I waited anxiously in the hospital room, my mind racing with worry for Arthur. Taking on Uncle Dubois was like challenging a sleeping dragon. Few people survived the encounter unscathed.
"He shouldn't have gone alone," I muttered, pacing near the window.
One of Arthur's security men shifted positions, eyes tracking my movement. "Boss knows what he's doing, ma'am."
I chewed my lip, watching the hospital parking lot. Twenty minutes had passed since Arthur left with Felix. The tension in the room was suffocating.
Then I spotted them. Arthur emerged from a side entrance, his stride purposeful, jaw set in a hard line. Uncle Dubois's men followed at a distance, their posture suggesting an uneasy truce.
Relief washed over me until I saw who was marching through the main entrance—my mother, Genevieve Thorne, her face twisted with fury.
"She's coming," I warned the security team. "My mother."
