Chapter 3 - The Waking QueenThirty-six hours later, the storm outside Mercy Harbor had cleared, leaving a crisp, golden autumn sunlight streaming through the blinds of my private suite on the top floor.
The ventilator had been removed, and my breathing was my own again.
I opened my eyes slowly, my hazel gaze adjusting to the bright light.
Sitting in the leather chair beside my bed, looking hollowed out, disheveled, his expensive shirt rumpled and unbuttoned at the collar, was Victor. He hadn't slept, eaten, or left my bedside for two straight days.
When he saw my eyelids flutter open, he jumped up instantly, reaching out to gently touch my face. "Elena... baby... you're awake."
I didn't flinch away, but I didn't lean into his touch either. I pulled my face back slightly, my hazel eyes cold, clear, and terrifyingly distant.
Victor’s hand froze mid-air.
"Elena," he whispered, his voice trembling. "The doctors said your heart is stable... the spasm has passed..."
"Get out, Victor," I spoke softly. My voice was raspy, but it carried an unbroken, sovereign power that dropped his remaining composure into an abyss.
Victor blinked in total shock. "Elena... please... let me explain. Selena meant nothing to me. I was using her family's shipping permits to clear the Jersey docks—"
"I don't care about Selena, Victor," I interrupted flatly, looking straight into his eyes. "And I don't care about your shipping docks."
I reached over to the bedside table, where my personal belongings had been placed inside a small plastic bag. I pulled out my thin, gold wedding ring—the ring I had worn proudly for seven years—and set it flat onto the white bedsheets between us.
"You let a stranger answer your phone while I was dying on your floor," I said, every word quiet and absolute. "You traded my life for your pride. The Elena who loved you died seven seconds after she heard her voice."
Victor fell flat onto his knees beside my bed, grabbing the edge of the mattress, weeping uncontrollably. "No! Elena! You can't leave me! I will burn New York to the ground before I let you walk away from me!"
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"You won't burn anything, Victor," a deep, authoritative baritone boomed from the doorway.
Stepping into the room, flanked by two senior corporate litigation attorneys and three private security operators, was my elder brother: Gabriel Sterling—managing director of the Sterling Global Logistics Trust and the one man on the East Coast whose wealth and private security network matched Victor's empire.
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