Euan leaned against the cold wall, the silence of the hallway pressing in on him. Finally, the light above the operating room door went out.
He straightened, his brow tight.
The doctor emerged, his scrubs damp with sweat, his face etched with exhaustion. "Mr. Stafford, we did everything we could. We saved the mother. And she has a pair of twins, a boy and a girl. But she's extremely weak."
Euan gave a short, sharp nod. The strange knot of tension in his gut loosened slightly, though his face remained a mask.
"Arrange the best room and nursing care," he commanded.
"Of course," the doctor said, then hesitated. "Her... 'family'... they left a sum of money. They called it her 'funeral expenses.' And they instructed us, if she survived... to 'dispose' of her." The doctor's voice was thick with disgust.
Euan's eyes went cold. The air around him seemed to drop ten degrees. "I see."
He turned and walked toward the VIP wing, his back ramrod straight, radiating a chilling fury.
Two days later, Helena woke in a top-floor suite. Sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air. Two small bassinets stood beside her bed.
She struggled to sit up, her body screaming in protest. On the bedside table, she saw a new, untraceable phone and a folded note.
The nurse's handwriting explained what had happened, mentioning the stranger who had saved her and paid for everything.
Helena's heart hammered against her ribs. She grabbed the phone and dialed the number of her most trusted lawyer, her voice a raw rasp. "It's me. Helena."
The man on the other end gasped. "Helena! You're alive! Jagger Patel announced to the world that you died in a yachting accident!"
Her nails dug into her palm, leaving crescent-shaped marks. She remained unnervingly calm. "What about the company shares?"
A heavy silence. "All of them... transferred under his name, using a pre-signed authorization. Caroline Donaldson is now the second-largest shareholder of Aether."
Helena ended the call. She stared out at the New York skyline, her eyes devoid of tears. There was only a vast, frozen emptiness. She and her children were in terrible danger.
She used the phone to search the news. There it was: her own obituary. Photos of Jagger and Caroline at her "funeral," their faces contorted in a sickening performance of grief.
Suddenly, an image flashed in her mind: the stranger's face. His deep, piercing eyes. She felt a jolt of recognition, a memory from a distant, rainy night she had long tried to forget. But it was blurry, a ghost of a feeling she couldn't grasp.
Meanwhile, in the top-floor office of the Stafford Group, Euan's assistant, Paige Reynolds, was giving her report.
"CEO, regarding the patient you asked us to monitor. Her name is Helena Donaldson."
Euan's hand, which had been signing a document, paused. "Donaldson?" The name was familiar.
Paige nodded. "Yes, sir. The same Ms. Donaldson who saved you from that falling chandelier at the charity gala five years ago. But... according to the news, she passed away in an accident a few days ago."
Euan shot to his feet. He walked to the window, staring down at the city below.
So it was her. The girl he had been searching for for five years. She had reappeared only to be declared dead.
"Where is she now?" he demanded, spinning around.
Paige checked her tablet. Her expression changed. "CEO, there's a problem. The hospital just reported that Ms. Donaldson and her two children went missing half an hour ago."
A flash of anger-at himself-shot through him. He knew Jagger Patel wouldn't let her live.
Back in the hospital suite, Helena was dressed in a plain, non-descript outfit. She wrapped her two sleeping babies in blankets, her movements swift and silent.
She couldn't stay in America. She had to disappear. Completely. Until she was strong enough to return and take back what was hers.
Her gaze fell on the bedside table, where her engagement ring lay. A diamond that had once symbolized a future now represented only betrayal.
She picked it up. Without a flicker of emotion, she tossed it into the trash can.
Cradling her children, she slipped out through a service exit.
A black car was waiting in the alley. Her loyal family butler sat behind the wheel.
"Miss, where to?" he asked, his voice grave.
Helena looked down at the peaceful faces of her children. Her voice was a soft, steely whisper.
"Europe. Somewhere Jagger Patel will never find us."
The car merged into the river of taillights, vanishing into the New York night.
Hours later, Euan stood in the empty hospital room. The only trace of her was the diamond ring glinting from the bottom of the trash can.
He picked it up. Under the harsh fluorescent lights, it threw off a cold, brilliant fire, just like the look of defiance in her eyes.
