The VIP wing of St. Lambert's was built like a private estate—complete with imported Italian marble, privacy-screened glass walls, and a trauma team so elite their scrub caps had embroidered initials. None of that mattered. Not now.
I barged through the emergency doors with Isabella in my arms, and within thirty seconds, six people in navy uniforms were swarming.
"Orchid Suite One. Move."
"Clear it—everyone out. Cardiac and neuro. I want both teams ready."
"Get Kassel. Now."
No one questioned me.
They parted like water as I strode through.
Orchid Suite One was the best in the hospital. Top floor. Built for heads of state. But I didn't care about its penthouse view or imported linens. Only that it had the best monitoring systems in the country. That the walls were soundproofed. That I could shut the world out.
