The phone fell from Arabella's ear, causing her hands to shake furiously. The doctor's words echoed in her thoughts, causing the world around her to fade. "Grant's condition is critical. He requires urgent care. You have to arrive right now."
There was no time to think. No time to question its reality. Arabella was already moving the instant the phone call ended, her feet taking her across the marble floors of the home, her breath thin and quick.
Grabbing her jacket, the fabric chilly against her skin, she dashed toward the door, her heart pounding like a drum in her ears.
The cars speeding past her outside had scarcely registered as a swirl of lights. Her heels' constant, repetitive click reverberated in the cavernous void of her head, a serious situation. She could not think Grant, the guy she had hardly started to know, could be in genuine danger.
His conversations had been so chilly and so distant that she had not believed anything could touch him except perhaps the ongoing impending death he had been coping with.
But even then, she thought it was a performance. A means for him to stay in charge. She never thought it would go to this.
The drive to the hospital felt like a lifetime; the traffic was slow and difficult, almost as if the world was working against her. Every turn seemed to last forever. Gripping the steering wheel, knuckles white, her breath came in shallow bursts. She could hardly think clearly. Was he truly dying?
Rushing in, the ER doors swung open before her. She hardly noticed the smell of antiseptic, sterile equipment, hospital flooring, and invisible strain filling her lungs.
All she could feel was the frantic pull in her chest, the relentless anxiety eating at her insides. Her voice was raspy as she spoke, and she went to the reception desk.
"Grant Winslow is my destination. I have to see him."
The receptionist looked up at her, his eyes fast to evaluate. His demeanor changed; in his gaze, pity or maybe something more inscrutable.
"Regrettably, The doctor will have to be consulted. Come after me."
His footsteps resonating with a finality that matched the knot tightening in Arabella's gut, he guided her along the long corridor. She could hear the quiet beeping of machinery, the shuffle of nurses' feet, the silent whispers of waiting room people.
But all of it faded as she was led toward a door with too many people standing close to it, too many waiting in the back of the hospital. The doctor came, and she could feel the chilly sweat on her brow.
His face was somber; the crease in his brow revealed everything she required to know.
In a quiet yet firm voice, the doctor remarked, "The situation is critical. We have done all we could. For now, he is stable; however, we cannot say the next several hours. You should get ready for the worst."
Arabella gasped. Should she get ready for the worst? The words appeared to cut through the fog of uncertainty in her head.
She felt as though the world around her had moved, making her dizzy. Before she could stop it, a tear ran down her cheek. "But you can still save him, right?" The query was almost imploring and frantic, as if somehow she could compel the doctor to provide her with the response she required.
Though his demeanor softened, the doctor remained silent. His quiet spoke more than anything else.
As Arabella's life fell apart around her, the clean white walls of the hospital corridor were oppressive. Grant was fading, and Arabella had no clue if she wanted to keep him or how to do so.
When the door to Grant's room opened, Hudson Winslow came in; she was still reeling from the doctor's remarks.
Standing tall at the entrance, his attitude unrelenting, Arabella froze as she noticed him. Hudson was powerful. His dark, night-like sharp suit and the icy glimmer in his eyes revealed all she required to know. His look showed no sorrow. Simply unadulterated, natural ambition.
"Arabella," Hudson replied, his voice slick and calculating, devoid of emotion. As though above it all, he didn't even look at Grant's hospital bed.
"The family company is mine to run. Grant's absence will not affect that. He is feeble. I am what this empire requires."
The pressure of his words on Arabella made her stomach turn. He showed no hesitancy, regret, or recognition of the life fading away. Hudson was not here to console anyone. He was coming to seize power. At that time, the chilly, cutthroat character of the Winslow family became excruciatingly obvious.
"You can't just, " Arabella began, her voice trembling, but Hudson waved his hand to silence her.
"Time for sentimentality we lack. Grant's gone; I'm in command," he added, his voice steely. "Things will change; you should be ready. The estate, the businesses, everything will be mine; you will have no control over anything. So get out of my path, Arabella."
The words stung her like a smack across the face. She had wed Grant for a purpose, to preserve Isla and to live, but this? This was different. Hudson's remarks made her spine tingle. With each passing second, she could sense his ambition's frigid hold tightening around her throat.
No sorrow. Just control.
Arabella opened her mouth to object, but Hudson's grin grew deeper. Looking over his shoulder, he continued coldly, "We're moving on. You will see. You will soon get it."
Arabella's pulse raced as she came to know the actual character of the Winslow family. This was not about loyalty or love. This was about power; Hudson would do everything to obtain it.
The following hours were a whirlwind of physicians, paperwork, and quiet times when Arabella could only stand beside Grant's bed, seeing him fight to hold on. Deep in her heart, the reality of what she was facing, the burden of his condition, settled.
Then came the last. Quietly nodding, a doctor walked into the room, his face expressionless. His statements were straightforward, directly to the core. "Arabella, he is gone. Grant Winslow has passed away."
Arabella's breath seized in her throat. Though she had known it was coming and had felt the oncoming catastrophe hovering over her like a shadow, hearing the words aloud broke something inside her. She clutched the bed's edge for support; her knees gave way.
The world around her spun, and all she could hear was the rush of blood in her ears.
Grant is no more.
It was like her whole existence had been swept away, leaving her in the ruins of a life she hadn't completely grasped. Gone was the man she had married, the one who had said to be dying, the one who had offered her money to rescue her sister.
Her thoughts spun with uncertainty. Now, everything seemed false. Had he ever cared about her? Had he ever meant to be with her? Or was it all just another manipulation, another move in a perilous game? Her thoughts kept returning to the same queries, and everyone made her feel more empty.
Then came the shock: she was pregnant. By herself. Lacking knowledge on how to go ahead.
The room's quiet was stifling. It made the air feel dense. Steady and unchanging, Arabella could hear the gentle beep of the machines behind her. Her heartbeat, however, was irregular and thumping in her ears.
The gravity of the circumstance struck her all at once. She was now a widow. Gone were all the things she had built, the contract she had signed, and her dreams for a future with Grant. Now, she had to confront reality: she was by herself.