Clicking the laptop shut, Elara leaned back. Her eyes burned from hours of staring at a screen filled with curated lies.
Every search for 'Thorne family scandal' or 'Thorne historical disputes' returned nothing but glowing testimonials and philanthropic endeavors.
It was too perfect. Too clean. This systematic erasure screamed louder than any whispered rumor.
She knew now, with a gut-wrenching certainty, that Kaelen's family guarded a secret far darker than she'd imagined. And that secret was pivotal.
A sharp buzz vibrated her phone on the desk. She flinched, her heart leaping.
Seeing the hospital's number, a wave of cold dread washed over her. Her fingers trembled as she answered.
"Miss Vance? It's Dr. Albright. We need you to come to the hospital immediately. It's about your mother."
His calm tone was chilling. It meant bad news, the kind doctors practiced delivering without emotion.
Dropping the phone, Elara snatched her keys. Her mind raced, a frantic hamster on a wheel. Not now. Not when she was so close.
She fumbled with the lock, her hands shaking so hard she nearly dropped the key ring. Panic clawed at her throat.
Running down the stairs, her breath hitched. Each step echoed the accelerating beat of her heart.
Cold air hit her face as she burst outside. She didn't bother with a jacket, the chill hardly registering through the adrenaline.
Slamming the car door, she started the engine. The familiar roar was a distant thrum against the ringing in her ears.
Driving through the city, the streetlights blurred into streaks. Every red light felt like an eternity, every slow driver a personal affront.
Fear, raw and primal, gnawed at her. Her mother. Her only family left. The reason for everything.
Pulling into the hospital parking lot, she left the car haphazardly. She barely registered the indignant honk from another driver.
Bursting through the double doors, the sterile smell of disinfectant hit her. It was a scent she'd come to associate with fear and helplessness.
Her eyes scanned the waiting room, looking for a familiar face. No one. Just the usual anxious strangers.
Striding to the reception desk, her voice came out raspy. "Elara Vance. My mother, Eleanor Vance. Dr. Albright called."
Receptionist's eyes softened with pity. That look. It was never a good sign.
"He's in consultation room three, Miss Vance. Just down that hall on the right."
Walking down the long, linoleum-floored corridor, Elara's heels clicked a frantic rhythm. Each click was a hammer blow against her resolve.
She pushed open the door to room three. Dr. Albright sat at a small table, a stack of charts beside him. His face was grave.
"Elara. Please, sit." He gestured to the chair opposite him. His voice was gentle, too gentle.
Her legs felt like lead, but she sank into the chair, her knuckles white as she gripped its arms.
"What's wrong? Is Mom… worse?" The words were a fragile whisper.
He sighed, a heavy sound that seemed to carry the weight of bad news. He adjusted his glasses.
"We've been monitoring your mother closely, Elara. Her condition has unfortunately deteriorated significantly in the past twenty-four hours."
Her stomach dropped. A cold hand squeezed her chest. "What do you mean, deteriorated? She was stable, wasn't she?"
"Her heart is struggling more than we anticipated. The latest tests show a rapid decline in function. The medication isn't having the sustained effect we hoped for."
Elara's vision blurred. This couldn't be happening. Not now. Not when she was fighting so hard.
"Is there… is there anything else? A different treatment? Another hospital?" Her voice rose, desperation creeping in.
His gaze was full of sorrow. "We've explored every option, Elara. We've consulted with specialists. At this stage, more aggressive treatments would likely do more harm than good."
She shook her head, tears pricking her eyes. "No. You have to do something. She's all I have."
Memories flooded her mind: her mother's tired but determined smile, her gentle hand carding through Elara's hair, her unwavering belief in Elara's strength.
This was the reason she pushed, the reason she fought for the mill. Her mother needed that money for her treatment, for a chance at a future.
Now, that future felt like sand slipping through her fingers.
"We're doing everything we can to keep her comfortable, Elara. But…" He paused, looking away for a moment, then met her eyes again.
His voice dropped, almost a murmur, but each word was a thunderclap in Elara's ears. "Her body is simply… giving out. At best, we're looking at a few weeks, perhaps a month or two if she responds well to palliative care."
A cold, hollow void opened in her chest. A few weeks. A month or two.
All her efforts, all her desperate research, all her sleepless nights, suddenly felt utterly pointless.
She had failed. Failed to save the mill, failed to secure her mother's treatment, failed to give her more time.
The crushing weight of that failure threatened to swallow her whole. Her mother's fading hope was her own. And now, it was almost gone.