Damien walked down the pristine hallway of Elias' private clinic.
Elias was waiting for him outside Recovery Room 3, leaning against the wall and staring blankly at an iPad.
"How is she?" Damien asked, his voice dropping into its usual, flat baritone as he stopped in front of his friend.
"She'll live," Elias sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose beneath his glasses. "The bullet missed the femoral artery and shattered zero bone. It's a clean through-and-through. But she lost a significant amount of blood. Walking is going to be incredibly difficult for at least a month. So, she is going to need a full-time caretaker just to help her get from a bed to a bathroom."
Damien's jaw twitched. "Understood."
Inside the plush, five-star recovery suite, Diana's ears perked up.
She heard her brother's voice through the door. Instantly, she sprang into action. She aggressively chucked the latest issue of Vogue across the room, watching it slide safely under the visitor's sofa.
