Chapter 174 Do You Want to Die
Quinley had been waiting in the lounge, but the second she saw Marlee collapse, she bolted.
She was almost to Marlee's side when Zachary stepped in front of her.
"Ms. Promise, call an ambulance."
He caught her eye, a silent message passing between them.
Quinley got it immediately. He was telling her Marlee was faking the whole thing. Using this little stunt to dodge the question.
"Trust me," Zachary murmured close to her ear. "I have a way to make her talk."
Her heart sank, but she turned toward the door anyway.
"Right away, Mr. Jennings."
The moment Quinley left, Zachary crossed his arms and stood by the floor-to-ceiling window. "Mrs. Elikin, this is getting really old. Don't you think?"
He shot a cold glance at Marlee, still playing dead on the floor. She was committed, he'd give her that.
"Just tell me the truth. I can have Dennis released right now—safe and sound. Hell, I'll even get him that position he's been wanting."
He dangled the bait right in front of her.
Marlee didn't bite.
The woman who lived and breathed for her son stayed silent.
Which meant whatever she was hiding ran deeper than he'd thought.
Zachary didn't push. He waited. Sooner or later, she'd crack.
---
Half an hour later, the ambulance arrived.
Zachary stepped out of his office, leaving the door open behind him.
Quinley stood in the hallway, worry etched across her face as she peered inside.
"You okay?"
He walked toward her, something unreadable in his gaze.
She nodded. "I know she's faking it. You don't need to worry about me."
Zachary gave a firm nod. "This must be hard on you."
He started to reach for her shoulder, then thought better of it and pulled back.
Lucas appeared with two paramedics in tow, confusion written all over his face.
"Mr. Jennings, what happened?"
Zachary tilted his head toward the office. Lucas spotted Marlee sprawled on the floor.
"She's..."
"Faking," Quinley said flatly.
Lucas looked at her, sympathy flooding his expression.
"Get her to the hospital."
At Zachary's word, Lucas directed the paramedics. They loaded Marlee onto a stretcher and carried her out.
"Lucas, go with Ms. Promise."
Zachary saw the worry flickering in Quinley's eyes.
"Got it."
"Thank you," Quinley said softly.
---
At the hospital, Marlee was wheeled into the ER.
Lucas dropped into the seat beside Quinley on the waiting room bench. He wanted to say something comforting, but the words stuck in his throat.
"Knowing your mom's faking it..." He finally managed. "Does it hurt?"
Quinley let out a slow breath. "I didn't choose them. They chose me. They didn't give birth to me, but they raised me, so..." She shrugged. "Of course I resent it. But what am I supposed to do?"
Some things you just can't control. That's what makes them so unbearable.
Lucas patted her back awkwardly. "You'll find your birth parents. I know it."
A bitter smile ghosted across her lips.
Where were they? Were they okay? And why—why did they leave her behind?
---
Following Zachary's instructions, the hospital ran every test imaginable on Marlee.
Everything came back normal.
Lucas called with the results. Zachary's jaw tightened.
"Still not awake?"
Lucas glanced through the hospital room door. Not only was Marlee still 'out,' she looked downright comfortable.
"You can't wake someone who's pretending to sleep, right?"
"Let her sleep. We'll deal with it tomorrow."
"What about Ms. Elikin?" Lucas asked, concern creeping into his voice.
He had a million ways to play along with Marlee's games. But watching Quinley suffer through this? That was rough.
"I'll come get her."
---
After wrapping up at the office, Zachary headed to the hospital.
He wanted to take Quinley home, but she refused to budge.
"What if she just keeps pretending?"
"What do you want me to do?" His dark eyes settled on her face, waiting.
Quinley crossed her arms, her expression cooling. "I have an idea."
She laid it out for him after a moment's thought.
Zachary raised an eyebrow. "You're sure?"
She was sharp, he'd give her that. Always thinking three steps ahead.
"Let's try it."
Zachary turned to Lucas. "Make it happen."
---
Twenty minutes later, a group of white-coated doctors filed into Marlee's room.
They swarmed around her bed—lifting her eyelids, listening to her heartbeat, checking her pulse. All while speaking in hushed medical jargon that might as well have been a foreign language.
The sighing and head-shaking went on for what felt like forever, like they'd stumbled onto some mysterious, hopeless case.
Finally, they shuffled toward the door.
"Such a shame."
"Too late now."
"Poor thing."
Marlee lay there, every muscle tense from maintaining the act. The doctors came and went, muttering ominously, and now doubt wormed its way into her mind.
What weren't they telling her?
The doctors barely cleared the doorway before nurses swept in to adjust her IV.
"Poor woman," one of them whispered. "It's been hours and she still hasn't woken up."
The other nurse grabbed her arm. "Shh! Didn't they tell us not to let her know about the terminal diagnosis?"
"Terminal? God, that's awful. Why doesn't she have family here?"
"Come on, not here. Let's go."
The nurses hurried out, voices fading.
Marlee's fingers twitched against the sheets. She rolled onto her side, straining to see through the doorway.
Empty hallway. But she could swear she heard whispers.
---
By the time dusk settled over the hospital, Marlee couldn't take it anymore.
A nurse came to change her IV bag. Marlee's eyes snapped open.
"What's wrong with me?"
The nurse didn't answer. She swapped the bag and headed for the door. "You don't know?"
"Know what?"
The nurse's expression turned evasive, her head shaking like she'd said too much already. "Don't stress. Just rest. Miracles happen."
Then she was gone.
Marlee ripped out the IV needle and stumbled out of bed, not even bothering with shoes.
"Doctor!" She burst into the hallway. "What's wrong with me?"
Nurses converged on her immediately.
"Ma'am, you can't be out of bed! Your condition is serious. You need to follow doctor's orders. Come on, back to bed. We'll restart your IV."
They practically dragged her back. Her panic spiked.
"Just tell me—am I dying?"
No one answered.
Because it wasn't a nurse standing in her doorway.
It was Zachary, arms crossed, expression unreadable.
"Do you want to die?"