Camilla's POV...
"Patricia, what are you doing here?"
Lucian's voice stopped me before I could cross the threshold. It was sharp, edged with exhaustion and something else—a guarded tension that made the air in the hallway feel thick and heavy.
I stood frozen, my hand gripping the cold metal of the doorframe, my knuckles turning white.
The entire hospital wing had been rented out. Just for him. Just for "blood loss," as Henry had said. But on the way here, the truth had begun to surface.
Before we'd even reached the building, protesters had swarmed the car—angry faces pressed against the glass, rotten fruit splattering across the windshield, voices screaming his name like a curse. That's why he was shot. A family issue, Henry had explained dismissively. An old feud. Something ancient and ugly that had nothing to do with me.
Or so they wanted me to believe.
