Chapter 9 Nine
IDALIA SOLENE
My phone buzzed against my palm, a sharp vibration that pulled my attention away from the passing trees. I looked down at the bright screen. It was the Chief of Staff at New York General.
I swiped to answer, bringing the device to my ear. "Hey.."
"Dr. Solene, you must understand my position," the Chief pleaded aa he went straight to the point, his voice thin and laced with a frantic anxiety.
I could practically hear him sweating through his lab coat. "Mrs. Devereux is a major donor. A pillar of this hospital's financial foundation. Her son is threatening to pull the funding for the entire cardiovascular wing. You cannot simplyout on her, insult her in her own private suite, and tell her she is too stressed for surgery."
"I am not a politician, Chief," I answered. My voice was flat, steady, and completely devoid of sympathy. "I am a cardiothoracic surgeon. I do not cut into a human chest when the patient's heart rate is wildly erratic due to a self-inflicted temper tantrum. Elevated blood pressure compromises the tissue. It compromises the recovery. And most importantly, it compromises my flawless success rate. I gave her my medical terms. She will wait."
"But Thane Devereux—"
"Mr. Devereux does not hold a medical license," I interrupted coldly, the mention of his name causing a momentary, microscopic tightening in my chest. "I will evaluate her again tomorrow when she learns how to breathe properly. Good afternoon."
I ended the call before he could utter another desperate word. I opened the heavy silver compact mirror in my purse. I stared at my own face. My grey eyes looked entirely different now. They were harder. Cold, like wet, polished stone.
I remembered a time when they were soft. I remembered a time when they constantly searched for light in a dark room. I thought of Thane.
I thought of the heavy, warm weight of his large hands resting gently against my bare skin. Back then, when he was blind and vulnerable, his touch was my entire world. It was a gentle, grounding anchor that made the abuse I suffered at home bearable. Now, that memory only fueled the absolute, unyielding anger flowinf in my veins.
The weak, fragile, desperate girl who hid in the shadows of the hospital corridors was dead. I had drowned her in the river five years ago. I was the woman who clawed her way out of the freezing water.
My phone vibrated again in my lap. This time it was a video call from Zara. I answered it, and the cold, heavy stone in my chest melted instantly.
"Mommy!" Leo and Mia shouted simultaneously through the speaker, their bright faces filling the screen.
"Hello, my darlings," I smiled, tracing the glass over their faces with my thumb. "Are you behaving for aunty Zara?"
"Yes," Mia said seriously, holding up a piece of colorful paper. "I made a picture of the big airplane. Are you coming back to the hotel soon? I want to go to the park."
"Soon, my beautiful girl," I promised, my voice softening into a tone I reserved only for them. "Mommy has to visit an old house first. To see some old faces and take care of a very important errand. I will be back in time for dinner. Be good for Zara. I love you both."
"Love you!" they chorused happily.
I hung up the phone. The warm smile vanished from my lips the second the screen went black. I slipped the phone back into my designer bag and looked out the window. The Maybach was slowing down.
We had arrived.
The massive iron gates of the Vance estate were soon looming ahead. For the first twenty-three years of my life, those tall, black iron spikes looked exactly like the bars of a maximum-security prison. Now, sitting in the back of a half-million-dollar vehicle, they just looked like cheap, rusting metal.
The driver rolled down his window and spoke into the security intercom. He did not give my name. He only gave my title, asserting that I was a specialist requested for consultation.
The heavy gates swung open slowly, whining loudly on their un-oiled hinges.
The heavy tires of the Maybach crunched loudly over the pristine white gravel driveway. I looked out at the sprawling property. The estate looked exactly the same as I remembered, but it felt remarkably, almost laughably, smaller.
It was the place where I was starved of affection, treated like an indentured servant, and kept firmly in my place as the unwanted, adopted spare.
But they were all about to regret.
The car stopped perfectly centered at the base of the wide front steps. My driver quickly circled the vehicle and opened my door. I
I adjusted the sharp lapels of my tailored white suit while I carried a black leather handbag that cost more than the luxury cars parked in the distant staff lot. Then I made my way up the wide stone steps, my posture rigid and commanding. The massive oak double doors at the main entrance were already pulled open.
A butler stood in the grand entryway. It was Thomas. The exact same man who used to deliberately ignore me when I asked for an extra blanket in the dead of winter, or serve me cold food when Elena wasn't looking. He looked at me now, and his reaction was instantaneous. His eyes widened slightly at the impeccable cut of my clothes, the sharp, authoritative angle of my posture, and the heavy diamond watch gleaming on my wrist. He did not see Idalia. He did not see the ghost he helped torment. He saw absolute, untouchable, overwhelming wealth. He bowed his head deeply and respectfully.
"Good afternoon, Madam," Thomas said smoothly, his voice echoing in the large, vaulted foyer. "May I ask who is calling?"
"Dr. Lia Solene," I said. My voice was loud, echoing slightly against the marble walls. It was an expensive, hollow silence in this place. The house was completely dead inside. "I am here to see the family."
"Of course, Dr. Solene," Thomas replied, stepping aside immediately and gesturing toward the long, portrait-lined hallway. "They are having afternoon tea in the main drawing room. Right this way."