Chapter 73 Withered Promises
The days following the incident at the estate had been tense but controlled—at least on the surface. The family had moved with quiet precision, each member falling into place like pieces on a chessboard. Linda tightened security around the home, Henry expanded their search for answers, and Elias pulled whatever strings he could behind the scenes. Every move had been calculated, efficient. But despite the structured response, an unspoken worry lingered between them.
They still didn't know who was behind the attack.
Henry had barely left Emilia's side, his protective instincts sharper than ever. Even when he wasn't physically near her, she could feel him hovering, watching, waiting for the next sign of danger. It wasn't suffocating—at least, not yet. But it was a reminder that things were far from normal.
Still, for a moment, things felt almost normal.
Emilia stood by the kitchen counter, cradling a warm cup of tea as the rich scent of honey and chamomile curled into the air. Cayden, ever the professional, was checking the locks on the windows—again. She smirked.
Cayden barely glanced at her, unimpressed. "And yet, here we are."
She rolled her eyes but grinned, shaking her head as she took another sip. "You know, for someone so serious, you're actually kind of sweet."
He scoffed, finishing his inspection before turning to face her. "Don't start rumors."
She laughed softly, appreciating the rare moment of lightness. But it didn't last.
Now, as she sat across from Henry in the study, reality settled back in. His jaw was tight, his hands clasped together on the desk in front of him. Between them, Cayden—their best and most trusted security detail—stood silently, waiting.
Henry exhaled slowly; gaze locked onto hers. "Take him with you," he said, voice steady but firm. "At least for a little while. Just until we know more."
Emilia shook her head before he even finished speaking. "Henry—"
She sighed, leaning back against the chair. "You need him more than I do. If something happens to you while you're busy worrying about me—"
Henry let out a short laugh, but there was no humor in it. "That's not how this works."
Cayden, ever the professional, cleared his throat. "I can be discreet," he offered.
Emilia smiled slightly, appreciating the effort, but shook her head again. "I just want to get back to normal. Or as close to it as I can."
Henry didn't look convinced, but after a long moment, he exhaled and gave a small nod. "Fine. But the second something feels off, you tell me."
She meant it. But deep down, a small voice whispered that she wouldn't. Not immediately, at least. She didn't want to keep being the center of everyone's concern, didn't want to feel like a problem that needed solving. A flicker of doubt crept in—was she being reckless? She forced herself to push the thought away. She could handle this.
As the conversation ended, she stood, but before she could leave, Henry caught her wrist. His grip was gentle, thumb tracing soft circles against her skin.
She turned back, her expression softening. "I know this is hard for you."
His eyes searched hers, the worry still evident despite his agreement. "It is," he admitted, voice low. "But I also know you need this."
Her heart ached at the honesty in his words. She squeezed his hand before reaching up, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to his lips. His hand slid to her waist, holding her there for just a second longer than necessary, like he didn't want to let go.
Neither did she.
But reality had other plans.
With a reluctant sigh, she pulled away. "I should get ready."
Henry exhaled, his fingers brushing down her arm before he finally let go.
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The drive to work was quiet, but her mind wasn't.
She thought about the engagement party happening this weekend—an extravagant event planned with meticulous care. But even with all the excitement, a dull ache settled in her chest. Roxanne, Lily, and Jason wouldn't be there.
She remembered the last breakfast they had all shared together before Jason left.
The warmth of that morning was a stark contrast to the cold weight pressing on her now. She wished she could hold onto that feeling a little longer, let it shield her from the unease creeping into her bones. But as she pulled into the parking lot of the hospital, reality rushed back in. The past was a comforting memory, but it wouldn't change the present. And the present was about to get much worse.
Flashback:
The dining room buzzed with lazy morning chatter as the Kingsleys gathered for breakfast. Sunlight spilled through the tall windows, casting a warm glow over the table set with fresh fruit, pastries, and steaming coffee.
Jason, still in pajamas, slumped dramatically in his chair, pushing his plate away with a groan. "So let me get this straight—you're having the engagement party of the year, and I'm going to be trapped on a film set in another country? You're actively trying to ruin my life."
Emilia smirked, sipping her coffee. "I don't control your schedule, Jason."
Beau snorted from across the table. "Where's the maturity?"
Jason gasped, pressing a hand to his chest. "I am a victim of circumstance, Beau."
Henry chuckled, shaking his head. "You'll survive, Jason."
Emilia rolled her eyes, amused. "We'll have another one when Henry and I visit the set."
Jason perked up instantly. "Wait. You mean it?"
His face lit up. "Oh, okay! Then I'll forgive you. But you better make it up to me with cake."
Beau smirked. "And here I thought you were sad about missing Emilia."
Jason scoffed. "Please. I'm sad about missing cake and Emilia. But mostly the cake."
Henry, ever patient, squeezed Emilia's hand and chuckled. "We'll save you some."
End of flashback.
Emilia smiled at the memory, but the warmth quickly faded as she pulled into the parking lot. The ache of their absence settled deeper.
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Shaking off the feeling, she grabbed her bag and stepped out of the car, inhaling deeply before heading inside.
But as soon as she walked into her office, her steps faltered.
There, on top of her desk, sat a bouquet of dead roses.
The brittle petals curled inward, blackened at the edges. The scent of decay clung to them, faint but unmistakable.
Her breath caught. A shiver ran down her spine, an instinctive reaction to something unnatural. The air felt heavier, laced with the scent of decay. Her fingers twitched, but she didn't move closer.
So much for normal.
Emilia's breath hitched as she stared at the bouquet of dead roses.
The brittle petals curled inward, blackened at the edges, their scent thick with decay. The longer she looked, the more unsettling the sight became. This wasn't just an unfortunate floral mishap. It was intentional. A message.
Her fingers twitched at her side, but she didn't move closer.
Someone had been in her office.
The realization settled in her bones like ice. The door had been locked when she arrived. No signs of forced entry. Whoever did this either had access or knew how to avoid leaving traces.
Cayden wasn't here to step in, to immediately call Henry, to act before she could even take a breath. Henry had agreed—he wouldn't send Cayden to shadow her every move. He trusted her.
She exhaled slowly. She could handle this.
Steeling herself, she grabbed a pen from her desk and carefully nudged the bouquet, shifting the brittle stems just enough to confirm what she already suspected. A small off-white card peeked out from between the thorns.
Her stomach tightened as she flipped it over.
See you soon.
The words were small, unassuming. But their weight pressed down on her like a boulder.
Her heart hammered as she reached for her phone. She didn't want to call Henry—not yet. If she did, he'd be here in minutes, and she knew exactly what would follow. He'd drag her straight back home, lock the doors, and throw away the key. She had promised to tell him if something felt off, but she needed a second. A second to process, to think.
Instead, she called Elias.
He picked up after the first ring. "What's wrong?" No preamble, no greeting—just immediate awareness that something was off.
A pause. Then, "We're on our way."
She hung up, inhaling deeply as she leaned against the edge of her desk. The sight of the roses felt heavier now. She forced herself to stay still, to ignore the itch to pace.
A few minutes later, the door opened without a knock. Elias stepped in first, his sharp gaze sweeping the room before landing on the desk. Beau followed, his usual relaxed posture stiffening as he took in the scene.
Elias didn't say anything at first. He stepped forward, plucking the card off the desk and turning it between his fingers. His expression remained unreadable, but Emilia knew him well enough to see the tension in his jaw.
Beau raised an eyebrow. "Not Henry?"
She shook her head. "Not yet."
Beau let out a low whistle. "You're playing with fire, Em."
She crossed her arms. "I wanted to get ahead of it before he—"
Before he worried himself sick. Before he demanded she stay home. Before he locked down every possible part of her life to keep her safe.
Elias met her gaze, understanding exactly what she meant without her saying it. He studied her for a long moment before slipping the card into the pocket of his suit jacket.
Emilia sighed, rubbing her temples. "I know."
Elias gestured toward Beau. "Take pictures of everything before we move it."
Beau pulled out his phone, snapping a few quick shots of the bouquet, the desk, the positioning of everything. When he finished, he stepped back, shaking his head. "Whoever did this has balls. And access."
Elias nodded grimly. "That's the part that concerns me most."
Emilia stared at her phone, thumb hovering over Henry's contact. The unease curled in her gut like a storm on the horizon. Call him. Don't call him. She clenched her jaw.Tell him now, and he'd demand she leave. Wait, and he'd be furious. No good options. She exhaled. Dialed.
When Henry answered, his voice was edged with concern. "Em?"
Silence stretched, thick and taut. Then, a low exhale. "Where are you?"
Emilia closed her eyes, fighting the rising frustration. "I can't just leave, Henry. I have patients. I have a life."
A pause. She knew he was restraining himself, weighing his words. Finally, he spoke, softer this time. "I don't like this, Em. I can't just sit back while—" He stopped himself, exhaling sharply. "Fine. But if anything else happens, I want to be the first person you call. Understood?"
She nodded, though he couldn't see. "Understood."
When the call ended, her fingers trembled slightly. She hated this—feeling like prey, watching shadows, wondering when the next strike would come.
Later, in the break room, she hesitated before opening her locker. A ridiculous instinct, but the memory of those withered petals clung to her like smoke. She forced herself to move. Stepping closer, her breath caught at the faint scent of decay still lingering. The stems had been brittle, petals crumbling at the slightest touch. Not a random prank. A message.
Her stomach tightened.
This wasn't over. Not by a long shot.
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By the time Henry arrived, Elias and Beau had repositioned themselves near the door, acting as silent sentinels. Emilia hadn't moved from her spot against the desk, arms crossed, mind racing.
She knew Henry would be tense. She wasn't prepared for just how tense.
The door swung open, and there he was—shoulders squared, gaze sharp, movements precise. He didn't even glance at the bouquet before he crossed the room, stopping just shy of touching her. His eyes searched hers, scanning for any hint of distress.
She exhaled, pressing her palm to his chest in reassurance.
she murmured, fingers brushing over the fabric of his shirt.
His hand covered hers immediately, grounding himself in the feel of her. "You should have called me first." His voice was steady, but there was something raw beneath it.
She didn't pull away. "I needed to get ahead of it. I didn't want you worrying before I had answers."
Henry huffed out a breath that wasn't quite a laugh. "Too late for that."
Beau cleared his throat from behind them. "Hate to break up the moment, but we should probably loop in hospital security before whoever did this tries to leave them another floral disaster."
Henry reluctantly let go of her hand, straightening. "Who's in charge of security here?"
Emilia sighed, already knowing this was about to be a whole ordeal. "Mr. Leland. But I also need to talk to my supervisor, Dr. Robbins."
Henry nodded once. "Let's go."
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Dr. Robbins exhaled slowly, her gaze softening as she studied Emilia. "I want to make something very clear—your safety matters more than anything else. More than hospital policy, more than protocols. If you need time off to process this, we will arrange coverage. No one will question it."
Emilia hesitated, glancing briefly at Henry before shaking her head. "I appreciate that, truly. But I don't want to step away. My patients need me, and I can't let this... whoever they are... dictate my life."
Dr. Robbins nodded as if she expected that answer. "I thought you might say that. But we're not just going to carry on as if nothing happened."
Leland shifted, crossing his arms. "We can have additional security presence in the ER and on your usual rounds. You'll also have an escort to your car at the end of every shift until we determine exactly what happened."
Henry tensed at the mention of counseling, but Emilia caught his hand in hers, a silent reassurance that she was okay. "I'll check in with them," she promised.
Leland sighed, rubbing his temple. "And as for the investigation, I'll oversee the security footage personally. If there's anything suspicious, we'll find it."
Henry was still watching Leland with an unreadable expression. "And if we don't? If whoever did this covered their tracks?"
Dr. Robbins answered before Leland could. "Then we keep pushing until we find them. Because this isn't just about Emilia—it's about the safety of every doctor, nurse, and patient in this hospital. We won't let this slide."
Emilia felt a warmth in her chest at her mentor's unwavering support. She had spent years in this hospital, first as a resident, then as an attending. It was more than just a workplace—it was a second home. And despite the unease curling in her stomach, she knew one thing for certain.
She wasn't facing this alone.
The rest of her shift passed in a blur of patient charts, consults, and carefully masked exhaustion. Henry never strayed far, hovering in the waiting area or standing just outside her office. Elias and Beau took turns lingering nearby, a silent but clear message to anyone watching that Emilia was not to be approached lightly.
By the time the end of her shift neared, a uniformed security officer was already waiting near the staff exit. Emilia sighed, shaking her head at the sight. "They're really not taking chances, are they?"
Emilia didn't argue. Instead, she let herself be escorted through the dimly lit parking lot, Henry at her side, the security officer trailing just a step behind.
When she reached her car, Henry opened the door for her but didn't step back right away. "You sure you want to come back tomorrow?"
She looked up at him, the concern in his eyes almost undoing her resolve. But she nodded. "Yes. I belong here."
Henry exhaled, jaw tightening. Every instinct told him to demand she come home, to lock the doors and keep her where he knew she was safe. But he saw the resolve in her eyes. Saw the woman he fell in love with—stubborn, strong, unwilling to be caged. It killed him, but he nodded.
As she pulled out of the parking lot, her hands tightened around the wheel. Whoever had done this thought they could scare her into running.
They were wrong.
This wasn't over. Not by a long shot.