Chapter 118 No Choice Left
Elena：POV
Julian shoved Ethan away. Ethan stumbled, caught himself against the wall, breathing hard.
"Come near her again," Julian said, his voice like ice, "and I'll destroy you. Your career, your reputation, your entire fucking life. I'll make sure every university in this country knows exactly what kind of man you are."
He straightened his shirt, suddenly looking perfectly composed despite the blood on his lip. "Understood?"
Ethan's eyes blazed with hatred. His hands were clenched into fists, knuckles white. "She doesn't belong to you anymore."
"Doesn't she?" Julian turned to me, and I saw possessiveness burning in his gaze. Raw and unfiltered. "Tell him, Elena. Tell him about last night. About how your body knows exactly who it belongs to."
My mouth opened. Then I exploded. "Have you two ever considered my feelings? I'm not some object you can fight over!"
Behind me, I heard a sound as I calmed down.
A wet, choking sound that made my blood run cold.
I turned.
Mom was doubled over on the bed, hand pressed to her mouth. Blood seeped between her fingers—dark, arterial blood that looked almost black against her pale skin.
"Mom!"
Everything else disappeared. Ethan, Julian, their fight—none of it mattered.
I ran to her, catching her as she convulsed. Her body was so light, so fragile. "No no no—"
Julian was suddenly there, his hand on Mom's shoulder, eyes sharp and assessing. "What's happening? What's wrong with her?"
"I don't know—she's bleeding—" I couldn't get the words out.
"Elena." His voice cut through my panic, sharp and commanding. "What's her medical history? Is she on blood thinners? Does she have a bleeding disorder?"
"She has cancer!" The words burst out of me. "Pancreatic cancer. Stage four. She was diagnosed six months ago."
Julian's face went completely still. "Stage four pancreatic cancer?"
"Yes—she's been getting treatment but—"
Mom coughed again, more blood spattering across the white sheets. Her eyes were unfocused, glassy.
"What treatment?" Julian was already pulling out his phone. "What medications is she on?"
"Gemcitabine and abraxane—I don't know the doses—" My voice was shaking. "Please, we need to call 911—"
"What are her recent symptoms? Weight loss? Fatigue?" He was typing rapidly on his phone.
"Both—she's lost almost thirty pounds in two months—"
"Fuck." Julian put the phone to his ear. "I need a medical helicopter. Oncology patient, stage four pancreatic adenocarcinoma, presenting with acute hemorrhage. Likely splenic artery involvement."
"How do you know that?" Ethan demanded from the doorway.
Julian ignored him. "GPS coordinates—" He rattled off the hotel's exact location. "Ten minutes? Make it five."
He knelt beside Mom, checking her pulse at her neck. His movements were confident, practiced. "Josephine, can you hear me? I'm going to help you. Just stay with me."
Mom's eyes fluttered but didn't focus.
"There's a hospital in town—" Ethan started.
"Not equipped for this." Julian's voice was flat, final. "She needs a major oncology center. Specialists. New York-Presbyterian has one of the best pancreatic cancer units in the country."
"That's hours away!" I clutched Mom tighter. "She doesn't have hours—"
"One hour by helicopter." He was already lifting Mom from my arms with surprising gentleness. "My medical team can stabilize her for transport. But we need to move now."
"Your medical team?" I stared at him.
"I keep a team on retainer." His jaw clenched. "For emergencies."
"Why would you—"
"Because I'm a paranoid bastard who likes to be prepared." He was already heading for the door, Mom cradled against his chest. "The helicopter's landing on the roof. Elena, you're coming with me."
"I'm not going anywhere with you—"
"Yes, you are." He stopped, looked at me over his shoulder. "Because right now, I'm the only chance she has. And you know it."
I stared at him, at my mother's blood on his expensive white shirt, at the split lip from Ethan's punch, at the certainty in his eyes.
He's right. God help me, he's right.
---
The rooftop was chaos.
Hotel staff in their burgundy vests trying to clear the area. Guests in bathrobes filming with their phones. The helicopter's rotors drowning out everything, whipping wind so strong I had to squint against it.
I ran after Julian, my bare feet slapping against concrete still cold from the night. My mother dying in his arms.
Medical personnel rushed toward us—people in flight suits with equipment I didn't recognize.
"Pancreatic cancer, stage four," Julian was saying to a woman in scrubs—Dr. Morrison, according to her name tag. "Diagnosed six months ago. She's been on gemcitabine and abraxane. Recent significant weight loss, increasing fatigue, now presenting with acute internal hemorrhage."
He was reciting what I'd just told him, but with the confidence of someone who knew exactly what it meant.
They took Mom from his arms, surrounded her with equipment. Monitors, IVs, oxygen mask. Her face disappeared behind tubes and wires.
"BP's dropping," someone said. "We need to move now."
"Elena!" Ethan grabbed my arm, his grip tight enough to bruise. "You don't have to go with him—"
"She's my mother—"
"Then I'm coming too—"
"No." Julian's voice cut through the chaos like a blade. "There's only room for family. And you're not family."
"Elena is my—"
"What?" Julian stepped closer, dangerous and predatory. "Your what, exactly? Your girlfriend? Your lover?" He laughed, cold and bitter. "She's my wife. The woman who spent last night screaming my name. The woman who's going to spend every night in my bed once we're back in New York."
"Ex-wife," I whispered, but no one heard me over the helicopter.
"You had your chance to be her hero," Julian continued, his eyes locked on Ethan. "You failed. Now get out of my way before I have you arrested for assault." He touched his split lip, drawing attention to the injury. "I have witnesses."
Ethan's face went white. "Elena, please—don't let him do this—"
"I have to go." I pulled away from him, tears streaming down my face. "I'm sorry, Ethan. I'm so sorry. But I have to—"
"Elena, he's manipulating you—"
"My mother is dying!" The scream tore from my throat, raw and broken. "I don't care about anything else right now. Just... go finish your research trip. Please."
Something flickered in Ethan's eyes then. Something cold and calculating that made my skin crawl.
"Fine," he said quietly, too quietly. "But this isn't over, Elena. Not by a long shot."
His second personality was indeed dangerous. I remembered how he'd acted strangely during that fight with Julian long ago—always backing down, always smiling, probably trying to get me to feel sorry for him.
But I couldn't afford to think about his weird personality disorder right now.
My mind was completely consumed with my unconscious mother.
While traveling could be relaxing, for someone who was terminally ill, it could easily worsen their fatigue and make their condition worse. I'd been so careless.