Chapter 145
Chapter 145:
Elias: Unlikely.
Eleanor Kensington hung up the phone and turned to her daughter, Vivian.
“Can you believe the audacity?” Eleanor sneered. “Calloway tried to send that Vance girl to treat the Matriarch p>
Vivian Kensington was examining her manicure on the velvet sofa. She laughed, a sound like breaking glass.
“The one from the gossip rags? The one who broke Sterling’s finger? Please. Grandmother needs dignity, not a circus act p>
“We need real doctors,” Eleanor agreed. “For Julian p>
They stood up and walked down the long, silent corridor of the Kensington Estate. The house felt like a museum—beautiful, cold, and dead.
“We should visit him,” Eleanor said nervously. “Before the Vane watchdogs change shifts p>
They left the estate and drove to Capital Hospital. They entered the private wing through a rear entrance, flashing their VIP passes.
Julian Kensington lay in the bed inside a high-security suite. Two large men in dark suits—Vane family security—stood at the end of the hall, but Eleanor and Vivian slipped into the room while the guards were checking a nurse’s ID.
Machines beeped rhythmically. Beep. Beep. Beep.
Eleanor looked down at him. Her expression was a mix of guilt and calculation.
“If he wakes up…” Eleanor whispered. “Everything changes. The trust. The inheritance. The Vanes will take everything p>
Vivian rolled her eyes. “He won’t. It’s been two decades, Mother. His brain is mush p>
“We need to secure the alliance with the Thornes,” Eleanor said, turning away. “We’ll crash their weekend. Remind Sterling Thorne of our value p>
Your new favorite is gαℓησν𝒆𝓁s․cօm
“Fine,” Vivian said. “I need a tan anyway p>
They left the room, shutting the door.
The room was silent again, save for the machines.
A nurse, a tired woman in blue scrubs, walked over to adjust the IV drip. She checked the levels. She turned her back to write on the chart.
On the bed, Julian’s hand lay on the white sheet. Pale. Still.
Suddenly, his index finger twitched.
Once.
Then a second time. A jerky, spasmodic movement.
The nurse turned back. She looked at the hand. It was still.
“Must be a spasm,” she muttered.
She finished her notes and left the room, turning off the light.
In the darkness, Julian’s eyelid fluttered. Just a fraction. A microscopic crack in the ice.
On the train to the Hamptons, Aurora sat by the window, watching the landscape blur by.
Suddenly, a sharp pain spiked through her temple. It was blinding, intense.
She gasped, pressing her hand to her forehead.
“Rory?” Harper asked, alarmed. “You okay p>
“Yeah,” Aurora wheezed. “Just… a sudden headache. Like an ice pick p>