Eda Roman POV:

I stared at the forty-eight-hour preliminary review notice on the screen. A loud, high-pitched ringing exploded in my brain, drowning out the ambient noise of the hospital. Forty-eight hours. For an acute leukemia mutation, forty-eight hours was enough time for the cancer cells to entirely consume my father's internal organs.

I jabbed my thumb against the expedite button on the screen. I hit it over and over, my nail clicking frantically against the glass. The system remained completely unresponsive.

Panic seized my chest. I opened the live customer service chat within the app. My fingers were slick with cold sweat, slipping over the digital keyboard as I typed.

I sent a frantic message. I begged them to expedite the review, typing out that my father was on the verge of organ failure and could not wait two days.

The chat window showed three little dots. The agent was typing. I held my breath, my eyes boring into the screen as if sheer willpower could force a favorable answer.

A message popped up. It was a cold, automated block of corporate text telling me to wait patiently in the queue. They flatly denied the expedite request.

I looked at the agent ID number at the top of the chat. My stomach dropped, and then a hot flash of pure rage ignited in my veins. It was Sarah. Keri's direct assistant.

The anger instantly burned through my terror. I didn't type back. I bypassed the chat and directly dialed the trust's emergency hotline number listed at the bottom of the app.

The phone rang for a long time. The dial tone echoed in my ear, pulling my nerves tighter and tighter. Finally, the line clicked open. Sarah's lazy, drawn-out voice floated through the speaker.

I lowered my voice, forcing the tremor out of my vocal cords. I demanded that she push the medical funds through immediately.

Sarah chuckled. A soft, mocking sound. I heard the rustling of papers in the background. She was intentionally stalling, letting the silence stretch to torture me.

She put on her professional voice. She cited trust compliance regulations, stating that any expenditure over ten thousand dollars required a mandatory secondary review by Director Keri Lane.

I gripped the phone tighter. I told her this was a matter of life and death. My voice cracked and pitched upward, slipping out of my control.

A family walking past me in the corridor stopped and stared. Their eyes were full of judgment. I turned my back to them, pressing my forehead against the cold plaster wall to cage my rising hysteria.

Sarah's tone shifted from professional to overtly arrogant. She casually mentioned that I had used illness as an excuse to buy designer bags in the past. It was a lie. It was the exact frame job Keri had orchestrated two years ago to destroy my credibility within the family trust.

Bile rose in the back of my throat. I opened my mouth to scream at her, to defend myself, but a sharp click echoed in my ear. She had hung up.

The dial tone hummed against my cheek. The veins on the back of my hand bulged against the pale skin.

I pulled the phone away and hit redial. A computerized voice immediately informed me that my number had been temporarily restricted by the customer service system.

The humiliation was a physical weight crushing my lungs. I leaned heavily against the wall, opening my mouth to drag in ragged, shallow breaths.

The door to my father's room suddenly clicked open. An orderly stepped out, holding a clipboard. He looked at me and said my father was awake.

I shoved the phone deep into my coat pocket. I raised both hands and violently rubbed my cheeks, trying to force the blood back into my face. I stretched my lips into a stiff, ugly smile.

I pushed the heavy door open. My father was lying in the center of the bed, a network of plastic tubes snaking out of his frail arms. He looked so small. The rims of my eyes burned instantly.

He turned his head on the pillow. His voice was barely a whisper, thin and reedy. He asked me if the medical bills were very expensive. His sunken eyes were brimming with heavy guilt.

I swallowed the lump of glass in my throat. I forced a bright tone and lied straight to his face. I told him Axel had already arranged for the top specialists in the state, and the Foley Group was covering every single cent.

My father's tense shoulders relaxed. A look of profound relief washed over his face, and he closed his eyes, drifting back into a drug-induced sleep.

I backed out of the room. The moment the door clicked shut, my fake armor shattered into dust.

I realized with absolute clarity that I could not leave my father's life in Keri's hands. I had to bypass her entirely.

I opened my phone contacts. I scrolled down to the number I hadn't dialed in a full month.

The contact name was saved as Husband. But looking at the word, it felt alien, like a title belonging to a stranger.

I took a massive breath, filling my lungs until they ached. I pressed the call button and pressed the freezing metal against my ear.

"Pick up, Axel. Please pick up."

Eda Roman POV:

The phone rang for a full minute. Each long, monotonous tone scraped against my eardrums. Finally, the ringing stopped, replaced by the mechanical click of the automated voicemail system. Over the past three years, eighty percent of the calls I made to Axel ended exactly like this.

I pulled the phone away and hit the redial button. I pressed my thumb so hard against the glass screen that it left a damp, smeary print of sweat.

I called him five consecutive times. Five times, the call was brutally rejected, sent straight to voicemail after a single ring.

On the sixth attempt, the line suddenly connected. But the voice that answered didn't belong to my husband. It was Mark, Axel's Chief Assistant.

Mark used his flawless, professionally polite voice. He informed me that the CEO was in the middle of a critical investment portfolio review.

I cut him off mid-sentence. I talked fast, the words tumbling over each other. I told him there was a life-or-death emergency at home and I absolutely needed to speak to Axel, even just for ten seconds.

Mark paused. I heard the rapid, precise clacking of a keyboard on his end. He was checking the schedule, treating my father's life like a calendar conflict.

His voice returned, colder this time. He flatly refused. He stated that the meeting was classified as Level S, and strict company protocols forbade any personal interruptions.

I gripped the phone with both hands. I explained that my father's leukemia had mutated. My voice broke, a pathetic, desperate sob leaking out of my throat.

Mark didn't miss a beat. He offered a dismissive platitude, promising to leave a memo on Axel's desk, but added that based on the itinerary, Axel wouldn't see it until late afternoon.

Right as he spoke, the background noise on the call shifted. Through the speaker, I distinctly heard Axel's deep, resonant laugh, followed by the clinking of glassware. It wasn't a tense, closed-door financial review. They were socializing.

I snapped. I demanded to know if Axel was standing right next to him.

Mark's tone didn't change. He simply said the cellular reception in the boardroom was poor, and he abruptly terminated the call.

I stared at the black screen of my phone. A massive, suffocating wave of betrayal crashed over me, pulling me under.

I turned my head slowly. I looked through the rectangular glass window of the hospital door. I watched the steady, weak rise and fall of my father's chest.

I took a deep breath. I reached up and aggressively wiped the wetness from the corners of my eyes. The fragile, pleading girl vanished. My gaze turned hard and entirely cold. Softness had never bought me anything in the Foley empire but contempt. My survival instinct, buried deep in my bones, finally woke up.

I turned away from the glass. I walked toward the elevator bank. My first few steps were shaky, but by the time I hit the button, my stride was rigid and unyielding.

I walked out through the sliding glass doors of the hospital lobby. The biting Seattle wind hit my face like an open-handed slap, clearing the remaining fog from my brain.

I stepped up to the curb and threw my arm out. A yellow cab pulled over. I yanked the door open and slid onto the cracked vinyl seat.

The driver looked at me through the rearview mirror, asking for an address. I met my own reflection in his mirror. My face was the color of chalk.

I gave him the address of the Foley Group Headquarters. My voice was completely flat, stripped of all emotion.

The cab wove through the heavy downtown traffic. I stared out the window at the towering skyscrapers and the blur of pedestrians. I felt entirely detached from the world outside the glass, like a ghost haunting my own life.

I unclasped my cheap handbag and pulled out a tube of lipstick. I uncapped it, using the reflection of the tinted car window. I dragged the dark red color across my bloodless lips.

It was my war paint. It was the only armor I had left. I refused to walk into that hostile fortress looking like a victim.

The cab jerked to a halt in front of a massive, imposing glass tower. It was the absolute center of Axel's power.

I handed the driver a crumpled bill. I pushed the door open and stepped out onto the pavement. I tilted my head back, squinting against the harsh glare reflecting off the giant silver Foley logo above the entrance.

I pulled the lapels of my worn trench coat tighter across my chest. I took a breath and marched straight toward the revolving doors.

The moment I stepped into the sprawling, cavernous lobby, the blinding reflection of the polished marble floor made me dizzy.

Several receptionists at the massive front desk spotted me. Their hushed conversations stopped instantly. They exchanged knowing, judgmental glances.

I ignored them. I walked in a straight line toward the private executive elevators. Before I could reach the call button, two massive security guards stepped into my path, crossing their arms.

They looked down at me with blank, stony faces. They demanded I produce an appointment QR code, treating me exactly like a corporate spy or a random solicitor.

"I am Axel Foley's wife. Move."

Eda Roman POV:

The guard on the right registered my name, but he didn't flinch. A flicker of blatant contempt crossed his eyes, and he kept his broad shoulders squarely blocking the elevator doors. To the security detail of the Foley Group, a wife with no shares and no corporate title ranked significantly lower than a mid-level manager.

He unclipped the radio from his belt. He pressed the button and lazily called the front desk to verify if the CEO's wife had a scheduled appointment.

The lobby was busy. Employees carrying coffees and briefcases slowed their pace. They whispered to each other, their eyes tracking me like I was a circus act having a public meltdown.

I clenched my jaw so hard my teeth ached. I locked my knees and kept my spine completely rigid. I refused to look down, refused to give them the satisfaction of seeing my humiliation.

The sharp, rhythmic click of expensive heels echoed from the adjacent elevator bank. The whispering crowd immediately parted, clearing a wide path.

Keri Lane walked toward me. She was wearing a perfectly tailored, bone-white Chanel suit. She moved with the fluid, commanding grace of a queen inspecting her subjects.

She stopped two feet in front of me. Her eyes slowly dragged up and down my body, lingering deliberately on the frayed cuffs and pilled fabric of my old trench coat. The corner of her mouth twitched upward into a mocking sneer.

She raised a manicured hand and waved the security guards back. Her voice was loud enough for the lingering audience to hear, dripping with a fake, sugary concern as she asked what I was doing here.

I wasn't going to play her corporate theater game. I stared straight into her eyes and demanded she unlock the medical funds from the family trust immediately.

Keri dramatically gasped, bringing her fingers to her lips. She played the victim perfectly, claiming she was just following the strict compliance rules of the board, and that audits took time.

I closed the distance between us. I lowered my voice to a lethal whisper, warning her not to play her sick power games with my father's life.

The fake sweetness vanished from Keri's eyes, replaced by pure, freezing malice. Her smile returned, wider this time. She loudly declared that the Foley Group maintained rigorous risk control protocols, and she couldn't break the law just because I was the CEO's wife.

The employees watching us murmured their agreement. I could feel their disgust radiating toward me. To them, I was just a hysterical, gold-digging parasite throwing a tantrum.

A bitter, angry laugh ripped out of my throat. I raised my voice, demanding to know if she was holding my money hostage to line her own pockets.

Keri's expression tightened. She took a step closer, invading my personal space. She leaned in, bringing her lips inches from my ear so only I could hear the poison.

She whispered that Axel didn't give a damn if my father lived or died. She hit the deepest, rawest nerve I had, reminding me that if Axel actually cared, he would never have handed control of my finances to another woman.

My entire body began to shake. The blood roared in my ears. I raised my right hand, fully intending to slap the smug smile off her face.

Before my palm could connect, Keri's hand shot out. She clamped her fingers around my wrist with surprising, vicious strength.

She violently shoved my arm back. The force threw me off balance. I stumbled backward, my ankles twisting in my cheap shoes, barely catching myself before hitting the marble floor.

Keri calmly smoothed the lapels of her white jacket. She purposefully arched her back, drawing my attention to the collar of her suit. Pinned to the fabric was a massive, brilliant-cut sapphire brooch.

My eyes locked onto the blue stone. My pupils contracted sharply. I knew that brooch. I had pointed it out to Axel in an auction catalog just last month, telling him how beautiful the vintage setting was.

Keri watched my face pale. Her smile turned victorious. She reached up and gently stroked the sapphire, loudly sighing that Axel had just given it to her as a gift for her three-year anniversary at the company.

It felt like a sledgehammer slammed directly into my sternum. All the oxygen rushed out of my lungs. I was begging for fifty thousand dollars to save a life, and Axel had casually dropped hundreds of thousands on a trinket for his mistress.

Keri watched me suffocate. She looked deeply satisfied. She turned her back to me and casually ordered the front desk to escort the trash out.

The two massive guards lunged forward. They grabbed me, one on each side, their thick fingers digging painfully into my biceps. They started dragging me toward the revolving doors.

I thrashed wildly. I kicked my legs, the rubber soles of my heels scraping against the pristine marble, creating a loud, screeching friction.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the heavy steel doors of the freight elevator slowly sliding open.

I stopped resisting for a fraction of a second, letting my weight drop. Then I stomped my heel down with all my strength, driving the stiletto point straight into the left guard's foot.

He grunted and his grip loosened. I violently twisted my torso, ripping my right arm out of the other guard's hold.

I bolted. I ran like a cornered leopard, abandoning all grace, sprinting blindly toward the open steel doors.

Keri shrieked, her composed facade breaking as she ordered them to grab me.

I threw my body sideways, squeezing through the closing gap of the freight doors. I slammed my fist against the button for the top floor, hitting it over and over.

The heavy doors slammed shut, cutting off Keri's voice.

"I have to see him today."