Chapter 868

The operating room lights glared with dizzying intensity.

I stood at the end of the corridor, fingernails digging deep into my palms. The sterile scent of disinfectant clashed with the metallic tang of blood in the air.

Alexander Hamilton leaned against the wall, his suit jacket draped carelessly over his arm. His tie hung loose, shirt sleeves rolled to the elbows, revealing corded forearms. Those usually sharp eyes were now bloodshot.

"He'll be fine," he rasped suddenly, his voice barely recognizable.

I stared at the red light above the operating doors, my throat tight. Three hours. The surgery had lasted three hours.

My phone vibrated in my pocket. A text from Olivia Lightfoot: "The board demands your immediate return."

I snorted and powered it off.

Footsteps approached. Alexander's assistant hurried over, whispering in his ear. I saw his jawline tense abruptly.

"Tell them," he said in a dangerously low voice, "the world can wait."

The assistant hesitated but didn't dare argue, turning on his heel.

Silence reclaimed the hallway. Only the intermittent beeping of monitors penetrated the walls.

I remembered the last time I'd seen the old man, swinging his golf club with vigor. "This old bones has twenty good years left," he'd declared.

The operating doors swung open.

The lead surgeon removed his mask, expression grave. My stomach plummeted.

"Stable for now," the doctor said, making my knees weaken. "But we need 48 hours of observation."

Alexander caught me. The heat of his palm burned through my sleeve.

"Thank you, Doctor," he said evenly, though the veins in his hand stood out.

Through the ICU window, I watched the old man's tube-covered body. Machines surrounded him, emitting rhythmic sounds.

"You should rest," Alexander said from half a step behind me.

I shook my head. "The board—"

"I'll handle it," he cut in. "Grandfather comes first."

Outside, night deepened. The hospital lights stretched our shadows long across the floor, merging them together.

My phone buzzed again. Seventeen missed calls from Olivia.

As I reached to call back, Alexander stopped me. "Maintaining the status quo benefits everyone."

His eyes gleamed startlingly bright in the dimness. Suddenly, I understood his meaning.

News of the old man's critical condition would send Hamilton Group's stocks plummeting. The circling shareholders, the lurking competitors...

"Fine," I heard myself say. "Status quo."

At the hallway's end, elevator doors slid open silently. A group of white coats approached, led unmistakably by the hospital director.

Alexander moved to meet them, his posture straight as a pine. Watching him, I realized this storm was only beginning.

And we had no choice but to keep playing our parts.