Beep! Beep! Beep!

The rhythmic beeping of the EKG, coupled with the low whooshing sound of the heater, filled the room with a relentless, suffocating silence. Oliver stood by the window, his shoulders tense, every fiber of his being straining against the stillness. The doctor's words echoed endlessly in his mind, a grim reminder of the fragile thread on which his daughter's life hung.

"Miss Vutron lost a lot of blood before she was brought in and went into shock immediately. At the moment, she is unresponsive. Since we are not sure when she'll open her eyes again, we can't tell how for sure the precise extent of damage the wound has caused in the areas we can't see. We can only hope and pray she wakes up soon. We're truly sorry, Mr. Vurton."

Coma. That word had lodged itself in his brain, festering like a wound that wouldn't heal. Paris was in a coma, and the helplessness of it all gnawed at him, feeding his frustration and despair.

His phone rang, jolting him back to the present. Oliver snatched it up, his voice tight with barely suppressed anxiety. "Any news?"

"None yet, sir," came the voice on the other end. "But we've found a new lead—a doctor in Spain who specializes in cases like your daughter's."

Oliver rubbed his temple, a deep scowl furrowing his brow. Another doctor? Ever since the attack, he had exhausted every possible option, calling in the best doctors from all over the country. Each new face had brought nothing but the same grim prognosis. He was tired, so tired of hearing the same hopeless words.

"Another doctor?" Oliver repeated, his voice tinged with bitterness. "We've had the best doctors in Breton look at her, and none of them had any answers. And now you're suggesting I fly my half-dead daughter to Spain? If the doctors here couldn't revive her, what makes you think some doctor in Spain will?"

"Mrs. Pérez is highly regarded in her field, Mr. Vurton. She's had success with cases similar to your Paris'. My people vouch for her—"

"Tell your people to do a better job and find me a solution that works, or there's going to be a problem," Oliver snapped, his voice laced with anger. "You have forty-eight hours to bring me better news, or our deal is off."

He ended the call abruptly, throwing the phone back into his pocket. A heavy sigh escaped him, his frustration bubbling over as he turned away from the window. His gaze landed on the bed, where Denise sat beside Paris, gently cleaning her daughter's pale, lifeless form.

"Can you believe that?" he muttered, his voice thick with irritation. "How can he suggest I fly Paris to Spain and risk the entire world finding out about our predicament?"

Denise raised her head slightly, her expression soft but weary.
"I think you should get some rest, Oliver. You haven't slept in days, and it's taking a toll on you."

"How am I supposed to sleep with all of this going on?" He took a step closer to the bed, his fists clenched at his sides. "We're running out of time, Denise. If Paris doesn't wake up soon and complete the engagement rites, we could lose everything we've worked for—to the Westrovs, no less!"

Denise's breath hitched, a frustrated sigh escaping her lips as she placed the towel back in the bowl with deliberate care. She turned to look at Paris, her heart aching at the sight of her daughter lying so still, so quiet. Paris had always been so full of life, so vibrant. To see her like this, fighting for her life, was unbearable. Denise swallowed hard, forcing back the tears that threatened to spill. She lifted her gaze to meet Oliver's, her voice trembling with emotion.

"Our daughter is fighting for her life, Oliver. Saving her should be our priority, not your game of thrones. How can you think of sustaining your access to the royal family at a time like this?"

"What else am I supposed to do?" he retorted, his voice rising with desperation. "I'm doing this for her too! You know how much this meant to her, being Queen is all Paris ever wanted. It's all we ever wanted for her."

Denise's eyes narrowed, her expression hardening as she tried to rein in her frustration.
"We should tell the King what we know, that it was the Westrovs who planned the attack."

Oliver shook his head, his lips pressed into a thin line.
"We don't know for sure that the Westrovs are behind this. It could have been anyone with a grudge against the royal family."

"You said so yourself," Denise pressed, her voice low and insistent. She stepped closer, her eyes searching his. "He threatened you."

Oliver let out an exhausted sigh, his shoulders slumping under the weight of it all.
"I can't make an accusation like that without evidence, Denise. The Westrovs have powerful allies at court. A baseless claim could start a war against the government, and that's too much of a risk."

Denise rolled her eyes, her frustration bubbling over.
"Then we should find evidence, give our daughter the justice she deserves."

"The Prince is leading the investigation. We still have some of the traitors in custody. We need to trust the royal family for now to get to the bottom of this." Oliver's voice grew more resolute as he spoke, though the fatigue was evident in his eyes. "I can't afford to be distracted. I need to find a way to bring her back, even if it means turning this country upside down. I can't let anyone take what's mine away from me. Even if I have to burn Breton to the ground, I'll do whatever it takes to bring her back."

"Then let's start with Spain," Denise interrupted, her voice firm. "If this doctor is as good as they say, it's worth a try—"

"Do you understand where we are?" Oliver snapped, his voice sharp with exasperation.
"This is the royal infirmary. Everything that happens here is under the Queen's watchful eye. If she senses that we've lost hope, if she finds out we're trying to send Paris abroad out of desperation, she'll think there's nothing that can be done and cut us off. The royal engagement won't be set back because a candidate had an accident, the Ellingtons would move on to the next family in line, suitable for the position- the Westrovs. We have to be smart, and discreet."

Knock, knock.

They both froze, their heads snapping toward the door. The royal infirmary was reserved for the royal family and their most trusted allies. Whoever was on the other side had to be—

"The Prince requests an audience," a voice called from outside.

Oliver rubbed his sweaty palms on his trousers, his anxiety spiking. The visits from the royal family had become a source of constant tension, each one leaving him more on edge than the last. He took a deep breath, trying to steady his nerves, and hurried to the door. He paused for a moment, his heart pounding in his chest, before it opened.

Elijah stepped in first, followed by Aiden, whose expression was grave, his eyes shadowed with concern. Denise quickly raised herself to her feet, joining Oliver in a respectful bow.

"Your Highness," they both murmured.

Aiden took a deep breath, his gaze sweeping across the room before settling on the still figure in the bed. His frown deepened, a sigh escaping him as he stepped closer.

"How is she?"

Oliver quickly moved to stand beside him, forcing a bright, albeit strained, smile. "She's made some improvements, Your Highness," he said, his voice a little too eager. "It may not seem like much, but we're confident she'll wake up soon. There's no need to worry."

Aiden's gaze remained fixed on Paris, his expression unreadable.
"I can't imagine how difficult this must be for your family," he said quietly, turning to face Oliver.
"But I assure you, the royal family will do everything in their power to help her recover, and bring justice to those that did this. My parents send their regards, they regret that they can not be here in person to share your family's sorrow during this difficult time ."

Oliver bowed his head, his voice barely above a whisper.

"You have nothing to worry about, Your Highness. We understand that the King and Queen are busy with state affairs. We're deeply grateful for the care Paris is receiving here, and for the support of your family."

Aiden paused for a moment, studying Oliver's face before nodding. "Very well," he said, his voice softening slightly. "Please don't hesitate to reach out if you need anything."

"Thank you, Your Highness," Oliver and Denise replied in unison, their gazes lowered.

Aiden turned and made his way to the door, Elijah following close behind. Oliver waited until he was sure they were gone before lifting his head, his eyes meeting Denise's.

He let out a shaky breath, the weight of the situation pressing down on him. They were running out of time, and he knew it.
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