The soft glow of dawn filters through the blinds of Hart Group's private medical wing. Orchid-scented diffusers hum gently, but the sterile hush is unbroken. Leon Hart stands just outside Room 214, shoulders rigid as a statue. A pair of nurses hover in the corridor, exchanging uneasy glances.
He presses a gloved hand to the frosted glass, then exhales. **“April?"** His voice cracks on the name.
A nurse's head tilts. **“Mr. Hart, she's resting. The doctor will see you now."**
Leon nods, stowing his tension behind steel-blue eyes. He steps inside.
---
April Hart lies on a plush recliner, IV drip beside her. Electrodes trace pale lines across her temples, monitoring every fluctuation in her slumbering brain. Her once‑bright blonde hair fans out on the pillow like a halo. But her face is
