CHAPTER 4

Jett

The emergency responders rush onto the scene, their uniforms a blur of neon amidst the chaos. With practiced efficiency, they administer first aid, swiftly stabilizing Lilac before carefully maneuvering her onto the stretcher. With synchronized movements, they load her into the waiting ambulance, the doors slamming shut with a sense of urgency.

Relief floods over me as they reassure me of Lilac's condition. Her arm is broken, but her ribs remain intact, a small mercy in this situation. Though her head injury raises concerns, the paramedics assure me it's not severe, though they recommend further testing.

Gratitude wells within me. "I'll follow you to the hospital," I inform the paramedic.

Returning to my car, my eyes land on Amanda, who's engrossed in fixing her makeup. "What are you doing?" I exclaim, incredulous. While I'm consumed with worry for Lilac, our wedding planner, Amanda seems preoccupied with her appearance.

"I have to look good in front of the camera. People will know," she shoots back. "We're going to the hospital, right? They can't take pictures of me disheveled."

"You're not coming with me," I assert, growing increasingly intolerant of her presence. How can I endure this irritation any longer? Good Lord.

"Why not? We're in this together! Isn't it better if the public sees us supporting each other?"

A vein pulses in my temple; grudgingly, I admit she has a point. The woman knows how to handle a crowd, one of the reasons I'm marrying her.

"Just keep your mouth shut and refrain from unnecessary chatter," I command. "I don't want to hear your rant on the way to the hospital or upon arrival. Understand?"

Amanda presses her thumb and forefinger together, sliding them across her sealed lips. She won't be talking.

I nod and peel out of there as if the Ghost Rider is on my tail. When we reach the hospital, the entire medical staff is in a frenzy due to a vehicular accident—a collision between two buses.

Swiftly, I whip out my phone and dial the hospital director. Meanwhile, Amanda appears shell-shocked amidst the chaotic scene of blood and commotion. I grab her arm and pull her away from the crowd.

"Stay composed," I murmur in her ear. Five minutes later, the director arrives. I brief her about Lilac's situation, emphasizing the need for her to be the top priority. The influence of money and power works wonders; within three minutes of our conversation, another doctor clocks in.

While the medical team tends to Lilac, I search for her phone. It's locked with a fingerprint sensor. I gently take her hand, and she furrows her brow subtly, letting out a groan. I stare at her pallid face; she must be in a lot of pain. 

Guilt gnaws at me as I urge the doctor to ensure Lilac receives optimal care, to minimize her discomfort. After guiding her thumb to unlock the phone, I release her hand and turn my attention to locating her family and friends' contact details.

Among her recent calls, one name stands out—Franco, the flamboyant man from the shop, who I recall vividly. With determination, I dial his number, and he picks up on the first ring.

"Howdy, babe," Franco chirps in his characteristic tone. "What's cooking?"

"Franco?" I confirm.

There's a brief pause on the other end before he bursts into animated chatter.

"Holy shit, has Lilac finally nabbed herself a beau? Don't fret, darling, I'm not interested. I don't go after skirt-wearers, just the skirt-chasers."

"No, it's not like that. This is Jett Byrd," I interject before he can continue.

Another moment of silence follows, and before he can respond, I take charge of the conversation.

"Rush over to Havelton Hospital immediately. Lilac urgently needs you. Spread the word to the others," I instruct firmly, terminating the call as I spot Amanda striding angrily towards me.

"What's wrong now?" I ask, bracing myself for her outburst.

"God, I detest this place!" Amanda exclaims, her frustration evident as she tosses her hair dramatically.

"You're free to leave if you want," I offer solemnly, sensing her agitation.

"No way. This could be good for us. Amanda and Jett's hospital visit to help their wedding planner. That's a positive headline, right?" she suggests optimistically.

"Amanda, this isn't headline material. I accidentally hit her with the car," I admit, my patience wearing thin as I raise my voice. "You know what? I'd rather you went home now. Get some beauty sleep."

"Jett!" she exclaims, her foot stomping with frustration. "Are you suggesting I look haggard?"

Seriously, is that all she heard? Before I can respond, a doctor calls for Lilac's family members.

"They're on their way," I confirm. Earlier, I couldn’t find her parents’ number in her phone. Thankfully, Lilac has her friends at the top of her contacts.

"Got it. So, you're the one who hit her with the car?" the doctor queries, and I nod.

Amanda interrupts, "Just so you know, she's the one who dashed into our car. Came out of nowhere, straight into our hood. Smells like a scam, if you ask me." She rolls her eyes, scoffing.

Before I can erupt in anger, a woman's voice interrupts, "Excuse me, what did you just say?"

I whirl around, spotting one of Lilac's coworkers, the receptionist. Her name, if I recall correctly, is Kimberly.

"You're Kimberly, right? I'm relieved you're here," I breathe out heavily. Lilac needs the comfort of familiar faces.

Kimberly shoots a sharp glance at Amanda as she responds, "I had plans nearby, so when Franco told me, I hurried over. How is she?"

"The doctor says she's okay," Amanda replies, then adds, "Since she's fine, there's no need for you to linger. Why don't you join me and help open the shop to retrieve my jewelry?"

I draw in a deep breath, casting a frustrated glance at Amanda. My prior belief that she'd be a supportive spouse is quickly unraveling.

"Seriously?" Kimberly's voice rises sharply as she fixes Amanda with a steely gaze. "Can't you see what's happening here? Are you suggesting that your jewelry is more important than my friend?"

"Didn't I tell you she's fine?" Amanda retorts sharply, her voice dripping with disdain. "My jewelry is worth a fortune. Probably more than your friend's organs. I'm calling the police!" With a dramatic flourish, Amanda whips out her phone.

"Are you threatening me?" Kimberly gasps, her eyes widening in shock. She takes a deep breath, attempting to regain composure, but her clenched fists and rolled-up sleeves suggest otherwise. She inches forward, ready to throw punches, and Amanda takes a hesitant step back, clearly intimidated.

Perhaps I should allow Kimberly to knock some sense into Amanda. Frustration coursing through me, I run my fingers through my hair and step between them, pushing Amanda away.

"Leave. You're not wanted here," I hiss into Amanda's ear.

She stiffens, disbelief flashing across her face as she looks up at me. I raise an eyebrow in response.

Amanda's frown deepens, her voice shaky as she protests, "But I'm your fiancée."

"And you're being completely unreasonable," I whisper into her hair, my frustration evident in my tone. "So unreasonable that you're making me reconsider our engagement. Take it as a warning."

Amanda visibly pales at my words, her eyes widening in shock before she hurriedly flees the hospital as if chased by ghosts, tears streaking her cheeks.

Franco and an unfamiliar woman burst into the hospital, narrowly missing Amanda's hasty departure.

"What happened to her?" Franco demands, his gaze tracking Amanda's swift exit.

"If she dares show her face again, she'll regret it!" Kimberly's voice rings out angrily.

"I'll ensure she learns her lesson," I mutter with a sigh, feeling a weight of responsibility settling on my shoulders.

Franco eyes me with a mixture of concern and bewilderment, while the unfamiliar woman inquires about Lilac's condition. "How badly is she hurt?"

I recount the events for them, and as if on cue, the doctor arrives. He updates us on Lilac's condition, revealing that she has bruises, a minor head wound, and a broken arm, but nothing more serious. He explains that her initial appearance was far more alarming than her actual injuries.

The doctor makes a swift exit, leaving me alone with Franco, who enthusiastically showers compliments on my wedding and me. Gratefully, he acknowledges my role in helping Lilac.

“You're not pointing fingers at me, are you?” I probe. Franco shakes his head, assuring me that he holds no such grudge. According to an  intel from a police friend, Lilac darted out of the alley.

“I even warned Kimberly beforehand, afraid she might throw a punch your way. That girl packs a mean hook.” Franco chuckles and adds, “Although, I doubt it would leave a mark.” His gaze lingers on my form, taking note of the partially undone buttons on my suit. “It would probably just tickle.”

I shake my head, smiling. Franco's bold enough to openly admire, but it doesn't unsettle me. Over the years, countless men and women have thrown themselves at me, often with intentions more explicit than simply staring. Admittedly, the former is more traumatizing on multiple occasions.

Kimberly, Franco, and the other girl, Jordan, leave, citing an early morning ahead. After assuring them of Lilac's well-being and my commitment to stay until she wakes up, they depart.

“I'll inform her that you guys paid a visit,” I assure them.

Kimberly gives me a once-over and advises me to call if anything comes up.

"Absolutely," I confirm. Subsequently, I make my way to Lilac’s hospital room, settling into the sofa and bending my knees due to its smaller size. 

As I observe her, worries blossom in my heart. Reaching out to a friend, I wired him money for a private investigation focused on my wedding coordinator. I hope it yields nothing.

I drift off, paying little attention to the slight discomfort in my neck and back. Unsure of the time, Lilac's moans jolts me, and I turn towards her. She's awake, staring at me with wide eyes.

I stand and walk to her side. “Hey, how are you feeling now?” I ask her gently.

“I…” She licks her lips. “I feel like a truck ran me over.”

“Well, I didn’t run you over. You’re the one who rammed yourself into my car,” I reply, giving her a once-over. “The doctor assures you'll be fine—just a few bruises and a broken arm, but otherwise, you're in the clear.”

She stays silent, avoiding my eyes before finally saying, “Thank you.”

"Your friends were here. I told them they can leave since they have an early start tomorrow," I reply. I continue to stare at her, my mind occupied with thoughts of the van I spotted last night and the results of the investigation. 

"Yeah, we're swamped with preparations for your wedding and Amanda," she replies, attempting to adjust her position.

"You know..." I pour a glass of water for her to moisten her throat. She struggles, so I bring it to her lips.

"Thanks," she murmurs.

"Well, I had you investigated," I inform her as I place the glass down and lean on the bedside table, fixing my gaze on her. "I'm afraid I have to change coordinators."

"What?" she asks in shock, her voice rising an octave. Her hands visibly tremble.

"I uncovered things that raise questions about you, so I've decided to replace you as the wedding coordinator," I tell her. "But don't worry, I'll cover the breach of contract and all your expenses during this time, including the stipulated salaries." Her face pales, resembling a sheet of bond paper.