Chapter 8 Eight
THANE
The Chief looked at me, pure panic in his eyes.
“I can't. She's the best we've ever seen.”
I stepped forward, the only sound at that moment was the thud of my shoes in the now grave-silenylt the room. I looked directly into the Chief's eyes.
"Is she?" I asked. My voice was completely flat.
The Chief nodded rapidly. "She is a god in the operating room, sir. There is absolutely no one better. If anyone can fix your mother's heart, it is Dr. Solene."
I held his gaze for three seconds. I weighed the absolute terror in my mother against the heavy, burning pull in my own chest. The decision was already made.
Besides, I wanted her around. I wanted to find out who she really was.
"She stays," I said.
My mother whipped around, her mouth open in shock. "Thane! You cannot be serious. She insulted us!"
"I said she stays," I repeated, my tone leaving no room for debate. I looked back toward the door, my mind already drifting down the hall to the cold, sharp woman in the white suit. I did not keep her to save my mother’s heart. I kept her because I needed a reason to see her again. I needed an excuse to be in the same room with her. I needed to stand close enough to feel her breath. I had to touch her, just once, to see if she was real or if I was finally losing my mind.
The ride up the private elevator to my penthouse was dead quiet. When the steel doors parted, I walked into a massive expanse of modern glass, dark steel, and black marble. It was the most expensive view in Manhattan. It was also completely, utterly empty.
Camilla was waiting in the living room. She was standing by the marble island, pouring a drink from a crystal decanter. She looked flawless. Her hair was perfectly styled, her makeup immaculate, her silk dress clinging to her slender frame. She was the perfect picture of a billionaire's fiancée.
But as I looked at her, the air in the room felt incredibly thin. Looking at her was like looking at a photograph. It was beautiful, but it had no depth. No heat. No life. Compared to the raging fire Dr. Solene had just set in my blood, Camilla felt like lukewarm water.
"Thane," she smiled, walking toward me with a lowball glass of amber liquid. "You look tense, darling. How is Kimberly?"
She reached out, placing her manicured hand on my forearm. She leaned in, pressing her soft lips against my jaw.
A sudden, violent jolt of revulsion slammed into my gut. My muscles locked up. The scent of her floral perfume hit my nose, and it smelled wrong. It smelled sweet, cloying, like rotting fruit covered in heavy sugar. I stepped back, pulling my arm away from her touch before I could stop myself.
Camilla blinked, her hand hovering in the empty air between us. Her perfect smile faltered. "What is it? What is wrong?"
I looked at her hands. They were soft. Weak. I looked up at her eyes. They were brown. Flat and empty. They were not a storm of stormy grey. They were not the eyes that could level a man with a single look.
"I met the new surgeon today," I said, my voice completely devoid of emotion. I walked past her, shaking my head to tell her I didn't want the drink she offered.
"Hmmm." Camilla drawled out, her tone turning sour as she turned. "The arrogant one. What about her?"
I stopped by the floor-to-ceiling window, looking out over the grid of city lights. "I stood in a room with her. And I felt like I knew her." I kept my back to Camilla, but my voice carried the heavy, obsessive weight settling in my chest. "I looked at her face, and it felt like I know her. She looks like Lia."
I heard a sharp gasp behind me. The heavy crystal glass slipped from Camilla's fingers. It hit the marble floor, shattering into a hundred glittering pieces.
I turned around. Camilla’s mask had completely melted off. She was staring at me, her eyes wide with a raw, primal terror. Her chest heaved.
"I... I'm sorry," she stammered, dropping to her knees to frantically pick up the jagged pieces of glass with shaking hands. "I am just... I am just so stressed about your mother. It slipped."
I watched her hands tremble. But I didn't think about it for long. My mind was already miles away, back in a sterile hospital corridor.
I left her on the floor with the broken glass and walked straight into my study. I shut the heavy oak doors, cutting myself off from the rest of the penthouse.
I made my way behind my heavy mahogany desk and picked up the secure phone. I dialed a number I knew by heart. He picked up on the second ring.
"Jaxson," I said, skipping any greeting.
"Thane," my lawyer and oldest friend replied, his voice sharp and awake. "What's up man."
"I need a name run," I told him, gripping the edge of the desk. "Dr. Lia Solene. She is the new cardiothoracic surgeon at the hospital."
I explained every other thing to him.
"Consider it done. I will have her medical resume, her board certifications, and her hospital affiliations on your desk by morning."
"No," I growled, my voice dropping an octave. "I do not want her resume. I want her life, Jaxson. I want everything. I want her bank records. I want her properties. I want to know exactly what city she was standing in five years ago."
Jaxson paused on the other end of the line. The silence was heavy. He knew me well enough to hear the dangerous edge in my tone. "Understood. What else?"
"She has twins," I said, the words feeling heavy and possessive on my tongue. "A boy and a girl. Four years old. I want a name. Find out who the father is. Find out where he is."
"I will dig up the roots," Jaxson promised. He hung up.
I placed the phone down slowly. I turned away from the desk and walked toward the large window overlooking the glowing veins of Manhattan.
I closed my eyes and the image burned into the back of my eyelids. The smooth, pale line of her neck. The sudden shift of her white collar. The small, dark round mole resting perfectly against her skin.
It was her. It had to be her. It fucking had.
My hands balled into tight, heavy fists at my sides. The air in the study was too thick to breathe. I did not know how she survived. I did not know how she became this cold, sharp weapon of a woman. But she had brought the war to my front door.
I opened my eyes, staring at my own reflection in the dark glass. I was not going to stop. I was going to push, and push, and push until the truth bled out. I would not stop until I broke her walls down.
…or until she completely broke me.