Chapter 2 - The Father’s Declaration
The stark overhead lights of the Northwestern Memorial emergency corridor buzzed with a low, agonizing hum that seemed to mock the chaos inside my head.
Dr. Marcus Thorne stood tall in his blood-spattered scrubs, his gaze sharp and unyielding as he looked between Madison and me. The silence stretched so tightly that the distant wail of an ambulance siren outside felt like a physical blow.
“I asked a question,” Dr. Thorne repeated, his voice cutting through the sterile air with professional coldness. “Who among you is the father of the child? We are performing an emergency extraction right now. I need legal authorization and a direct family line immediately.”
Before I could draw breath, Madison stepped forward, her face twisted in a mixture of shock, betrayal, and absolute panic.
“He’s not!” Madison shrieked, her voice echoing down the tile corridor. “He’s my boyfriend! We came here together because I was having stomach pains! That woman—that woman is his ex-wife! They’ve been divorced for months! Julian, tell him! Tell this doctor she’s nothing to you!”
I didn’t look at Madison. Not once. My eyes remained fixed on the double doors of the operating theater, where Elena had just vanished. Every instinct in my body—the cold, calculating survival mechanism that had allowed me to build an empire from the ground up—was screaming at me to break the glass, kick the doors down, and claim what was mine.
“I am,” I said. My voice was low, devoid of hesitation, vibrating with a terrifying calm.
Dr. Thorne narrowed his eyes. “Name?”
“Julian Hayes. And she is Elena Hayes-Ashford. My wife—legally or not, that is the mother of my child on that table.”
“Julian, have you lost your mind?!” Madison screamed, grabbing my arm with fingernails dug so hard they nearly pierced my jacket. “You can’t just claim some random baby because your ex is having a medical emergency! Look at me! I am right here!”
I slowly turned my head, looking down at Madison with an expression so devoid of warmth that she instinctively stepped backward, her breath catching in her throat.
“Jonas,” I said without raising my voice.
My head of security materialized from the shadows beside the vending machines instantly. “Boss?”
“Escort Miss Chen out of the hospital. Put her in a town car, send her belongings to her apartment, and ensure she never comes within five miles of any property bearing my name.”
“Julian, you can’t do this! You’re monsters! Both of you!” Madison sobbed, her voice rising to a frantic pitch as two of my security guards stepped forward, gently but with immovable strength, grabbing her elbows and steering her toward the exit doors despite her furious thrashing.
As Madison’s cries faded down the corridor, Dr. Thorne stepped closer to me, his expression softening just a fraction.
“Mr. Hayes, your wife is in severe cardiac failure. Peripartum cardiomyopathy weakens the heart muscle during the final weeks of pregnancy or postpartum. Her blood pressure has bottomed out, and fluid is filling her lungs. We are fighting to save both her life and the baby's, but I won’t lie to you—the odds are terrifyingly stacked against us.”
“Save her,” I said, the words tearing out of my chest with raw, agonizing force. “Save my wife. And save my child. Cost is not a factor. Bring in the best specialists in the country. If you need a helicopter to airlift someone from Mayo Clinic, my private fleet is on standby. Whatever it takes.”
May you like
Dr. Thorne nodded once, the professional mask snapping back into place. “Stay right here. I’ll update you the second we have news.”
He pivoted and pushed back through the double doors, leaving me standing alone in the glaring white corridor, staring at the scuff marks on the floor where Elena’s gurney had passed just minutes before.
