chapter 177
Sebastian's POV:
My legs barely carried me out of the delivery room.
The moment those doors swung shut behind me, separating me from Elena, I felt like I'd been gutted.
I experienced something I'd never truly felt before—complete and utter loss of control. For the first time in my life, all my power, all my resources, all my carefully constructed walls meant absolutely nothing.
I couldn't buy, threaten, or force my way through those doors. I couldn't protect her from what was happening inside.
My hands shook as I pressed them against the cold hospital wall, forcing myself to breathe steadily.
Control yourself, I commanded internally. She needs you to be functional, not falling apart. If something went wrong, I needed to be clear-headed enough to make decisions, to act swiftly.
Panic was a luxury I couldn't afford, even as it clawed at my chest, threatening to consume me whole.
"Mr. Vane?"
I spun around to find Marcus approaching, his expression carefully neutral. "I've contacted the authorities regarding Mrs. Vane's mother. They're handling the situation."
Scarlett. I'd almost forgotten about the kidnapping in the chaos of Elena's water breaking.
"Good," I managed, my voice rough. "Keep me updated, but..." I glanced back at the delivery room doors. "That's not the priority right now."
Marcus nodded, understanding immediately. "I'll handle it, sir. Is there anything else you need?"
I need my wife to be okay. I need our baby to survive.
"Call my grandmother," I said instead. "Tell her Elena's in labor."
As Marcus stepped away to make the call, I sank into one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs lining the corridor. My hands wouldn't stop trembling.
The image of that woman at the airport flashed through my mind again—the blood, her husband's screams. I pressed my palms against my eyes, trying to banish the memory. That wouldn't be Elena. It couldn't be.
After what felt like an eternity, a voice broke the silence from somewhere nearby.
"Sebastian!"
I looked up to see my grandmother hurrying down the corridor, her usual composure cracked with worry. She'd clearly dressed in haste, her silver hair not quite as perfectly styled as usual.
"How is she?" Grandmother demanded, gripping my arm with surprising strength.
"In labor. They made me leave." The words came out bitter.
"Don't worry," Grandmother said firmly, though I caught the flicker of concern in her eyes. "The doctors here are excellent."
I wanted to believe her, but all I could think about was Elena's pale face, the pain in her eyes as the contractions hit. She'd been trying to be strong, but I'd seen her fear.
Grandmother pulled out her silver crucifix, her lips moving in silent prayer. I watched her weathered hands work over the beads, finding an unexpected comfort in the familiar ritual.
I kept my eyes fixed on the delivery room doors, as if I could somehow see through them by sheer force of will. Every sound from within made my muscles tense, ready to spring into action even though there was nothing I could do.
Then I heard it—muffled through the heavy doors but unmistakable. Elena's voice, crying out with effort and exhaustion. The sound of her struggle hit me like a physical blow.
"Push, Elena! You're doing great!" I could hear the medical staff encouraging her.
Another cry, weaker this time. My hands clenched into fists. She was tiring. I could hear it in her voice, the way each sound became more strained, more desperate.
"Sebastian..."
Her voice calling my name shattered what little composure I had left. I was at the doors before I realized I'd moved, my hand on the handle.
"Sir, you can't—" A passing nurse tried to stop me.
"That's my wife in there!" I snarled. "She needs me!"
"Sebastian." Grandmother's voice cut through my panic. "You'll only distract them. Let her use your name as strength."
I stood there, trembling with the need to act, to be with her, while her cries continued to filter through the door. Each one was a knife to my chest, a reminder of my complete powerlessness in this moment.
Then everything changed.
The steady rhythm of voices beyond the door suddenly erupted into chaos. Urgent commands replaced calm instructions. I heard metal instruments clattering, feet running.
"Hemorrhage! We've got a major hemorrhage!"
The word turned my blood to ice.
"Get me four units of O-negative, NOW!"
"Blood pressure dropping—"
The world tilted violently. Everything spun around me—the walls, the floor, Grandmother's frightened face. The medical staff's urgent voices became a distant roar, like waves crashing against rocks.
I couldn't make out individual words anymore, just the tone of barely controlled panic that meant Elena was dying.
My body moved on autopilot while my mind reeled. Phone in hand, I heard myself speaking with deadly calm, "This is Sebastian Vane. Open the family emergency blood reserve immediately. Royal Hospital, maternity ward. My wife needs—"
I rattled off her blood type, the room number, the authorization codes that would release our private medical supplies.
Then I was at the door again, pressing my forehead against the cold metal, listening to the mechanical beeping of machines inside. Each sound could be her last heartbeat. Each silence between beeps stretched like an eternity.
Time ceased to exist. Minutes, hours—I couldn't tell anymore. I just stood there, a statue guarding the entrance to heaven or hell.
Finally—finally—the door opened.
Dr. Harrison emerged, exhaustion etched into every line of his face.
"Fortunately, everything went smoothly," he said quietly. "The bleeding was significant but manageable. Mother and baby are all doing well."
Relief should have flooded through me, but I couldn't feel anything. "Elena?"
"We can move them to recovery now."
They wheeled out a small incubator first—our son, pink and breathing. I barely glanced at him. All I could see was Elena on the bed behind them, still as death, her skin nearly as white as the sheets.
"Why isn't she awake?" My voice was raw.
"She lost a significant amount of blood, Mr. Vane. Her body needs time to recover. " Dr. Harrison's professional mask couldn't quite hide his own relief that Elena had survived. "But she will wake up. I promise you that."
I moved to Elena's side as they prepared to transport her, taking her limp hand in mine. It was cold. Too cold.