Two heavy-set police officers stepped forward, roughly grabbing Eleanor’s arms. She screamed, thrashing wildly in her Chanel suit, demanding her lawyers, demanding respect, but the billionaires in the hallway merely turned their backs to her.
As the cold steel of the handcuffs clicked loudly around Eleanor’s wrists, the heavy doors of the operating room burst open.
A surgeon ran out, his scrubs soaked in my blood, his face pale behind his mask. He scanned the intimidating crowd, his eyes locking onto my husband.
“Mr. Sterling!” the doctor yelled, his voice cracking with panic. “The baby is crashing! Her heart rate is dropping! We need your immediate authorization for a high-risk thoracic procedure, or we’re going to lose them both!”
The Rebirth of Sterling
The next few days were a blur of morphine dreams and the rhythmic, reassuring beep of heart monitors. When I finally clawed my way back to full consciousness, the harsh fluorescent lights of the surgical theater had been replaced by the soft, warm, golden sunlight of a private recovery suite. The air smelled faintly of lavender and sterile cotton.
I blinked my heavy eyelids open. Sitting in a leather chair drawn right up to the edge of my bed was Caleb. The terrifying, tailored black suit was gone, replaced by a soft henley shirt. In the crook of his arm, wrapped in a pristine white swaddle, was a tiny, sleeping bundle.
I let out a ragged, dry sob.