Chapter 2 The Shattered Hieress

An hour later,

Blue Light Hospital,

The hospital no longer resembled a place of healing as it had been transformed into a stage, brilliantly lit by sterile fluorescence, haunted by the distant echo of camera shutters, and crawling with whispers sharp enough to cut.

At its heart lay Lily Ashton - The shattered heiress.

Her name was already on the lips of every news anchor in the city, spoken with faux concern and breathless intrigue. The Carrington legacy, now fractured and bleeding, was headlined in gold. Outside, the press clustered like vultures, their lenses trained on the building with predatory hunger. Inside, however, the silence was heavier than any siren's wail.

Lily's body lay motionless within the ICU, a pale figure swaddled in wires, tubes, and faint beeping monitors. Machines kept rhythm in her place, but the soul inside her seemed to have stepped out - trapped somewhere between the jagged edge of life and the quiet pull of death.

She hadn't stirred.

Not once, no even a twitch to reassure those watching.

The diagnosis had been cruel in its clarity: coma.

No timelines, no promises... just the waiting, the watching, and the wondering.

At the edge of the sterile room stood John Carrington, a monolith of a man whose presence once commanded boardrooms and billion-dollar mergers. But here, beside his daughter's broken form, he looked carved from stone - still tall, still sharp-suited, but with shadows etched beneath his eyes so dark they rivaled the city skyline at midnight.

Emotion didn't come easy to John; it never had. But even he couldn't completely disguise the slight tremor in his clenched jaw, the way his fingers occasionally twitched by his side. It was grief, perhaps muted and fossilized by pride.

His wife, Victoria, hovered beside him like a porcelain figurine in a gallery she disdained. Her elegance was untouched by the grief encircling the room. Platinum blonde hair sculpted into a flawless twist, lips painted with a cold, matte crimson, and eyes the color of ice melt-beautiful and utterly dispassionate. She took in Lily's condition with a tilt of the head, as though observing an inconvenience rather than a daughter near death.

Behind them, the rest of the Carrington brood had gathered, and with them came their own storm.

Avery, the eldest of the stepchildren, stood with a rigid elegance that dripped disdain. Her sleek blonde hair cascaded over her shoulders like spun gold, but there was venom behind her heavily lined eyes. She didn't need to speak, but her smirk said enough.

To her, Lily's tragedy was a twisted form of entertainment. One less obstacle in her endless quest for superiority.

Next to her, Bryce lounged like a shadow, eyes glued to the screen of his phone. Every once in a while, he glanced up - not at Lily, but at the others, as if searching for the right moment to stir trouble. His hoodie hung loosely from his frame, and the blue glow of his screen flickered like the quiet spark of coming chaos.

Brody, younger and less refined, couldn't seem to stay still. He paced like a caged wolf, his energy raw and nervous. It wasn't concern that made his hands tremble - it was anticipation, like he expected something explosive to shatter the silence.

Then there were the teen twins, Ava and Alexis. Mirror images in appearance but polar opposites in disposition. Ava's foot tapped impatiently against the tiled floor, her eyes darting between people like she was reading a script in real time. Concern wasn't real for her - it was a performance. Alexis, on the other hand, stood quietly, her expression unreadable, arms crossed, as if none of it had touched her.

The Carringtons had never been a family; they were actors in a blood-stained dynasty, each one playing their role to perfection.

And yet, none of them were prepared when Emma arrived.

She came like a gust of cold wind through a cracked door - fast, shaken, and desperate. Her boots clacked against the linoleum floor with a rhythm that screamed urgency. The moment the young teen spotted her sister's limp form through the ICU window, her breath hitched violently, and her knees almost gave way.

"No..." she whispered, voice quivering as she pressed her palm to the glass. "Please, no..."

Her gaze stayed locked on Lily. The pale skin, the bruises like ink stains across her forehead, and the slow, mechanical rise and fall of her chest... nothing about this resembled the sister she knew - the firebrand with dreams stitched into every dress, the girl who laughed too loudly and loved too deeply.

Lily's friends - Rachel, Mike, and Chris - followed her in, breathless from urgency.

Rachel, sweet and soft, was already in tears. Her curly brown hair framed her round face, and her hazel eyes brimmed with worry. She approached Emma like she might break - gently, carefully, with hands trembling at her sides.

Mike, tall and angular, stood behind her, jaw clenched so tightly it looked like he might snap a tooth. His eyes, which usually gleaming with jokes or fire, were now hollow, locked onto the lifeless body in the hospital bed. The rage flickered beneath his skin like a live wire.

Chris, all sharp edges and fierce intensity, paced like a panther just released from its cage. Her black choppy hair framed her face like jagged wings, and her green eyes burned with a fury no one else dared show openly.

"She's in a coma," Mike said after a long silence, his voice low and guttural. "Doctor said... maybe days. Maybe weeks. Maybe..."

He didn't finish; he didn't need to.

But Emma wasn't listening anyway because her gaze had shifted... the perpetuator had arrived.

Eliot Ashton - the traitor, the ex-husband, and the betrayer.

He entered the hospital like it was another gala, looking dark in his tailored suit. His polished shoes clicking with every confident step in. Hair neat, though his usual smile absent, he carried no flowers, no remorse - only arrogance.

Emma's spine stiffened, her eyes darkened. She turned sharply toward him.

"You don't belong here," she growled, blocking his path.

Behind him, Eloise Carrington - the co-conspirator, the serpent - trailed in like perfume on poison. Her blonde hair was immaculate. Her heels tapped with mocking rhythm. She offered no words, just a slow, satisfied smirk that said everything.

"I came to see Lily," Eliot said, feigning calm. "She's still my wife."

"You forfeited that title the moment you climbed into Eloise's bed," Emma snapped, her voice sharp enough to draw blood. "You did this. You broke her."

"She was already broken," Eloise sneered, arms folded across her chest. "We just stopped pretending."

"Get out," Emma hissed, stepping forward.

Eliot barely had a second to breathe before Chris stepped forward like a storm in her combat boots.

"You don't get to walk in here like you care," she snapped, her voice sharp enough to cut through steel. "You don't deserve to look at her."

"I do care. I loved her-"

"Loved?" Rachel's voice cracked. She stood rigid at Lily's bedside, eyes burning. "Is that what you call sleeping with her stepsister? If that's love, remind me never to fall in it."

"Oh, spare me the theatrics." Eloise scoffed from behind him, arms folded like a queen surveying peasants. 'You all act like she was some kind of saint. Lily had issues. Eliot just got tired of pretending."

"Pretending?" Mike barked out a laugh, but it held no humor. "Pretending to be a decent human being, maybe. You tore her apart, and now you're acting like she tripped on her own heartbreak?"

Eliot's eyes flickered-just a second, but the guilt was there, flickering like a dying flame behind steel-blue irises.

"It wasn't like that," he muttered, his voice quieter now, strained.

"Really?" Chris snarled. "Then grow a damn spine. You weren't under a spell, Eliot. You made a choice, so bear the consequences."

"You made it easy for Eliose to seduce you," Emma hissed suddenly, stepping between Mike and Rachel. Her hands shook at her sides, her voice breaking beneath the fury. "And you... my sister loved you. She trusted you, and you broke her."

"I tried to make it up with her," Eliot shot back, voice cracking with something raw and ugly. "Do you know what it's like to wake up every day knowing you destroyed the only person who ever truly believed in you?"

"Don't act like you're the victim," Rachel seethed, stepping forward now too. "You chose Eloise. You chose her over Lily, over everything. Whatever hell you're living in now, you earned it."

"Poor Eliot." Eloise rolled her eyes. "Being held hostage by two-toned drama queens with zero fashion sense. This is getting exhausting."

Chris's hand twitched, and for a split second, it looked like she might deck Eloise right across her surgically perfected jawline.

"Say one more thing, Barbie, and I swear-"

"That's ENOUGH!"

John Carrington's voice cracked through the room like thunder, silencing everyone.

He stepped forward, his eyes colder than frostbite.

"Eliot, Eloise... this isn't a courtroom or a playground. It's a hospital room where my daughter fights for her life while the two of you dance over her bones."

Eliot opened his mouth, but John raised a hand, with one sharp, final warning.

"You've said enough. Get out. Both of you."

Eloise scoffed, but Eliot hesitated. His gaze drifted to Lily, pale and still behind the glass, and for just a moment, he looked like a man crumbling from the inside out.

"She was the only light in my life," he whispered.

"Then why'd you snuff her out?" Chris answered for them all.

"Security will escort you to the parking lot." John didn't wait for more. "If either of you comes near her again without my permission, you'll regret it."

Eliot opened his mouth to argue, but John's glare turned him into silence. For the first time, he looked less like a man and more like a boy caught trespassing.

Without another word, he turned and walked away, Eloise trailing behind with one last venomous glance, followed by Victoria and her children.

And just like that, the door slammed behind them.

But the tension lingered, like smoke after a blaze, thick and choking.

"I'm going to destroy them," Emma muttered under her breath, eyes back on Lily. "They'll pay for this. I swear it."

"You don't have to," John said, voice devoid of warmth. "I already have people watching them. The moment they make a mistake..."

He didn't finish the sentence but everyone in the room understood the implication.

Outside, Bryce, who had not left, was still glued to his phone, but now his eyes glittered with interest. He had overheard everything. And to him, the unfolding chaos wasn't tragedy, it was opportunity. Drama was a game, and he had always known how to play.

Back inside the room, Emma leaned closer to Lily, reaching out and brushing her sister's hand with trembling fingers.

"We'll get justice, Lily. I promise. Just... come back."

But across the street, perched on the rooftop of an abandoned building, a man watched through the scope of a high-powered lens. His black suit was immaculate, his posture casual, and his expression unreadable.

He whispered to no one, his words devoured by the wind.

"Let the games begin."