Chapter 149
Chapter 149:
Buzz.
His phone, tucked into the inner pocket of his tuxedo jacket, vibrated against his heart. It was a short, sharp jolt.
He ignored it. He took another step.
Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.
It was insistent. Violent. A demand for attention that refused to be sidelined.
Atticus stopped. He swore under his breath. He reached into his pocket, intending to silence the device and continue his descent toward the woman in the green dress.
Beside him, Harper checked her own phone. The color drained from her face instantly, leaving her skin the color of old parchment.
She grabbed his arm again, this time with the strength of panic.
“Atticus,” she whispered. The amusement was gone. Her voice trembled.
He turned, ready to lash out at the interruption. “What p>
“It’s the Matriarch,” Harper said. She held up her screen. The text message was simple, brutal, and terrifying.
CODE BLUE. MOUNT SINAI.
Atticus felt the world tilt. The pull toward the terrace vanished, replaced by a cold, crushing weight of duty and fear. The Matriarch. His grandmother. The iron pillar that held the sky of the Kensington dynasty in place.
He looked back at the terrace. Aurora Vance was still there, a ghost in the wind. He felt a tear in his soul, a strange, inexplicable mourning for a conversation that hadn’t happened.
But blood was thicker than curiosity. Blood was thicker than the strange magnetism of a stranger.
“Go,” Harper urged, pushing him toward the exit. “I’ll get the car p>
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Atticus ran. He sprinted through the crowd of billionaires and socialites, ignoring their startled gasps. He didn’t look back.
Down on the terrace, Aurora turned sharply. She had felt something. A gaze. A weight lifting. She scanned the balconies above, but they were empty. The wind blew harder, chilling the sweat on her neck. She shivered, wrapping her arms around herself, feeling a sudden, profound sense of loss she couldn’t name.
The inside of the limousine was a vacuum of silence and terror. Outside, New York City was a blur of wet asphalt and red taillights, smeared by the rain that had begun to fall.
Atticus sat on the edge of the leather seat, his body rigid. He wasn’t looking at the city. He was staring at the partition, his mind replaying the last time he had seen his grandmother. She had been complaining about the tea temperature. She had been alive. Vividly, annoyingly alive.
Harper sat opposite him, a tablet illuminated on her knees. Her fingers flew across the screen, accessing the encrypted medical feeds that money and influence could buy.
“Vitals are unstable,” Harper said, her voice devoid of emotion, a coping mechanism he knew well. “Massive cerebral hemorrhage. They’re intubating her in the ambulance p>
Atticus slammed his fist into the armrest. The leather creaked.
“She was fine this morning. She was dictating letters p>
“The brain is a fragile thing, Atticus. Even for a Kensington p>
The car swerved, bypassing a line of traffic by driving on the shoulder. The driver knew the stakes.