The call came at 4:00 PM.
"Mrs. Elliott? This is St. Jude's Hospital. Your mother... there's been an incident."
Ayla didn't hear the rest. She dropped the phone, grabbed her keys, and ran.
By the time she reached the hospital, the paparazzi were already there. Flashes blinded her as she stepped out of the taxi.
"Mrs. Elliott! Is it true she tried to overdose?"
"Is the Elliott family cutting off funding?"
Ayla pushed through them, panic clawing at her throat.
Spencer was already in the lobby. He saw Ayla and immediately rushed over, his face a mask of concern. He wrapped an arm around her, pulling her into his chest.
"Darling," he said loudly, for the benefit of the cameras. "I'm so glad you're here. It's a tragedy."
Ayla tried to pull away, but his grip tightened. "Smile," he hissed in her ear. "Don't make me look bad."
They walked into the room together. Ayla's mother, Jane, looked tiny in the hospital bed. She was pale, tubes running out of her arms.
"Mom," Ayla choked out, rushing to her side.
She opened her eyes. They were glassy. "Ayla..."
Then she saw Spencer. Her face lit up with a weak, grateful smile. "Spencer... thank you. The doctors said... you paid for the private room."
"Of course, Jane," Spencer said, stepping up beside Ayla and placing a hand on her shoulder. "Anything for family."
Ayla felt sick. He was the one poisoning her, and she was thanking him.
"You're such a good man," Jane whispered. She reached out and took Ayla's hand. Her grip was weak. "Ayla, you're so lucky. He takes such good care of us."
"Mom, please," Ayla whispered. "Just rest."
Jane's eyes drifted to Ayla's neck. Her brow furrowed, then relaxed into a smile. "Oh... I see."
"See what?" Spencer asked.
"The mark," Jane said, pointing a shaking finger at Ayla's collarbone. "A love bite. I was worried... you two seemed distant. But I see the passion is still there."
Ayla froze. Her hand flew to her neck. In her panic to leave the clinic, she'd just thrown on a coat, completely forgetting the mark Julian had left in the car. The concealer she'd applied this morning must have smudged off with her panicked sweat.
Spencer went rigid. He stared at the spot on Ayla's neck. His eyes turned black. He knew. He knew he hadn't touched her in months.
"Yes," Spencer said, his voice tight, strained. "We are very... passionate."
He squeezed Ayla's shoulder so hard she thought the bone would snap.
"I need to speak to the doctor," Spencer said abruptly. "Ayla, come with me."
"I want to stay with Mom."
"Now, Ayla."
He dragged her out of the room. He didn't stop at the nurse's station. He pulled her into the emergency stairwell and shoved her against the concrete wall.
"Who is he?" he snarled.
He jammed his thumb into the hickey on Ayla's neck, pressing hard.
She cried out, trying to push him away. "Stop! You're hurting me!"
"You think you can humiliate me?" he shouted, spit flying. "In front of your mother? In front of the press? Who is the guy? The driver? The gardener?"
"It's none of your business!" Ayla yelled back, adrenaline overriding fear. "You have Chloe! You sleep with her in my bed! I don't owe you anything!"
He raised his hand.
Ayla flinched, closing her eyes.
The door to the stairwell banged open.
"Mr. Elliott."
Spencer froze, his hand in mid-air.
Dr. Thorne stood there, holding a clipboard. He looked calm, but his eyes were sharp.
"This is a hospital," Thorne said coolly. "Not a boxing ring. If you want to assault your wife, I suggest you do it somewhere without security cameras. Or better yet, don't do it at all."
Spencer lowered his hand slowly. He adjusted his tie, regaining his composure.
"We were just having a disagreement," Spencer said. He turned to Ayla, his eyes promising murder. "We'll finish this at home."
He stormed out.
Ayla slid down the wall, shaking.
Her phone buzzed.
Creditor: I'm in the parking lot. Thorne told me. Get in the car, Ayla. Now.
Ayla looked at the phone. Then at the door where Spencer had left. This was it. He was furious. He was cornered. He would confess everything tonight, if only to gloat. This was her one chance to get the evidence she needed.
"I can't," she typed back. "If I leave, he hurts Mom."
Creditor: If you go home with him tonight, he kills you.
Ayla stood up. She wiped her face. She wasn't a victim walking to her doom. She was a surgeon, walking into a contaminated O.R. to perform a necessary, dangerous excision.
She walked out to the parking lot. But she didn't get in Julian's car. She got in Spencer's limo.
Because she needed the recording. She needed him to admit what he was doing to her mother. She needed to destroy him completely.
