Chapter 156
Chapter 156:
Silence. Absolute, terrified silence.
Shaw looked at Atticus. She saw the checkbook of God in his eyes.
“You can’t be serious,” she whispered.
“Try me,” Atticus said.
Vivian grabbed Shaw’s arm. “Don’t listen to him! He’s emotional! He can’t just p>
“He can,” Edward interrupted. “And he will p>
Aurora reached into her bag. She pulled out a document. It was a single page, dense with legal text.
“Liability waiver,” Aurora said, holding it out to Shaw. “It indemnifies the hospital, you, and your staff completely. If she dies, it is my failure. If she lives, it is your miracle. Sign it p>
Shaw snatched the paper. She scanned it. It was ironclad. She looked at the dying woman through the glass, then at the waiver, then at the billionaire ready to destroy her life.
She stepped aside.
“Scrub in,” Shaw hissed. “But if you kill her, I will testify against you p>
Aurora didn’t answer. She entered the anteroom.
Edward watched her through the glass as she washed her hands. The way she moved—efficient, graceful, purposeful.
Catherine gripped Edward’s hand. “She walks just like p>
“Like Aurora,” Edward finished.
Vivian heard this. Her blood ran cold. She backed away slowly, pulling out her phone. She texted her lawyer.
Investigate Aurora Vance. I want everything. Birth records. Adoption papers. Everything. Now.
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Inside the scrub room, Aurora looked at her reflection in the steel mirror above the sink. The water ran over her hands. She looked up and met her own eyes. Then she looked through the glass at Edward, who was staring at her with that heartbreaking hope.
She saw it.
The shape of the eyes. The arch of the brow.
The realization hit her like a physical blow to the stomach. She gripped the edge of the sink, her knuckles white.
No.
It couldn’t be. She was Vance. Granddaughter of Arthur Vance. The trailer park prodigy.
But the pull… the resonance…
She shook her head violently, splashing cold water on her face.
Not now. Focus. The patient.
She turned off the tap. She pushed through the swinging doors into the ICU.
The ICU was cold, kept at a temperature meant to preserve organs. The rhythmic whoosh-click of the ventilator was the heartbeat of the room.
Aurora approached the bed. The Matriarch looked small, fragile, her skin the color of ash.
Aurora opened her leather case. She unrolled the velvet cloth, revealing the rows of needles. Some silver, some gold. They glinted under the surgical lights.
A nurse gasped. “Acupuncture? For a hemorrhage p>