Part 2: The Enemy Who Showed Up
Rain turned Chicago into a blur of glass and neon.
Nathaniel Ward didn’t wait for a driver. He took the stairs down the private suite, ignoring the stunned calls of assistants behind him. By the time he reached the garage, his coat was already soaked through.
“Mercy Harbor,” he said sharply to the driver. “And don’t stop for anything.”
Across the city, Claire Westbrook was fading in and out of consciousness under harsh hospital lights. Machines surrounded her like cold witnesses. A doctor’s voice cut through the chaos.
“We’re losing maternal blood pressure. Twins are in severe distress. We need to operate now.”
“Consent?” a nurse asked.
“No husband present,” the doctor replied. “We proceed under emergency protocol.”
Claire’s hand twitched weakly.
“Don’t… let them die,” she whispered.
At that exact moment, the doors of Mercy Harbor swung open.
Nathaniel Ward walked in, soaked, breathing hard, eyes scanning until he found the chaos.
“I’m here for Claire Westbrook,” he said.
A nurse hesitated. “Are you family?”
Nathaniel paused only once.
“Yes,” he said. “I am now.”
Behind him, hospital security tried to stop him, but Dr. Amelia Ward appeared immediately.
“Let him through,” she ordered. “He’s authorized.”
Nathaniel reached Claire’s bedside.
For a moment, everything else disappeared—the machines, the shouting, the flashing monitors.
Claire barely opened her eyes.
“I… know you,” she whispered.
“You don’t,” he said softly. “But I’m going to fix this anyway.”
A monitor alarm spiked.
“Doctor!” a nurse shouted. “We’re crashing!”
Nathaniel turned sharply. “What do you need?”
The lead surgeon looked at him like he was insane. “We need blood units. Fast. And neonatal support standing by. These babies are coming now whether we’re ready or not.”
Nathaniel pulled out his phone.
“Use Ward Biotech’s emergency medical reserve,” he said. “All hospitals in the network. Now.”
“That’s not standard procedure,” someone argued.
Nathaniel’s voice turned cold.
“Then change the standard.”
For the first time that night, things moved faster than death.
Meanwhile, across the city skyline, Damon Westbrook finally checked his phone.
Dozens of missed calls.
One message from his assistant:
“Your wife is in emergency surgery. Twins in critical condition.”
Damon stared at it for a full five seconds.
Then another message came in.
From PR:
“Media is asking questions. Ambulance footage leaked.”
Only then did he move.
May you like
Not toward the hospital.
Toward damage control.
