Lucian paced in his office, the sharp click of his polished shoes echoing off the marble floors.
His jaw was tight, his usually steady composure unraveling as Phillip's words replayed in his mind: "She's in critical condition."
He hadn't been able to concentrate since the call.
Every attempt at reading reports or responding to emails dissolved into a blur.
The thought of Eva—his wife, his anchor—suffering alone gnawed at him.
He was reaching for his phone, intending to demand updates from the hospital, when a knock on the door interrupted his spiraling thoughts.
"Come in," he called sharply, his voice edged with impatience.
The door swung open to reveal Phillip, his assistant, looking as pale and nervous as a schoolboy summoned by the principal.
Behind him, a figure loomed—tall, commanding, and unmistakable.
"Father," Lucian said, his voice hardening as he straightened.
