Chapter 141 Ju...li...an...
Victoria: POV
I heard the door open. Elena's footsteps—hesitant at first, then stopping abruptly.
In the silence, I could imagine her staring at the monitors, at the numbers I'd carefully orchestrated. Heart rate barely registering, oxygen saturation plummeting. The IV drip I'd tampered with doing its deadly work.
Then, a sharp intake of breath.
"Mom!"
I heard her grab Josephine's hand, her voice trembling with terror. The rustle of bedsheets as she leaned over her mother, the chair scraping against the floor as she knocked it aside in her panic.
"Mom, no—wake up! Please wake up!"
A pause. Then I heard her gasp—she'd seen the morphine pump. Seen the dosage display that I'd manipulated just minutes before.
"Oh my God—"
The frantic slapping of the call button, over and over. The plastic clicking echoing through the room like gunshots.
"Help! I need help in here! Code blue! CODE BLUE!"
I pressed myself deeper behind the curtain, my broken ribs screaming with each shallow breath. The fabric scratched against my face as I tried to make myself invisible. Through the gap in the fabric, I could see Elena's silhouette bent over the bed, her hands searching desperately for a pulse at her mother's neck, her fingers trembling against the pale skin.
"No no no—Mom, please—I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have left—"
The guilt in her voice was perfect. Exactly what I'd counted on. She'd blame herself first, then Julian.
The door burst open. Sarah Chen's voice, professional but strained:
"What happened? When did this start?"
"I don't know!" Elena's voice cracked. "I just—I went to the bathroom, I was only gone five minutes—maybe ten—"
I could hear Sarah moving around the bed, the snap of a penlight checking pupils. The rustle of her scrubs as she bent over Josephine. Then her sharp intake of breath as she spotted the morphine pump.
"This isn't right. This isn't the dosage I set. Someone changed—" Her voice rose to a shout toward the hallway. "I need a crash cart in 407! Now! And call security!"
Running footsteps. Multiple voices converging. The controlled chaos of a medical emergency.
"What's the situation?"
"Morphine overdose, possible tampering—"
"Get me Narcan, two milligrams IV push—"
"Where's the crash cart?"
"Coming down the hall now—"
I pressed harder against the wall, my heart pounding so loud I was certain they'd hear it over the alarms. But they were focused entirely on Josephine, on the code blue, on trying to reverse what I'd done. The monitors were screaming now, a cacophony of electronic warnings.
"Starting compressions—"
"Narcan is in—"
"Come on, Mrs. Vance, come on—"
The rhythmic thump of chest compressions. Elena's sobbing—raw, desperate sounds that might have moved me once. Someone shouting "Clear!" followed by the electric jolt of the defibrillator. The smell of ozone filled the air.
"Still no pulse. Continue compressions. Another round of Narcan—"
"How long has she been down?"
"Unknown—daughter found her like this—"
In the chaos, no one thought to check behind the curtain. I edged toward the utility corridor door—my planned escape route. Only a few feet away, but it might as well have been miles. Each step sent lightning bolts of agony through my broken ribs, forcing me to grip the wall for support.
One step. Then another. The linoleum was cold under my bare feet.
"Wait—I've got something! Faint pulse, very weak—"
I froze, my hand inches from the door handle.
No. She's supposed to be dead.
"Pulse confirmed. Rate is 15, barely there—"
"Mrs. Vance? Can you hear me?"
Through the curtain gap, I saw Josephine's eyelids flutter. Her chest rising and falling in shallow, irregular breaths.
"She's trying to open her eyes—"
"Mom!" Elena's voice, desperate and hopeful. "Mom, I'm here, I'm right here—"
"Ma'am, you're in the hospital. You're safe. Can you tell me your name?"
A long pause. The monitors beeping erratically. I could hear Elena holding her breath.
Then, barely audible:
"Jo...se...phine..."
"Good, that's good. Mrs. Vance, do you know what happened? Do you remember anything?"
Another pause. Longer this time. I could practically feel the tension in the room.
Then, in a voice like broken glass:
"Ju...li...an..."
My blood turned to ice.
She heard me. She fucking heard me.
When I'd whispered in her ear as the morphine took hold, telling her Julian had sent me, I thought she was already unconscious. But some part of her had been listening, recording, remembering.
"What?" Elena leaned closer, her voice urgent. "What about Julian, Mom?"
"He...sent..."
"Who did he send? Mom, I don't understand—"
But Josephine's eyes were already closing again. The brief spark of consciousness fading like a candle in the wind.
"We're losing her again—"
"Push another round of epi—"
"Charging to 200—"
"Clear!"
The monitors shrieked. Then fell silent.
"Asystole. Continue compressions—"
"Time of death?"
"Keep going—we're not calling it yet—"
I didn't wait to hear more. While they fought to save her, I slipped through the utility corridor door and began my escape.
Down the narrow hallway lined with supply closets and maintenance equipment. Through the stairwell, my footsteps echoing off concrete walls. Each step down the stairs sent daggers of pain through my broken ribs, forcing me to grip the handrail and pause every few steps to catch my breath.
Fourth floor. I stumbled, nearly falling, my vision blurring from the pain.
Third floor. I had to stop and lean against the wall, gasping.
Second floor. My legs were shaking now, sweat beading on my forehead despite the cold.
Shouting above me—security searching the floor. Radios crackling with urgent communications.
First floor. I pushed through the exit into a service corridor, my body screaming in protest. Nearly collided with a janitor pushing a cart of cleaning supplies.
"Emergency on four," I gasped, not stopping. "They need everyone—"
He dropped his mop and headed for the elevator. I continued my painful journey toward the loading dock, past industrial washers and the smell of disinfectant.
The door. Morning air hit my face like a slap. The city waking up beyond the hospital walls—traffic humming, people walking to work, life continuing as if nothing had changed.
I ducked behind a dumpster, ripped off the scrubs, threw them inside with the rest of the medical waste. My hands shook as I pulled the hoodie over my head, transforming from hospital staff back to anonymous civilian.
She said Julian's name. She told them Julian sent someone.
I stumbled into the street, joining the morning foot traffic. Just another person heading to work, clutching a coffee, checking their phone. But inside, I was screaming.
Because Josephine had survived long enough to speak. Had given Elena exactly what I'd wanted—suspicion of Julian.
Three blocks to the subway. To my bank. To the safety deposit box with cash, passport, laptop. Everything I needed to disappear completely.
Victoria Ashford. A name that meant nothing to anyone.
My phone buzzed as I sat on the train.
BREAKING: Major medical incident under investigation at local hospital. Officials confirm suspicious circumstances involving patient care.
I stared at the screen, my reflection ghostlike in the dark window.
Major medical incident.
The vague wording told me everything. She'd died after all. The resuscitation had failed.
But not before she'd spoken. Not before she'd said Julian's name.
I gathered my escape kit and walked out of that bank into a world where I no longer existed.
As I disappeared into the morning crowds, one thought echoed through my mind:
I wanted Julian to suffer. To lose Elena. To feel what I felt when he destroyed my life.
And it happened exactly as I planned.
Elena believed Julian had killed her mother.
She would leave him now. Julian would lose everything he loved, just like I had.
Finally, he would understand the pain of losing what mattered most.