Chapter 3 - The Fortress of Glass
Within seven minutes, three black SUVs accompanied by a private medical transport unit roared away from the garden restaurant, escorting Nora Ellis to the penthouse wing of Vale Memorial Hospital—the state-of-the-art facility Adrian’s company had acquired only six hours earlier.
The hospital’s chief of medicine, Dr. Harrison, was waiting at the private bay with a team of six specialists.
Nora was rushed directly into advanced diagnostics, while Adrian led Kloe into the hospital’s executive suite.
The suite was warm, furnished with plush leather sofas, a fully stocked pantry, and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the glowing skyline of New York. It was a room designed for billionaires to rest while receiving boutique medical care.
Kloe stood in the middle of the soft Persian rug, looking around the massive room as if she had stepped onto another planet. She clutched her worn stuffed rabbit to her chest, her small sandals leaving faint smudges on the immaculate carpet.
Adrian dropped to his knees in front of her, taking off his expensive suit jacket and wrapping it around her small shoulders like a warm blanket.
"Are you warm enough?" he asked gently.
Kloe nodded slowly. She looked down at the jacket, then at him. "Are you really my dad?"
"I am," Adrian said, his eyes shining with unshed tears. "And I am so, so sorry, Kloe. I'm sorry I wasn't there when you took your first step. I'm sorry I wasn't there when you were cold. I'm sorry I let you eat alone."
Kloe reached out a tiny finger and touched a tear that had escaped his eye, tracking down his cheek.
"Mom said you were a prince who got lost in a big castle," Kloe whispered. "She told me you loved us, but the castle walls were too high for you to hear us calling."
Adrian’s throat tightened so hard he could barely breathe. Even while struggling in poverty, even while working herself to exhaustion, Nora had protected his memory in their daughter's heart. She hadn't taught Kloe to hate him. She had taught her that he was simply lost.
The door to the suite opened softly, and Dr. Harrison stepped inside, pulling off his surgical mask. His face was grave.
Adrian stood up immediately, placing a protective hand on Kloe’s shoulder. "Tell me."
"Mr. Vale, your wife—"
"She's not my wife yet," Adrian corrected automatically, then stopped himself, his jaw setting into iron. "Tell me her condition."
"She is suffering from acute pulmonary failure secondary to untreated pneumonia, compounded by severe malnutrition and physical exhaustion," Dr. Harrison explained quietly. "Her body has been operating on pure adrenaline for months. If she hadn't reached a hospital tonight, her lungs would have collapsed within forty-eight hours."
Adrian felt a cold sweat break out across his back. "Can you save her?"
"With our current targeted antibiotic therapy and oxygen support, yes," Dr. Harrison assured him. "We caught it just in time. She is stable, but she needs total rest, intensive nutrition, and specialized care for the next few weeks."
Adrian let out a long, ragged breath, resting his hand on top of Kloe’s head. "Give her everything. The best doctors in the country. Fly them in if you need to."
"Understood, sir," Dr. Harrison bowed his head and stepped back into the hallway.
Adrian picked Kloe up in his arms, holding her tightly. She rested her head against his shoulder, her tiny breath warm against his neck.
"Did you hear that, sweetheart?" Adrian whispered. "Mom is going to be okay."
"Can I see her?" Kloe asked sleepily.
"As soon as she wakes up," Adrian promised.
He sat down on the large leather sofa, cradling his daughter in his arms. Within minutes, the overwhelming exhaustion of her five young years took over, and Kloe fell fast asleep, her tiny hand firmly holding onto Adrian’s thumb.
Adrian looked out the window at the glittering towers of New York. His phone vibrated silently in his trouser pocket.
He pulled it out with his free hand.
The screen illuminated with a text message from Victoria Vance:
Mr. Vale, the board is asking for your final sign-off on the quarterly financial report. Also, your midnight flight to London is prepped. Should I bring the briefcases to your penthouse?
Adrian’s eyes narrowed into slits of pure, incandescent fire. He looked down at his sleeping daughter, then back at the phone.
May you like
He typed three words:
Come to hospital.
