Chapter 3 The Emergency Call

The morning sun hit the marble countertops of the kitchen, but it brought no warmth. Seraphina sat on a stool, staring into a mug of black coffee. She hadn't slept. Her small bag was hidden in the foyer closet.

Her phone rang. A private number.

She answered immediately. "Hello?"

"Ms. Sterling?" A professional, clipped voice. "This is the emergency department at Lenox Hill Hospital. We have your brother, Sebastian Sterling, here."

The mug slipped from her fingers. It shattered on the floor, ceramic shards exploding like shrapnel. Coffee splashed onto her bare feet, burning her skin, but she didn't flinch.

"Is he... is he alive?"

"He's stable. Alcohol poisoning. His blood alcohol level was near lethal. He was brought in by a Mr. Thomas Sloan."

*Sloan.*

The name was a curse. Thomas Sloan, Tiffany's brother. The man who had systematically dismantled her father's company alongside Harrison.

"I'm coming."

She grabbed her keys, but then remembered-Harrison had taken the second set of keys to her sedan "for maintenance" last week and never returned them. Her car was effectively hostage in the garage.

"Dammit," she hissed. She opened her ride-sharing app, her fingers flying across the screen. *Confirm Pickup.*

The ride to the Upper East Side was a blur of honking horns and red lights she barely saw from the back of the Toyota Camry. Her hands gripped her knees so hard her injured wrist began to throb, a rhythmic pulse of agony that matched her heartbeat.

She ran into the lobby.

"Sebastian Sterling," she gasped at the reception desk.

"VIP Wing. Room 402."

VIP Wing? That didn't make sense. The Sterlings were broke. Sebastian barely had health insurance.

She took the elevator up, her foot tapping incessantly against the floor. When the doors opened, she rushed down the pristine, quiet hallway.

She saw him before she reached the room. Thomas Sloan was leaning against the wall outside Room 402, checking his watch. He looked up as she approached, a smirk playing on his lips.

"He couldn't handle his liquor, little girl," Thomas said, his voice oily.

Seraphina stopped in front of him. She was shaking, not with fear, but with a rage so pure it felt like fire. "You did this. You spiked him."

"I bought him a drink to celebrate a... potential investment," Thomas shrugged. "Not my fault he has no tolerance."

"Get out of my way."

She pushed past him. But as she turned the corner to enter the room, she froze.

There was a bench outside the door. Sitting on it was Harrison.

And he wasn't alone.

He was holding a woman's hand. Tiffany Sloan.

Tiffany was dressed in a pale pink cashmere sweater that made her look fragile, angelic. She was dabbing at dry eyes with a lace handkerchief. She leaned into Harrison, her head resting on his shoulder.

Harrison looked down at her with an expression of tender concern-a look he hadn't given Seraphina in years. He was rubbing Tiffany's back, whispering something soothing.

The sound of Seraphina's heels clicking on the linoleum acted like a gunshot.

Harrison looked up. His eyes didn't widen in surprise; they narrowed in annoyance. He stood up, but he didn't let go of Tiffany's hand immediately.

"Did you follow me?" he asked, his voice low and accusing.

The audacity of the question made her dizzy.

"My brother is in that room," she said, her voice trembling. "Dying. Because of her brother." She pointed a shaking finger at Tiffany.

Tiffany let out a dramatic gasp. Her hand flew to her chest, clutching the fabric of her sweater. "Oh no... my heart... it's palpitating again..."

She slumped forward. It was a performance worthy of an Oscar.

"Tiffany!" Harrison caught her. His attention snapped away from his wife instantly. "Easy, easy. Do you have your pills? Where are the beta-blockers?"

"In... my bag," Tiffany wheezed, casting a glance at Seraphina through her lashes-a glance of pure, triumphant malice.

Seraphina watched her husband fuss over his mistress. She watched him panic over a theatrical fainting spell while her own brother lay unconscious ten feet away.

The absurdity of it broke something inside her. The last thread of hope, the last lingering wish that he might still be the man she loved, snapped.

She laughed. It was a dry, hollow sound.

"You are pathetic, Harrison," she said aloud.

Harrison looked up, his face flushing with anger as he fished a pill bottle from Tiffany's purse. "My god, Seraphina. Have some compassion. She's fragile."

"She's a liar," Seraphina said coldly. "And you're a fool."

She turned her back on them and walked into Room 402, slamming the heavy door shut behind her.