Two agonizing hours passed before the door to the emergency room flung open. To Crimson, though, it felt like an eternity. He rose from the chair, the metal creaking in relief as he eased his weight and stood on his feet.
He couldn't summon the strength to run to the man garbed in a white robe, so he waited, fear swelling in his chest, making breathing a struggle.
The veins in his temples pounded beneath his skin.
Isabela was his responsibility as the new head of the house, and if something bad happened to her, he only had himself to blame.
"How's the patient?" Crimson asked, the words barely emerging from his paper-white lips.
The doctor, a man in his early fifties with graying sandy brown hair, looked at him with tired eyes.
"The surgery was a success. Although, she could have died
