A Choice Between Two Lives
1225 Words
Rose slipped back into Noel’s hospital room without a sound. She sank onto the plastic chair, folded her arms over the edge of the mattress, and rested her forehead against them.
The sharp, stinging scent of hospital disinfectant filled her nose. In the dead of night, the rhythmic beep of Noel’s heart monitor was her only company.
Rose closed her eyes, but the memory of Victor’s anxious face down in the lobby felt burned into the back of her eyelids. She shook her head slightly, forcing the image away.
Three hundred and fifty thousand dollars.
The number Julian had mentioned kept looping in her mind. Let alone hundreds of thousands, what was left of her savings was barely enough to cover next month’s rent.
Rose lifted her head and looked at Noel’s tiny fingers, free from the IV line for now. She gently stroked them.
"I won't give up, Noel," she whispered so softly it was barely a breath.
The next morning, Rose was already at her desk in the executive suite before the clock struck seven-thirty.
Her face looked thinner than it had yesterday. She had used a thin layer of powder to hide the dark circles bruising the skin under her eyes. Ignoring the dull ache in her stomach, she booted up her computer to double-check the New Jersey report she had left on Victor’s desk the night before.
Right at eight o'clock, the elevator doors chimed open.
Victor walked out, his footsteps echoing in a steady rhythm down the corridor. But something was different this morning. He wasn't wearing his stiff formal suit jacket—just a black button-down with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He looked exhausted, deep lines framing his freshly shaven jaw.
He walked right past Rose's desk without a glance, treating her like nothing more than a piece of office furniture.
The door to his private office shut tight.
Rose took a short, steadying breath, then stood up to make his usual black coffee, no sugar. Carrying the ceramic mug, she knocked on his wooden door.
"Come in."
Rose opened the door and walked over to the desk. She set the coffee mug down on the corner with practiced care. The blue plastic folder containing her New Jersey report was in the exact same spot as last night, untouched.
Victor was staring at his tablet, his brow furrowed deeply.
"Your coffee, Mr. Halston," Rose said professionally, her voice flat and detached.
Victor didn't look up. He just moved his right hand, ignoring the coffee and pulling the blue folder toward him. He flipped open the first page, skimmed it, and turned to the next page quickly.
"The comparative data on page three," Victor said, his voice raspy and colder than usual. "You used the profit margins from two years ago."
Rose blinked, then shook her head slightly. "I adjusted those for the latest quarterly inflation in New York, sir. The data comes from the official regional report released last week."
Victor’s hand stopped. He looked up, locking his dark, bloodshot eyes onto hers. He looked severely sleep-deprived, but his gaze was sharp enough to cut right through her.
"I don't like assistants who talk back when corrected," Victor said, his voice dropping into a low, threatening tone. "Fix it within the hour. If there is one more inaccurate number, you can pack your bags today."
Rose didn't look away. She stared right back into the cold eyes of the man who used to be her past. The ache in her chest was numb now, buried under the harsh reality that she needed every single cent from this job to keep her son alive.
"Right away, sir. I’ll fix it now," Rose answered quietly.
She picked up the folder from his desk, turned around, and walked out with her back straight.
Back at her desk, Rose’s fingers flew across the keyboard. She ignored the cold glances he occasionally threw her way through the glass wall of his office. She had only one focus: finish the work, get paid, and get back to the hospital before nightfall.
An hour passed without a break. Rose handed in the revised New Jersey report right on time, leaving it on Victor's desk without a word, and went straight back to her cubicle to tackle the rest of the Halston Group schedule. Throughout the afternoon, their interactions were limited to short, icy instructions from Victor over the intercom, which Rose answered with rigid professionalism.
By five o'clock, the tension in the executive suite eased slightly as the office began to empty for the evening. But for Rose, this was just the start of another race. She quickly cleared her desk, intending to catch the earliest subway to the hospital.
Just as she threw her bag over her shoulder, the elevator doors chimed.
Two paramedics stepped out in a hurry, followed by a middle-aged man in a doctor's coat who looked familiar to Rose—the senior doctor from Noel’s hospital. Behind them, Victor walked with wide strides, a rare trace of raw anxiety clear on his face.
The group stopped right in front of Rose. Victor stared at his assistant with an unreadable expression, while the senior doctor beside him flipped through a few medical documents in his hands.
"Mr. Halston," the doctor spoke up, breaking the sudden, tense silence in the hallway. "We have prepared the specialized operating room and the best team of specialists on the top floor of the central hospital for Mrs. Joana. But as I mentioned over the phone, we ran into a major obstacle when checking the blood bank."
Victor clenched his fists inside his trouser pockets. "Get straight to the point. I don't care what it costs."
"It's not a matter of cost, sir," the doctor replied heavily. "Mrs. Joana has an incredibly rare blood type and Rh factor. Our stock at the central hospital is depleted, and after checking the entire hospital network across New York, there is only one matching bag available right now."
The doctor paused, glancing down at the medical file before looking back at Victor.
"The problem is, that single remaining bag has already been reserved and locked down for an emergency procedure for a pediatric patient in the oncology ward. A young boy named Noel."
Hearing her son's name, Rose forgot how to breathe. Behind her desk, a violent tremor started in her hands and worked its way up her arms.
Victor narrowed his eyes, his jaw tightening completely. Without a second thought, his cold, absolute baritone echoed through the room.
"I don't care who the child is. Call the hospital, buy out the family for whatever they ask, and get that blood to my wife now."
Rose felt every sound around her disappear. The words echoed over and over inside her head.
I don't care who the child is.
Her fingers slowly curled into fists until her nails dug into her palms.
For five years, she had protected Noel alone.
And now Noel's own father had just ordered someone to take away the blood that could save his life.
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