---- Chapter 14 Harper Griffin POV: The world narrowed to the small, still form of the boy on the floor. Leo' s face was a terrifying shade of bluish-white, and a thin trickle of blood ran from his nose. "Keaton, call 911!" | yelled, already rushing to his side. | had some basic first aid training, a relic from a time when | thought I' d be a mother and such skills would be necessary. His pulse was thready and weak. The paramedics arrived in a blur of motion and urgency. | found myself clinging to the side of the gurney as they wheeled him out, my knuckles white. A nurse tried to hold me back at the doors of the ICU. "Are you his mother?" she asked, her voice sharp but not unkind. | froze. Keaton, who had followed me in his car, looked at me, his own face pale with shock. | pulled out my phone, my fingers fumbling as | unblocked Adler' s number and hit dial. It rang and rang, unanswered. Of course. He was likely in a drunken stupor somewhere, or with another woman, oblivious to the fact that his mistress' s son was dying. "Ma'am, we need a guardian to sign the consent forms for ---- emergency surgery," the nurse pressed, her patience wearing thin. "His condition is critical. We don't have much time." | looked at the forms she was holding out. The words "high risk" and "low probability of success" leaped out at me. My hand trembled. This wasn't my child. This was the son of the woman who had tormented me, the product of the affair that had destroyed my life. But then | looked through the small window in the ICU door and saw his small, fragile body, hooked up to a terrifying array of machines. He was just a boy. An innocent pawn in a cruel game played by selfish adults. "I'm his mother," | said, the words feeling strange and heavy on my tongue. | grabbed the pen and signed my name on the dotted line. The nurse gave me a withering look, her eyes scanning my designer dress and immaculate makeup. "You'd think a mother would be more concerned with her son's health than her appearance," she muttered before disappearing behind the swinging doors. Her judgment was a small, sharp sting, but it didn't matter. The wait was an eternity. Keaton stayed with me, a silent, solid presence in the cold, sterile waiting room. | told him everything | knew about Leo-about his rare autoimmune disease, about Juliana's neglect, about Adler's casual cruelty. Keaton listened, his jaw tight with anger. When | finished, he looked up at the ceiling, his eyes suspiciously bright. "He's just ---- a child," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "It's not his fault he was twisted into something he shouldn't be by the people who were supposed to protect him." | nodded, a lump forming in my throat. Keaton's compassion was a gentle balm on my own raw wounds. His quiet, steady support was the antithesis of Adler's loud, performative passion. Adler's love had been a raging fire-all-consuming, destructive, and ultimately, selfish. Keaton's was a gentle warmth, a steady flame that offered light and comfort without demanding to be the center of the universe. The sound of unsteady footsteps echoed down the hall. Adler. He reeked of whiskey, his hair was disheveled, and his eyes were wild and bloodshot. He saw me and his face contorted into a mask of desperate concern. "Harper? Are you hurt? Why are you at the hospital?" Before he could take another step toward me, Keaton was on his feet, blocking his path. "You should be more concerned about Leo," Keaton said, his voice laced with contempt. "He's in surgery. Fighting for his life. While you were out getting drunk." Adler blinked, confused. "Leo? Who... oh, right. The boy." He waved a dismissive hand. "Juliana's brat. What does that have to do with me? Or Harper?" He sneered. "Anyone who hurts Harper deserves what they get. | canceled his bone marrow transplant match last week. Made him go hungry for three days. | did it for you, Harper. To show you that you're the ---- only one who matters." The air in my lungs turned to ice. He had deliberately withheld life-saving medical care from a sick child. As a gesture. A twisted, monstrous love letter written in someone else's suffering. "| will only ever be good to you," he slurred, a grotesque, loving smile on his face. He was a monster. And | had once let him touch me. The thought made me want to scrub my skin raw.