Chapter 4 - The VIP Suite Breakdown
I stood outside Room 218 for several seconds, my hand pressed against the cool wood of the closed door.
The image of James’s slate-gray eyes burned into my vision like a branding iron.
My phone vibrated violently in my jacket pocket; it was Richard again.
I ignored the call and walked back down the corridor toward VIP Suite 402, every step feeling heavier than the last.
When I pushed open the door to Miranda’s room, the contrast hit me like a slap.
The room was packed with floral arrangements: imported white peonies, cascading lilies, and silver balloons.
Miranda was propped up on silk pillows, checking her reflection in a gold-plated compact mirror.
Her nose was covered in surgical tape, but her eyes glittered with annoyed impatience.
Beside the window, Eleanor Whitlow was snapping her fingers at a terrified nursing assistant.
"There you are, Sebastian," Eleanor said, turning around with an exasperated sigh.
"Miranda wanted to discuss the rehearsal dinner venue before the pain medication makes her drowsy."
"Where on earth did you disappear to?"
"I needed some air," I said flatly, remaining near the threshold.
Miranda lowered her mirror, looking at me with narrowed eyes.
"You look terrible, Sebastian," she said, her voice nasal and sharp behind the bandages.
"Did you bring the bracelet?"
I reached into my pocket, pulled out the velvet jeweler's box, and tossed it onto the glass table.
It landed with a dull clatter, sliding against a crystal vase.
Eleanor frowned, clearly offended by my lack of ceremony.
"Richard called five minutes ago," Eleanor said, crossing her arms over her designer blazer.
"He said the press release regarding the Caldwell-Whitlow charitable foundation goes out tomorrow morning."
"We need to finalize the guest list for the gala tonight."
I stared at the two women who occupied my father’s pristine vision of my future.
Miranda didn't love me; she loved the name Caldwell and the social dominance it guaranteed.
Eleanor didn't care about my happiness; she cared about the market share Caldwell Therapeutics controlled.
And I had almost surrendered my entire existence to this charade.
"The press release isn't going out," I said, my voice eerily calm.
Miranda blinked in confusion.
"What are you talking about?"
"The wedding is off, Miranda," I said, stepping completely out of the doorway.
Eleanor let out a sharp, aristocratic gasp, her face flushing crimson.
"Is this some kind of sick stress reaction, Sebastian?" Eleanor demanded, stepping toward me.
"Your father and my husband have twenty million dollars tied up in merger escrow!"
"You cannot simply cancel a high-profile engagement because you are having cold feet!"
"I'm not having cold feet, Eleanor," I said, looking directly into Miranda's stunned eyes.
"I am ending a mistake before it destroys four lives."
"I love someone else."
"I have always loved someone else."
Miranda sat up straight, ignoring the pain in her facial bandages.
"Who?" she hissed.
"That little hospital doctor?"
"The one Richard had removed from your life months ago?"
The room fell dead silent as the implications of her words echoed between the silk pillows and flowers.
"What did you just say?" I asked, my voice dropping to a dangerous register.
"Richard didn't remove her alone, did he?"
Miranda realized her slip, but Eleanor merely scoffed, entirely unapologetic.
"Your father did what any sensible patriarch would do to protect his legacy," Eleanor stated coldly.
May you like
"Now pick up that jewelry box, apologize to my daughter, and call your father before this becomes a scandal."
I turned my back on both of them and walked out the door without uttering another word.
