Chapter 453

[ 1,019 words ]

Noah’s POV

The hospital corridor smelled like antiseptic and rain-damp coats.

Delia walked beside me, her hand loosely in mine. She hadn’t said much on the drive over. I hadn’t either. The message from Julian had been short and sharp: Katia was in an accident. Windsor Hospital. Come if you can. Nothing about how bad it was. Nothing about why the words “accident” felt like a lie even through a text.

When we turned the corner into the private waiting area, the room was already full.

Julian stood near the window with Marcus. Grandma Celeste sat in one of the chairs, composed in the way only she could manage when the ground was shifting. A few others I didn’t know well enough to name hovered near the edges. The air felt heavy, the kind of quiet that only exists when everyone is waiting for the same door to open.

I stopped just inside and turned to Delia.

“I’m sorry,” I said, keeping my voice low. “I know you and the Windsors have a history. I should have asked you first before bringing you here p>

She looked at me for a second, then shook her head.

“It’s okay. My sister and I don’t really have a close relationship. And to be honest, most of it was my mistakes. Ninety-five percent of it p>

I stared at her. Then I reached up and pressed the back of my hand to her forehead.

“My wife admitting she was wrong. Let me feel you—do you have a fever p>

Delia swatted my hand away, but there was no real heat in it.

“Stop it, Mr. Vesper p>

I laughed under my breath. The sound felt out of place in the room, but it loosened something in my chest for half a second. I squeezed her hand once, then let go and walked toward Julian and Marcus.

Julian looked like he hadn’t sat down in hours. His shirt was wrinkled. His eyes were sharp and exhausted at the same time. Marcus stood beside him with the particular stillness he used when he was carrying information that could detonate a room.

“Same strategy,” Julian was saying when I reached them. His voice was low and controlled in a way that meant the opposite. “Why would the same strategy be used on my wife p>

Marcus answered without looking away from him.

“My guess is the person who killed your parents is the same person who tried to kill your wife p>

I froze.

The words hit me harder than I expected. For a second the corridor noise faded. I heard my own pulse in my ears.

“Do you think it’s my father p>

The question came out before I could stop it.

Every head in the immediate circle turned toward me. Julian’s gaze locked on mine. Marcus didn’t look surprised. Grandma Celeste’s expression didn’t change, but I felt the weight of her attention settle on me like a physical thing.

Julian didn’t answer right away. When he did, his voice was even.

“I can’t say it’s him because I do not have proof. So for now, everyone is a suspect p>

The sentence landed clean and cold.

I sat down in the nearest chair because standing suddenly felt like too much work. My hands rested on my knees. I stared at the floor without really seeing it.

Katia was somewhere behind those doors fighting for her life—or at least recovering from something that had been designed to end it. She was pregnant. The same method that had taken Julian’s parents had been used on the car she was driving. And the car hadn’t even been hers.

I had grown up with Elliot Vesper’s version of love: control dressed as protection, silence dressed as strength. I had watched him build things and break people with the same calm precision. I had turned away from him when he went after a child and when he put his hands on Delia. But this—

Could he target a pregnant woman?

Was Katia even the target?

The questions turned over each other without landing anywhere solid. I thought about the way he had looked at me in my own living room when I told him to leave. The blood on his mouth. The quiet, ugly calculation behind his eyes. He was capable of a great deal. I had always known that. Knowing it in the abstract and sitting in a hospital while a woman paid the price for a seat she wasn’t supposed to be in were two different things.

Delia came and sat beside me without speaking. Her shoulder brushed mine. I didn’t look at her, but I was grateful she was there.

Time dragged.

Every time footsteps approached the waiting area, the whole room tensed. Twice it was only staff passing through. The third time the door opened and a doctor stepped in, the shift in the air was immediate.

“You can see her,” he said. “She’s awake. Keep it short for now p>

Chairs scraped. People stood. Julian was moving before the sentence fully landed. Grandma Celeste rose with the same controlled speed. Others followed.

I stood too.

Then I stopped. The group moved toward the corridor that led to the rooms. Delia glanced back at me, question clear on her face. I shook my head once.

“I’ll catch up,” I said.

I didn’t.

I turned the other way and walked out of the waiting area, past the nurses’ station, toward the main exit. The rain had slowed to a steady drizzle. My car was where I had left it. I got in, started the engine, and sat for a moment with my hands on the wheel.

Katia was alive. The baby was alive. The method was the same. The target had most likely been Julian. And the only man I knew who specialized in turning personal destruction into something that looked like misfortune was the man who had raised me.

I pulled out of the hospital parking structure and turned toward the part of the city where Elliot still kept his offices.

I needed answers.

And this time I wasn’t going to accept silence.

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