Just then, his assistant appeared, cautious and hesitant. "Sir… the Old Madame wishes to see you."
Harry inhaled deeply, steadying himself. The rage drained from his face, replaced by the cold, stoic expression he wore like armor.
"Give me a day," he said sharply. "I want to know every move Sasha has made in the past two months; who she met, where she went, every goddamn breath she took. If I don't have answers by tomorrow…" He gave the assistant a chilling look. "Leave your resignation on my desk."
"Yes, sir. It will be done."
Harry moved swiftly through the corridors, heading toward the private ward. Inside, Old Madame Zelkowicz sat at Sasha's bedside, her expression warm and maternal.
"I'm glad to see you recovering, child," she said kindly.
"Thank you, Old Madame." Sasha's eyes welled up with tears. "But I feel… so guilty. Ana...she was carrying the next heir of the Fairchild family, and I failed to protect her. I..." She broke into a pitiful sob. "I almost died trying."
Old Madame reached out, patting her hand with sympathy. "You did your best. The family is grateful for your sacrifice."
At the door, Harry stood silently, watching the scene with disgust. His hands were tucked in his pockets, but his eyes… they burned with contempt.
"Hubby!" Sasha cried, seeing him enter. Her tear-streaked face lit up with false delight. "You're here! I've missed you so much."
Harry said nothing. His gaze pierced right through her like a blade, but Sasha pretended not to notice.
Malia, seated quietly in the corner, stood and spoke. "Sasha, you need to eat something. You've barely had a bite."
"Yes," Old Madame agreed. "You must regain your strength."
Sasha looked up shyly, her voice soft and suggestive. "My arm's injured… I can't feed myself. But if hubby feeds me, I'll eat."
Old Madame gave Harry a gentle nudge. "Help her. She needs you."
Harry didn't budge.
Sasha's smile faltered, and her eyes glistened as she forced out a trembling whisper. "You're blaming me… aren't you? For what happened to the surrogate? I tried...I really tried to save her. I hope you find her soon… I really do."
Harry stepped forward, his voice smooth but laced with venom. "You've done enough. Leave the rest to me. I promise, Sasha… I'll repay you in kind. A thousandfold."
Sasha shivered. That smile so cold, so calculated made her heart lurch. She quickly looked away, letting her long lashes hide her panic.
"How's the investigation going?" Old Madame asked, her voice filled with concern. "Any news?"
Harry's gaze never left Sasha. "We're obtaining CCTV footage from the area. Once we review it, we'll know who was behind everything."
"C… CCTV?" Sasha's voice cracked. Her face blanched.
The room fell into a heavy silence.
Clang!
The porcelain bowl in Malia's hands hit the ground, shattering into pieces. Soup splashed across the floor.
Everyone turned.
"I...I'm sorry!" Malia stammered, kneeling to clean the mess. "I didn't mean to...I'll get someone to clean it up right away."
Her hands trembled as she glanced briefly at Sasha, pure fear in her eyes then fled the room.
Harry watched the exchange carefully. Every detail mattered now. He filed away her reaction, Sasha's panic, the timing.
They're hiding something.
"I'll be taking my leave now," he said to Old Madame with a bow. "There's something I must attend to."
Outside, Harry wasted no time. "Have someone tail Malia. I want eyes on everyone who visits Sasha and every word they exchange. Nothing is off-limits."
"Yes, boss."
Harry turned away, his heart pounding with rage and dread.
The net was closing.
And when he found the truth, when he uncovered what Sasha had done no one would be able to protect her from his wrath.
Island villa
The air in the villa was thick with silence, broken only by the faint beep of the heart monitor beside the bed. In the dimly lit room adorned with expensive curtains and golden fixtures, a young woman lay motionless under satin sheets. Her face, framed by soft dark curls, was pale, her lips almost colorless, and her head wrapped in white bandages.
The young doctor leaned in, checking her pulse and scanning the monitor readings. Despite the grim setting, he couldn't help but pause as he took in her delicate features. She was beautiful, heartbreakingly so, like a porcelain doll left to weather time.
A loud, impatient voice cut through his thoughts.
"Doctor, how is she? Is she really going to be alright?" asked Mr. Smith, a pudgy middle-aged man whose expensive clothes barely fit his rounded frame. His face was contorted with worry or perhaps obsession.
The doctor exhaled and straightened. "Mr. Smith shouldn't worry. The young lady is stable. She's out of immediate danger and should regain consciousness soon. What she needs now is rest."
Relief swept across Mr. Smith's face. He hurried to the bedside and took the young woman's cold hand into his own, gazing at her like a starved man finding water in a desert.
"My little kitty... wake up soon. I've missed you so much," he whispered, pressing several wet kisses onto the back of her hand.
The doctor's brows furrowed. He suppressed the urge to sneer as he watched in silence, an uncomfortable knot tightening in his stomach. This greasy old man, flaunting an intimacy that made the doctor feel sick, had brought him here not out of kindness, but through coercion..
He hadn't come here by choice. He had been forced and dragged in at gunpoint, threatened with death if he didn't save the woman bleeding out on a marble floor. His demands to take her to a hospital were dismissed with brutal force. And now, he was a prisoner too, forced to remain in this isolated island villa until the girl recovered.
Unable to bear the sight any longer, he cleared his throat loudly.
Mr. Smith startled slightly and looked back.
"Sir, she needs complete rest," the doctor said firmly. "Any disturbance could delay her recovery."
Mr. Smith hesitated, his beady eyes still fixed on Ana's face. Finally, with a reluctant sigh, he let go of her hand, gave her one last long look, and turned to leave the room, gesturing for the doctor to follow.
Outside, armed guards patrolled the property. The villa was nestled in the heart of a private island surrounded by treacherous waters. The only means of escape was a single boat that remained tightly guarded. Ana, once she awoke, would have nowhere to run.