~LAYLA~
The world turned into a mix of bright lights and loud voices.
"Grandfather!" I called, my hands clutching the lapels of his velvet tuxedo. He was very still.
"Back up! Give him air!" Axel’s voice bood above the chaos.
He was beside in an instant, dropping to his knees. He placed two fingers against the Duke’s neck as he tried to read his pulse.
"Is he..." I couldn’t finish the sentence.
"He has a pulse," Axel said, and I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. "It’s thready. We need a dic now!"
Isabelle appeared at the edge of the dais. Her face was pale, her makeup streaked with tears, but her eyes were darting around the room, assessing the crowd, the press, and the damage.
"You did this!" she shrieked, pointing a trembling finger at . "You and your demands! You pushed him too far! I told him his heart couldn’t take the excitent!"
The caras flashed, capturing her accusation. She was already spinning the narrative. She was already writing the headline: Estranged Granddaughter Kills Duke.
"Shut up, Isabelle," Axel snarled without looking up.
Paramedics burst through the double doors, pushing through the stunned crowd of aristocrats. They swarmed the stage, pushing me back. I tried to stay close, but strong arms wrapped around my waist, holding steady.
"Let them work, Layla," Axel whispered into my hair. "Let them work."
I watched as they cut open the Duke’s shirt, attaching leads to his chest. Then loaded him onto a stretcher. I watched the oxygen mask fog up with his shallow breaths.
"I’m going with him," I said in a shaky voice.
"Family only," one of the paramedics said as they rushed the stretcher toward the exit.
"I am his granddaughter," I said, stepping forward.
"She is nothing!" Isabelle shouted, chasing after the stretcher. "I am his daughter! I am his next of kin! I forbid her from the ambulance!"
The paramedic looked between us. "We don’t have ti for this," he snapped. "Daughter, get in. We need to move."
Isabelle climbed in, shooting a look of pure triumph before the doors slamd shut.
I stood there, stranded in my erald gown, watching the flashing blue lights disappear into the rainy night.
"Co on," Axel said, grabbing my hand. "We’re following them."
—
The waiting room at St. Jude’s Hospital felt clean but uncomfortable.
It had been two hours. Two hours of silence. Two hours of staring at the clock.
Isabelle and Julian were huddled in the corner. Julian was on his phone, furiously whispering to soone, likely a lawyer or a PR firm. Isabelle was pacing, glaring at every time she turned.
I sat in a plastic chair, shivering. The adrenaline had worn off, leaving only the cold reality that the only person in that house who actually cared about might be dying.
Axel had draped his tuxedo jacket over my shoulders. He stood guard next to my chair, his arms crossed, staring down anyone who dared to approach.
The double doors finally swung open, and a doctor in blue scrubs walked out, looking exhausted.
Isabelle lunged forward. "How is he? Is he awake?"
"He’s alive," the doctor said, and I breathed in relief. "But it was a massive stroke, Lady Isabelle. He is currently in a dically induced coma to reduce swelling in the brain. The next twenty-four hours are critical."
"Will he wake up?" I asked, standing up.
The doctor looked at , then back at Isabelle. "It’s too early to tell. If he does... there may be significant impairnt. Speech, movent, it’s all uncertain."
Isabelle let out a sob, leaning into Julian.
"Can we see him?" Julian asked.
"Briefly," the doctor said. "Two at a time."
"I’ll go," Isabelle said instantly. "And Julian."
"I want to see him," I said, stepping forward.
Isabelle whirled on . "You? You’ve done enough damage. You aren’t family, Layla. You’re a spectacle, a stressor. The doctor said he needs rest. Your presence is a threat to his recovery."
"But I am family. I’m his granddaughter," I said, my voice hardening. "He acknowledged ."
"He announced it to a room full of drunks," Isabelle spat. "But did he sign the papers?"
The question hung in the air like a guillotine blade.
Axel stiffened beside .
From the hallway entrance, a grey-haired man in a raincoat hurried toward us. It was Mr. Sterling, the family solicitor. He looked ashen.
"Mr. Sterling," Julian said, intercepting him. "Tell you have the docunts."
Sterling stopped, looking between Axel and Isabelle. He took off his glasses, wiping them nervously with a handkerchief.
"The papers were drawn up," Sterling said quietly. "The transfer of the estate, the andment to the trust, everything was ready."
"Was?" Axel asked sharply.
"He was scheduled to sign them tomorrow morning," Sterling said. "At 9:00 AM. He wanted to make the announcent first, then sign the deed over breakfast."
I felt the blood drain from my face.
Isabelle let out a short, sharp laugh. "So," she said, smoothing her skirt. "He didn’t sign."
"Technically, no," Sterling admitted. "However, the verbal declaration in front of witnesses..."
"ans nothing in probate court without a signature," Julian finished, a slow smirk spreading across his face. "Especially if the mental state of the declarer is in question. And considering he had a stroke monts later... one could argue he was confused. Delirious, even."
"He wasn’t confused," I said, my hands clenching into fists. "He was lucid. He knew exactly what he was doing."
"Can you prove that?" Isabelle challenged, stepping closer. "Because right now, he’s in a coma. And until he wakes up and signs those papers... the old will stands. Which ans I am the executor. And I am the heir."
She looked at the doctor. "Doctor, as his next of kin and legal guardian, I am restricting his visitors. No one outside of the imdiate family is to see him. And that includes her."
She pointed at .
"Isabelle?" Axel called, his voice sounding more like a warning growl.
"Security!" Isabelle shouted.
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