You felt the blood drain from your face.
“She said you assaulted her, stole jewelry from the Heartwell estate, and threatened her family.”
Liam tried to stand. “That’s insane.”
Roman’s gaze cut to him. “Stay seated.”
“I’m not letting them arrest her.”
“No one is arresting her.”
The way he said it made the room colder.
You stood slowly. “They can lie like that?”
Roman’s eyes hardened. “They can try.”
Within twenty minutes, your brother was in a private ambulance headed toward Mount Sinai, escorted by two SUVs. You rode beside him, holding his hand while he pretended not to be scared. Roman followed behind in the black car, and you felt his presence even when you could not see him.
At the hospital, doors opened before you reached them.
Nurses knew Liam’s name. Doctors were waiting. No one asked about payment. No one handed you forms with impossible numbers at the top. For the first time in years, help arrived before begging did.
And that made you cry harder than cruelty ever had.
Liam was admitted to a private room with a view of Central Park. He fell asleep after treatment, his breathing steadier than you had heard it in months. You stood beside his bed, watching his chest rise and fall, afraid that if you looked away, the miracle would disappear.
Roman entered quietly.
“You should rest,” he said.
You did not turn. “I don’t remember how.”
He came to stand beside you, leaving careful space between your bodies. “The police report will vanish by tonight.”
You looked at him sharply. “How?”
“Truth has a way of becoming very persuasive when backed by security footage.”
“There was footage?”
His eyes darkened. “There were twelve cameras in that ballroom.”
You went still.
“All those people saw it happen,” you whispered. “And nobody said anything.”
