Chapter 4: The Miracle and the Shadow in the Lounge
The red "In Surgery" light glowed like a warning sign above the heavy double doors. For Alexander Blackwood, that light felt like a countdown to his own judgment.
He paced the hallway, his footsteps echoing like a heartbeat. Every few seconds, his eyes flickered toward the elevator that led to the private VIP lounge. Children. The word was a splinter in his mind. Rose had been gone for five years. If she had children, they could be four, maybe five years old.
The math was a cold blade to his throat.
"Alexander, darling, you need to sit down," Evelyn purred, reaching for his arm. Her voice, which he once thought was the sweetest sound in the world, now grated on his nerves like sandpaper on glass. "The best doctors are in there. Even if it is... her... she's a professional, right?"
Alexander shrugged her off with a violence that made her gasp. "Don't touch me, Evelyn. My grandmother is dying, and the woman I threw away is the only one who can save her. Do you have any idea how pathetic I feel right now?"
Victoria Blackwood sat on a nearby bench, her face pale. "She's a Valentine, Alexander. How is that possible? That quiet, mousey girl from the Woods family... how did she become a Valentine?"
"Because she was never a mouse, Mother," Alexander growled, his voice thick with a regret he couldn't name. "She was a lioness we tried to keep in a cage. And now, she's the one holding the keys."
He turned to his assistant, Peter. "Did you get into the lounge?"
Peter wiped sweat from his brow. "Sir, the security is... unlike anything I've seen. They aren't hospital guards. They're elite mercenaries from the Valentine estate. They won't let anyone past the foyer. Not even the nursing staff. They even brought their own catering and water."
Alexander's eyes narrowed. What is she hiding that requires mercenaries? ---
Inside the operating room, the world was silent. Rose was in the "Zone."
The monitor showed the grandmother's heart weak, fluttering, and scarred. To anyone else, it was a lost cause. To Rose, it was a puzzle.
"Increase the dopamine. Prepare the micro-stent," Rose commanded.
"Doctor, her vitals are dropping! We're losing the rhythm!" the anesthesiologist yelled.
"I said prepare the stent," Rose repeated, her voice a calm anchor in the storm. She didn't look at the monitors. She looked at the heart. She remembered this woman Grandmother Blackwood the only one who had ever tucked Rose into bed when she had a fever, the only one who told her, 'You're too good for this family, child.'
"I won't let you die," Rose whispered under her breath. "Not before you see the truth."
With a movement so fast the cameras barely caught it, Rose threaded the stent through the artery. The heart stumbled, skipped... and then, a strong, steady thump-thump filled the room.
"Rhythm stabilized," the nurse breathed, nearly sobbing with relief. "It's a miracle."
Rose didn't smile. She didn't celebrate. She simply began to close. "Notify the family. The surgery was a success. But I want 48 hours of total isolation. No visitors. Especially not the 'True Love'."
While Rose was stitching, a small drama was unfolding three floors up.
In the VIP lounge, Mila was bored. "Miles, I want the strawberry milk from the vending machine. The one Marcus brought is too healthy."
Miles didn't look up from his laptop. "No. Mommy said stay inside. The Bad Man is downstairs. If he sees your face, he'll know."
"He's a boy, he's probably stupid," Mila huffed, adjusting her designer headband. "I'll be fast. I'll wear my hoodie."
Before Miles could stop her, Mila slipped out the side door meant for the staff. She was small, fast, and knew exactly how to avoid the line of sight of the guards.
She made it to the vending machine at the end of the hall. She was just reaching for her drink when a pair of expensive leather shoes stopped right in front of her.
"A child?"
The voice was deep, authoritative, and sent a shiver down Mila's spine. She froze.
Alexander Blackwood had slipped away from the waiting room, driven by a maddening curiosity. He had seen a small figure in a white dress dart around the corner.
Mila slowly looked up.
Alexander felt the world stop. The girl standing before him had Rose's eyes emerald, bright, and filled with a hidden fire. But the curve of her nose, the shape of her lips, and the stubborn set of her chin... they were his. It was like looking into a mirror that traveled back twenty-five years.
"Who are you?" Alexander whispered, his heart thundering so loudly he could hear it in his ears. "Who is your father, little girl?"
Mila didn't cry. She didn't act scared. She tilted her head, giving him a look of pure, concentrated disdain that made Alexander flinch.
"My mommy says I shouldn't talk to strangers," Mila said, her voice a perfect imitation of Rose's cold tone. "Especially strangers who look like they need a nap. You look very old, Mister."
Alexander gasped. The sass, the arrogance... it was his own personality staring back at him in a five-year-old's body.
"Mila! Get back here!" Marcus, the head of security, appeared at the end of the hall, his face pale with terror.
He rushed forward, scooping Mila up and shielding her face from Alexander.
"Mr. Blackwood," Marcus growled, his hand resting on his holster. "You are in a restricted zone. Leave. Now."
"That child..." Alexander reached out, his hand shaking. "She looks just like ..."
"She looks like a Valentine," Marcus interrupted, stepping back into the lounge and slamming the heavy door.
Alexander stood in the empty hallway, his hand still frozen in mid-air. He wasn't a fool. He was the head of a multi-billion dollar empire. He knew the truth the moment he saw her eyes.
"Two," he whispered. "The guard said 'targets.' Plural."
He turned and ran toward the surgical wing. He didn't care about the guards. He didn't care about the "sterile zone." He needed to find Rose. He needed to wrap his hands around her shoulders and demand to know why she had stolen five years of his children's lives.
The surgical doors swung open. Rose walked out, looking exhausted but triumphant.
Alexander didn't wait. He pinned her against the wall, his arms on either side of her head, his face inches from hers.
"The girl in the lounge, Rose," he hissed, his eyes bloodshot. "She has my face. She has your eyes. Tell me the truth before I burn this hospital to the ground."
Rose looked at him, a cold, slow smile spreading across her lips. She didn't look afraid. She looked like she had been waiting for this moment for five long years.
"The truth, Alexander?" she whispered, her breath ghosting over his lips. "The truth is that you granted a divorce to a pregnant woman. You threw away your heirs for a shadow. And now? Now, you're just a stranger who isn't even allowed to say their names."
"They are mine!" he roared.
"No," Rose said, her voice dropping to a deadly, quiet chill. "They are Valentines. And if you ever touch them, I won't just perform a miracle on your grandmother I'll perform an autopsy on your empire."