eyes. He was old, and the strain of the night showed in the gray cast of his face. Atticus quickly stepped forward to support him. "Mr. Windsor, you should go rest."
Ollie stood, his gaze sweeping coldly over Emily. He said nothing more—after all, he was an elder, a man of standing. He wouldn't make a scene in front of the medical staff.
He couldn't afford to push Charles away. So instead, he left her with one cold, clipped instruction: "Take care of Charles. Don't cause him any more trouble."
Then he turned and left, leaning on Atticus's arm.
Emily didn't respond.
She simply watched as the nurses wheeled Charles into the ICU observation room. Beneath the white sheets, the hand that had once yanked her behind him looked heartbreakingly pale.
Late into the night, Emily sat outside the ICU, her haggard reflection staring back at her from the glass.
She remained motionless, as if afraid that if she so much as blinked, he'd disappear.
Louis approached from the other end of the hall, his expression even grimmer than before.
Emily immediately stood. "Uncle Louis—how is he?"
Louis didn't answer right away. Instead, he handed her a printed lab report, voice low and tight. "Charles's bloodwork came back strange."
Emily's chest constricted. "What do you mean?"
Louis stared at her, his gaze sharp yet weighted with something darker. "I pulled strings and got a deeper screening."
"There's an abnormal viral signature in his blood. It's very similar to the flu strain your mother was infected with all those years ago."
Emily's face went white. "That's impossible… That's been eradicated."
Louis shook his head, and his next words were brutal. "It's similar. But stronger."
"It's like an enhanced version. Engineered."
Emily's breathing nearly stopped, a cold wave crashing through her chest. "But—the antibodies. There were antibodies back then. They could treat it."
Louis's voice dropped to a hoarse rasp. "They don't work."
"The old antibody protocol is useless. This version bypassed the original immune memory—it's as if it was designed specifically to evade the old treatment."
He paused, giving her a moment to absorb it, then delivered the final blow:
"There's no known cure."
Emily's fingers went numb. Her vision blurred.
She finally understood why Kismet had walked away so confidently.
The gunshot had only been the first hurdle.
The real killing blow was in his blood.
But when had Charles been infected? Was it an accident—or had Kismet planned this all along?
Influenza viruses spread in countless ways: respiratory droplets, surface contact, even sexual transmission and vertical transmission from mother to child. During past outbreaks, people had contracted it without ever realizing until it was too late.
Historically, this particular strain had caused two major pandemics. The first killed nearly two million people. If the antibody hadn't been developed in time, entire nations would have collapsed.
The second outbreak had been deliberate—weaponized. But thanks to the antibody, the death toll had been minimal.
Except for Emily's mother.
At the time, everyone believed the World Health Organization had eradicated the virus entirely.
But here it was again.
Was someone still researching it? Weaponizing it?
Could Kismet and Gerald be involved?
"Uncle Louis," Emily said quietly, her voice edged with steel. "I need a favor."