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Chapter 69 - Losing Control
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Isabel’s POVThe hospital loomed ahead. The taxi ride had been a blur, a whirlwind of fear and guilt that gnawed at my insides. Every turn of the wheels felt like an eternity. As we pulled up to the entrance, I threw some cash at the driver and stumbled out. I was still in my gown from last night. My heels clicked sharply against the pavement.I rushed through the sliding doors, my heart pounding in my chest. The fluorescent lights above buzzed, casting a harsh glow on everything they touched. My eyes darted around, searching, hoping, dreading. Finally, I saw him—Michael, Emerson’s secretary—pacing anxiously outside the emergency room. His usually composed demeanor was nowhere to be found. Instead, he looked like a man on the brink of collapse. When he spotted me, it was as if he had seen a lifeline.“Miss White!” Michael’s voice trembled as he hurried over. The relief in his eyes was palpable. But it was mixed with something else—desperation. “Thank God you’re here. I didn’t know who
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Isabel’s POVThe sterile hospital lights cast a harsh glare in the waiting area. My heart pounded in my chest as I sat beside Michael, Emerson’s anxious secretary. We had just watched as Lilith was taken away by the powerful Mr. Montrose.“More to what?” I asked in response to Michael’s muttering. Though I wasn’t sure I wanted to know the answer.He only shook his head, as if trying to clear his thoughts. “Never mind. Let’s focus on Mr. Williams for now.”But his words, “There must be more to this,” lingered in my mind, fueling the growing sense of unease in my gut. Something was wrong here. Something I couldn’t quite put my finger on.The silence between us was suffocating. I shifted uneasily in the hard plastic chair, trying to make sense of the whirlwind of events.Michael looked as if he hadn’t slept in days. His usually meticulous appearance was disheveled. His tie was askew, and his eyes were darkened with fatigue. He glanced at me occasionally, his expression filled with worry.
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Isabel’s POVRelief washed over me. Emerson was alive. He had made it through the surgery. I wasn’t sure how I felt about it, but my breath came a little easier knowing he hadn’t died."Can we see him?" Michael's voice broke the silence. He looked pale, his hands trembling slightly. The doctor's face softened in response. He hesitated. "Only for a short while. His vitals are still unstable, so we can’t have too many stimuli around."We followed the doctor down the dimly lit hallway, my heart racing with every step. The antiseptic smell of the hospital seemed stronger here, adding to the disorientation. We stopped at a small, private room at the end of the hall. The door creaked open, and there he was—Emerson, lying so still in the bed. He looked nothing like the man who had torn through my life with aggression and arrogance. Now, he was hooked up to machines. Tubes were snaking around his body. His head was wrapped in bandages. His face, usually so full of life and power, seemed fra
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