The heavy smell of antiseptic and cold steel replaced the familiar rain-scented warmth of Vance Manor. Clara sat stiffly on the edge of the clinical bed inside Adrian’s private medical wing, her hands clutched so tightly in her lap that her knuckles were dead white. Today was Saturday. The day of the surgery.
Her heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird. Every soft beep of the heart monitor felt like a countdown. She could hear the quiet, metallic clinking of surgical tools being arranged nearby and the low, professional murmurs of Dr. Ross and the European specialists. The reality of it was terrifying—in a few moments, they would cut into the delicate nerves behind her eyes.
Suddenly, the frantic whispers of the medical staff died down. The absolute silence that followed t
