Bianca Pierce stared at the blood report in her trembling hands, the numbers mocking her professional judgment. Elara's iron levels were critically low—dangerously, fatally low.
I'd been wrong. So terribly wrong.
The hallway felt too bright, too sterile as I made my way back to the hospital ward. Each step was heavier than the last. How many times had I dismissed Elara as just another manipulative rich man's wife? How many times had I sneered at her supposed "act"?
When I reached the room where Captain Donovan was being held by Victor Prescott, the tension was thick enough to suffocate. Victor's eyes were cold, unforgiving as they locked with mine.
"Well?" Captain Donovan demanded, his voice tight with anxiety. "What did the results show?"
I clutched the folder to my chest, shame burning through me. "Her condition is... critical."
"Speak plainly, Pierce," Victor snapped. "Is Mrs. Sterling's life in danger?"
