The steady beeping of the heart monitor was the only sound in the dimly lit hospital room. Nathan Sterling sat unmoving beside the bed, his fingers steepled beneath his chin, his sharp blue eyes locked onto the fragile form of his son. The boy lay motionless, his small chest rising and falling in slow, mechanical breaths, each one assisted by the ventilator.
Two days.
Two days of silence. Two days of watching his son fight for his life. Two days of simmering rage, barely restrained beneath the surface. He had built his empire with precision, power, and control, but at this moment, staring at his child's pale, unmoving face, all the power in the world felt useless.
A faint hum of fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting a sterile glow over the hospital room. The scent of antiseptic lingered in the air, sharp and clinical, a cruel reminder of just how fragile life was. Nathan had always believed in control, in his ability to dictate outcomes. Yet, here he was, powerless. Watching. Waiting.
The door creaked open, breaking the oppressive quiet. The sharp, rhythmic click of heels echoed against the tiled floor, followed by the crisp shuffle of paperwork. His secretary, Evelyn Clarke, a composed and efficient woman in her late forties, stepped inside, her expression carefully composed, but her posture betrayed the tension she felt in his presence. She was a woman who had worked for him long enough to know how dangerous he could be when angered.
She adjusted the stack of files in her hands, clearing her throat lightly before speaking. "Mr. Humphrey called, he wants to know if the offer still stands. Also, Mr. Carter has sent the invoice for the ongoing project," Evelyn said.
Nathan didn't look at her. His gaze remained fixed on his son. His voice, when it came, was calm. Too calm. "Clear my schedule."
Evelyn hesitated, momentarily thrown off by the blunt order. "Sir?"
His jaw tightened. "I said, clear my schedule. I don't care what meetings, negotiations, or corporate crises are waiting. Nothing matters until he wakes up."
There was no room for argument, no space for questions.
"Understood, Mr. Sterling." She hesitated, glancing at the tablet in her hands. "There is also an update on the woman in custody."
The moment the words left her lips, the air in the room thickened, charged with something lethal. Nathan's fingers curled into fists. Slowly, he turned his head toward her, his expression unreadable.
"What about her?" His voice was deceptively quiet, but there was a razor's edge beneath it, the kind that made even powerful men tread carefully.
Evelyn straightened, smoothing her already crisp blouse. "She's being prepared for trial."
Silence.
Then, like a slow-moving storm, fury settled into his expression. His jaw flexed, his hands tightening against the armrests of his chair. "Trial?" The single word was drawn out, as though he was tasting the bitterness of it.
"Yes, sir," Evelyn confirmed, flipping through her notes. "The case is being processed, and a judge has already been assigned—"
"Who?" Nathan cut in, his voice sharp enough to draw blood.
Evelyn didn't delay. She had already anticipated the question. "Judge Henry Caldwell."
Nathan didn't acknowledge her further. He pulled out his phone and dialed. The line barely had time to ring twice before a voice answered on the other end.
"Mr. Sterling." The man's tone was smooth, but there was an unmistakable undercurrent of caution. He knew.
Nathan wasted no time. "You know why I'm calling."
There was a pause, then a slow exhale. "I assume you want this trial to end before it begins?"
Nathan's grip on the phone tightened. "I don't want a trial. I want a sentence. Don't test me, Caldwell."
The judge let out a low chuckle, but there was no amusement in it. "You don't need to threaten me, Mr. Sterling. I already know what you expect. The trial is just a formality, a way to keep the public from asking too many questions. But rest assured, the verdict will be exactly as you desire."
Nathan leaned forward, his voice dropping to something even colder. "I don't care about public opinion. Do exactly what I want, or you'll be joining her in no time."
The judge inhaled sharply on the other end. A beat of silence. Then—
"Understood, Mr. Sterling."
Nathan hung up without another word and tossed the phone onto the bedside table. The conversation had lasted less than two minutes, but its impact was final.
His secretary remained still, waiting for further instruction.
"Leave." His voice was quiet but absolute.
Evelyn nodded swiftly and exited without a word, knowing better than to linger when he was in this state.
For a moment, the room was silent once more. The only sound was the steady, rhythmic beeping of the monitors keeping his son alive.
Nathan exhaled, running a hand over his face before settling back into his chair, his thoughts dark and consuming.
He had spent his entire life building an empire that no one could touch. He had crushed men twice his age, ruined corporations that dared to challenge him, and ensured that his name alone was enough to make people cower.
And yet, despite all of that, someone had dared to take his son.
Emma.
Her name burned in his mind like a brand, each syllable fueling the storm of rage inside him. He didn't care what her excuses were. He didn't care if she claimed innocence. She had been caught. She had been named as the one responsible. That was enough.
She wouldn't just rot in a prison cell, that would be mercy. And he did not believe in mercy.
No, he wanted her to suffer.
For every breath his son struggled to take, she would pay tenfold.
For every second he sat here, helpless, watching his boy in this state, she would endure agony. He imagined the fear in her eyes when she realized there was no escape. The despair when she understood that no one, not the law, not some overpaid defense attorney, could save her.
She would become an example. A warning.
So that no one—no one—would ever dare lay a hand on what belonged to him again. Nathan's fingers twitched as he reached out, brushing his son's small hand with his fingertips. The warmth of his skin was the only sign of life, a fragile thread keeping him tethered to this world.
"You'll be okay," he murmured, his voice uncharacteristically soft. "And when you wake up, I swear, the person who did this to you will never see the light of day again."
His son didn't stir.
Nathan sat back, jaw clenched, his fury a quiet, dangerous thing.
Emma thought this was bad?
She hadn't even begun to suffer yet.
And he was going to make sure she felt every ounce of pain she had inflicted.
And more.