"Mom," Claire whispered, moving swiftly to the bedside, her hand instinctively reaching for her father's other, cold hand. She clutched it, her fingers intertwining with his. "What did the doctor say? Is he... is he going to be okay?" Her voice was hoarse with unshed tears.
Evelyn's shoulders slumped. "He's out of danger for now," she murmured, her voice shaky with residual fear and exhaustion. "The doctors said it was a heart attack, but they stabilized him. He's still very weak."
Claire exhaled a shaky breath she hadn't realized she was holding. A wave of profound relief washed over her, so potent it made her knees tremble. "Thank goodness," she whispered, squeezing her father's hand gently. Despite the relief, a deep current of worry remained, etched on her face. He looked so fragile, so vulnerable.
"How did it happen?" Claire asked, her gaze sweeping over her father's still form, then turning back to Evelyn, seeking an explanation for this sudden, terrifying crisis.
Evelyn didn't reply immediately. Her eyes flickered nervously towards the door. She opened her mouth, perhaps to speak, but at that exact moment, the door pushed open wider, and Alexander Sterling entered the room.
Evelyn's tear-stained face registered immediate surprise, quickly replaced by a thin, almost deferential smile. Her eyes widened slightly, a flicker of apprehension mixed with calculated gratitude. She quickly rose from her chair, her grip on her husband's hand loosening.
"Alexander!" she exclaimed, her voice surprisingly steady, considering her earlier distress. "I... I didn't know you were coming. Thank you for coming." Her tone was overly polite, almost fawning, a stark contrast to her distraught state moments before. The power dynamics were instantly reset in Alexander's presence.
Alexander merely nodded, his gaze, though cool, holding a hint of professional assessment as it swept over the room, from Evelyn to Mr. Hayes. He moved closer to the bed, stopping at the foot, his formidable presence immediately dominating the small space.
"How is he?" Alexander asked, his voice low and devoid of warmth, but direct and to the point. There was no pretense of personal concern, only a demand for factual information.
"He's out of danger for now," Evelyn repeated, her gaze fixed on Alexander, as if seeking his approval for the doctor's report. "The doctors are optimistic, but he'll need extensive rest and recovery. It was quite... sudden."
At that exact moment, the door pushed open again. A tall, serious-faced doctor in scrubs entered, followed by the hurried nurse. Alexander turned, his attention immediately on the new arrival. "Dr. Evans". He exchanged a brief, quiet word with Dr. Evans, a nod of recognition passing between the two men.
Without a further word, Alexander turned and walked out of the room. Claire, taking one last, lingering look at her father's pale face, instinctively followed him, leaving Evelyn and Dr. Evans behind for further examination of her father. The moment the door clicked shut, the exhaustion she had been fighting for hours finally caught up to her. Her legs, already weary from her earlier ordeal at the restaurant, suddenly felt like jelly. They buckled unexpectedly beneath her, and she swayed, about to fall.
But before she could hit the sterile hospital floor, a strong arm shot out, grabbing her upper arm with a firm, almost bruising grip. Claire gasped, looking up, her tear-filled eyes meeting Alexander's rigid face. His dark eyes, though still intense, held a flash of something she couldn't decipher – perhaps surprise, or a fleeting, unacknowledged concern. His touch, though impersonal, was steady, grounding her.
She stabilized herself against his support, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Once she was upright and steady, Alexander released her arm, his hand dropping away as quickly as it had appeared, severing the brief, unexpected physical contact.
Claire took a shaky breath, her gaze still fixed on the closed door of her father's room. "I will stay here," she stated, her voice soft but resolute, a desperate need to be close to her father overriding everything else.
Alexander merely looked at her, his expression returning to its usual impassive mask. He then took out his phone. "Brenda," he said as the line connected instantly, his voice calm and authoritative. "Come to Florine Hospital."
Claire's eyes widened, her brief resolve replaced by a surge of frustration. She stepped closer to him, her voice a tense whisper. "You don't have to call Brenda. I can stay. I can take care of my father. I don't need help, and it's pretty late. It will be tiring for her." She wasn't happy with his immediate assumption of control, of his calling his assistant to handle her as if she were a minor inconvenience.
Alexander ignored her words, his gaze fixed on some point beyond her. "She will be here in a minute," he stated, his voice flat, dismissing her protest without even acknowledging it. The finality in his tone was absolute.
Claire sighed inwardly, a deep, weary exhalation. She knew it was useless to argue with him when he was in this mode. She simply didn't have the energy to fight. But then, a fresh wave of pain shot through her legs, a dull, throbbing ache that reminded her of her lingering injuries. Her knees began to tremble, and she started to slightly bend down, gripping the wall for support.
"What's wrong?" Alexander asked, his voice sharper now, his eyes narrowing as he noticed her renewed discomfort.
"Nothing," Claire murmured, gritting her teeth. "My legs are just aching. It's... it's fine."
Alexander's gaze swept over her, a flicker of something assessing in his dark eyes. He didn't offer sympathy. Instead, he stated, his voice firm and unyielding, "You're clearly not fit to stay here. You're exhausted, and your injuries haven't fully healed. You need to go home."
"No," Claire insisted, her voice weak but defiant. "I can't leave him. Not now. I have to be here, Alexander."
He took a step closer, his presence looming over her, the tension between them escalating. "Brenda will be here in a moment," he said, his voice low, leaving no room for negotiation. "You will go home. With me, or with Brenda, it makes no difference. But you will go home. You will rest. You staying here in this state will serve no purpose other than to exhaust yourself further." His gaze was unyielding, a clear message that her will, in this instance, was utterly irrelevant. He was forcing her, not with physical strength, but with the sheer weight of his authority and his unshakeable conviction. A sharp, almost painful tension vibrated in the air between them, a silent battle of wills where Claire, weakened and weary, knew she was outmatched.
The door pushed open again. Evelyn emerged with Dr. Evans. Evelyn's face, though still strained from tears, held a new, almost smug relief.
"Doctor said no need to worry," Evelyn announced, her gaze darting to Alexander, her voice a little too bright, eager for his approval.
Alexander nodded, his expression softening imperceptibly as he took the words. He then said, "I will arrange for a leading specialist, Dr. Aris, to consult on Mr. Hayes's case and oversee his recovery plan, to ensure nothing is overlooked." His gaze was intense, a clear statement of his commitment to her father-in-law's well-being, framed as a strategic decision.
Evelyn's face lit up, a genuine, if self-serving, delight shining in her eyes. Getting more attention and resources from Alexander Sterling was clearly a major victory for her. "Oh, Alexander! Thank you, thank you!" she gushed, practically beaming.
Alexander merely gave a curt nod, his attention already shifting back to Claire. His voice, crisp and decisive, left no room for argument. "Claire, we need to go home. Now. You're exhausted."
Claire's face showed a clear "no," her eyes pleading, still fixed on the closed door behind which her father lay. She wanted to protest, to argue, to insist on staying. But before she could voice her refusal, Evelyn stepped forward, her hand on Claire's arm, her smile firm.
"Claire, dear, Alexander is right," Evelyn said, her tone surprisingly insistent, almost as if she were speaking to a difficult child. "Your father is stable now, and Alexander is arranging the very best. You need to rest. Go home with Alexander. We'll call you if anything changes." Her words, while seemingly caring, also held the unspoken command to not interfere with Alexander's arrangements, and perhaps, to remove a redundant presence.
Caught between Alexander's unyielding command and Evelyn's unexpected insistence, Claire felt the last vestiges of her strength drain away.
With a defeated sigh, she nodded, a silent acknowledgment of her lack of choice. She would go home. With Alexander.
The walk to the limousine was filled with a palpable, slight tension. Claire's every step was a quiet protest, her body stiff with unwilling compliance. Alexander walked beside her, his presence a formidable, silent wall. He didn't offer a hand, didn't speak. His silence was heavy, filled with the unspoken weight of his authority, and Claire's simmering resentment. She felt like a pawn, moved by forces far beyond her control, and the luxurious car that awaited them felt less like transport and more like a gilded cage, whisking her further away from her own agency.