"Speak to me!"
Serena Ashford's voice tore through the heavy, clinical air of the VIP wing, a jagged sound of pure, unadulterated agony. She was laughing, but it was a dry, hollow sound that held no mirth—only the echoes of a mind pushed to the brink of a total breakdown.
"Why have you suddenly lost your tongue, Derek? Is the pretty boy soldier finally out of lies?" She clutched the railing of the hospital corridor, her knuckles white, her body swaying as if caught in a violent wind. "I see it all now. I see the whole, pathetic script you’ve written. You don't want to save Lemon. You don't care about her vital energy or her recovery. You just want the money, don't you?"
Derek stood before her, his face a mask of stone, though his eyes betrayed a soul-deep exhaustion. He watched his wife
