Lena’s surprise was palpable. “She messaged me when she got home and told me not to worry. She should be okay, right?”
Uncertainty dripped from her words. Whitney had responded the night before but had gone quiet this morning.
“Uncle Klein, I’m hanging up. I’ll call Whit to check,” Lena said, sensing the tension in his voice.
Five minutes later, Klein stared at the text on his phone, his eyes narrowing as a sense of dread washed over him.
“You handle things at Lillyand this afternoon. Book me the earliest flight back to Ravorport. I’m going back immediately,” he commanded, urgency propelling his every word.
Samuel finally arrived at the hospital, his heart racing as he dashed through the sliding glass doors, the clock striking eight.
Whitney had taken the drastic step of blocking his calls, forcing him to navigate the maze of hospital staff and visitors before he finally discovered that his mother had been transferred to the ICU on the sixteenth floor.
As he stepped out of the elevator, the sterile scent of antiseptic filled his nostrils, mingling with the faint sounds of distant beeping machines. His eyes immediately landed on Whitney at the far end of the corridor, just emerging from the doctor’s office, her expression unreadable.
“Whitney!” Samuel called out, his voice slicing through the sterile air, resonating with a mix of urgency and impatience.
She looked up, her gaze meeting his as he approached, impeccably dressed in a tailored suit that belied his age. At forty-five, he maintained a sharp appearance, thanks to his dedication to weekly workouts, but there was something unsettling about the way he carried himself today.
In that brief moment, Whitney caught a glimpse of herself reflected in his eyes-a mirror image that was both familiar and alien. There was a striking resemblance, enough to make her stomach churn.
A wave of contempt washed over her, mingling with the frustration that had been building inside her.
Tina, her sister, often bragged about how she was practically a carbon copy of their father, flaunting her looks as if they were a badge of honor.
‘What’s so great about resembling a heartless jerk?’ Whitney thought bitterly.
The unmistakable smell of alcohol clung to him, a pungent reminder of his priorities. His own mother was in surgery, fighting for her life, while he had been out entertaining clients with drinks.
‘How can he even think about drinking with everything going on?’ Whitney’s mind raced, anger bubbling beneath the surface.
“What’s with that look?” Samuel’s brow furrowed, irritation creeping into his voice as he failed to grasp the depth of her disdain.
He was her father, the patriarch of the family, and he had never tolerated defiance from anyone, especially not from his own daughter.
“Where is she? Which room is she in? I need to see her,” he demanded, his tone brisk as he marched forward, determination etched on his face.
Whitney met his advance with a cold, indifferent smile. “Grandma had a stroke. She’s in the ICU.”
“A stroke?” he echoed, genuine surprise flickering across his features.
“That’s serious,” he thought, the weight of the situation beginning to sink in.
“Didn’t I tell you to call Laura? Why didn’t you?” he pressed, his voice sharp and accusatory.
Whitney shot him a frosty glance, her eyes narrowing. “She and Grandma never got along. You want Grandma dead, don’t you?”
“You!” Samuel’s fury flared, rendering him momentarily speechless.
“Which room is it? Take me to her!” he insisted, his voice rising with urgency.
Whitney regarded him with a look that suggested he was utterly clueless. “Don’t you even know that ICU visiting hours are from three to five?”
Samuel felt the air leave his lungs as Whitney’s words struck him like a slap.
It was already eight o’clock; visiting hours had long since passed.
“So, did the doctor say anything about treatment? Is she even going to wake up? And if she does, will she just be a shell of her former self?” Samuel’s voice dripped with impatience, his cold demeanor a stark contrast to the gravity of the situation.
Whitney slowly lifted her head, her bloodshot eyes locking onto his, unyielding and fierce.
“Who even says something like that?” she shot back, her voice taut with anger.
“Dad, do you really not want Grandma to get better?” she asked, her voice trembling with a mix of rage and hurt.
In that moment, Samuel realized he had crossed a line with his callous words.
He cleared his throat, masking his discomfort, and shot her a glare that was meant to intimidate. “She’s my mother! Why wouldn’t I want her to get better? Whitney, do you even hear what you’re saying?”
“Since we can’t visit her, just go ahead and have the wedding as planned tomorrow,” he said, his tone dismissive, as if the impending ceremony was of greater importance than his own mother’s life.
Whitney raised her arm, encased in a sling, and shot him a look filled with icy disbelief. “You really think I can get married like this?”
Samuel, lost in his own thoughts, barely registered her words.
“What happened to your hand this time? Tomorrow’s such an important day, and you still managed to hurt yourself?” he snapped, annoyance creeping into his voice.
He glanced at her cast with disdain, as if it were a personal affront. “Just take it off. As long as you keep your arm down tomorrow, nobody will even notice.”
“Suck it up until the wedding’s over. Then you can go get it re-cast,” he added, his tone cold and unfeeling.
His heartless words sliced through Whitney, leaving her feeling as if he had torn her heart to shreds, each word a jagged wound that throbbed painfully.
An icy wind seemed to sweep through those wounds, deepening her anguish.
“So you really can’t wait to tie the knot with the Harris family, huh?” Whitney shot back, her voice dripping with contempt.
“That’s right!” Samuel replied, undeterred. “I need their money, their backing, and all the connections they bring.”
He laid bare his ambitions, his eyes gleaming with a ruthless determination that made Whitney’s skin crawl.
If she agreed to marry into the Harris family without putting up a fight, that would be ideal.
But if she resisted, he would ensure she was there, even if it meant employing ten bodyguards to drag her to the altar against her will.
Whitney scoffed, her voice icy. “So now you’re the one begging me?”
The word “begging” struck a nerve with Samuel, but he brushed it aside, unwilling to show weakness.
“Whatever. Call it begging if you want,” he muttered, frustration seeping into his tone.
“Fine, I’ll show up tomorrow. Just meet me at the chapel. I don’t need any of the pre-ceremony stuff,” Whitney declared, her voice cold and indifferent.
Samuel paused, processing her words before nodding curtly. “Alright. If you don’t want any of the pre-ceremony formalities, I’ll let the Harris family know.”
The formalities were mere window dressing; everyone understood that the banquet was the real event that mattered.
*****
When Klein arrived at the hospital, he was met with the unsettling news that Samuel and Whitney had just left.
He quickly approached the doctor, firing off a few questions before peering through the glass at Patricia.
Just days ago, she had been vibrant and full of life, but now she lay motionless, connected to an array of tubes that seemed to sap the very essence from her.
Klein stood outside her hospital room, his heart heavy, and called his niece, Lena Harris, once more.
“Has anyone been to Harris Manor in the past couple of days?” he inquired, his voice tinged with concern.
“No, not that I know of. Uncle Klein, what’s going on?” Lena replied, her tone laced with worry.
“Alright, I got it,” Klein responded, his mind racing.
He hung up the phone, his gaze dropping as a knot of anxiety formed in his chest.
‘Is she really still going to go through with this marriage?’ Klein wondered, the thought gnawing at him.
‘I heard she got hurt in a car accident. Is she really okay?’ The worry tightened around him like a vice.
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.