Signed to His Heart

Wiwiwiwi... The piercing scream of the ambulance siren ripped through the night, slicing the city open like a blade. Red and blue lights flickered against the buildings as the vehicle hurtled forward, each second stretching into eternity. "Please! Please, help her!" Emilia sobbed, clutching her mother’s cold, limp hand. She pressed her forehead to her mother’s arm, desperately trying to memorize the fading warmth. Her mother’s breaths came shallow and ragged, each one sounding like a final plea to stay alive. "Mom, please, stay with me! You promised we'd see the sunflowers again next summer," Emilia choked, her words dissolving into frantic tears. The ambulance screeched to a halt in front of Mercy Hospital. The back doors burst open. A wave of medical staff surged forward, their voices sharp and urgent. "Clear the way! Move!" a nurse shouted as two paramedics guided the stretcher down. "Please! Save my mom!" Emilia’s voice broke completely, rising above the chaos as they wheeled her mother through the automatic doors. The metal legs of the stretcher screeched against the pavement, echoing in her bones like a death knell. Inside, the harsh fluorescent lights blinded her. "Stay outside!" a nurse ordered, blocking Emilia’s path with a firm hand. The doors slammed shut, sealing her out. Emilia pressed her palms to the glass, her breath fogging it in frantic bursts. Through the haze, she saw only her own reflection — wide, terrified eyes, tear-streaked cheeks, and a soul on the verge of shattering. Time dissolved into a shapeless blur. Finally, the doors swung open. A doctor stepped out, his face lined with exhaustion and resignation. Emilia stumbled forward, clutching his sleeve. "Doctor! Please, is she okay? Tell me she’ll be okay!" The doctor sighed, his eyes heavy. "Miss Hart… your mother has suffered severe heart failure. She needs immediate surgery to survive the night. But the procedure is costly and complex. We need your consent — and a financial guarantee — before we can proceed." Emilia’s knees buckled. She clung to a nearby chair to stay upright, her ears ringing. Heart failure. Surgery. Immediate. The words slammed into her mind like fists. "How much?" she whispered, her voice raw. "Approximately two hundred thousand dollars, potentially more if there are complications," he said gravely. The ground seemed to vanish beneath her feet. Two hundred thousand dollars. She couldn’t even afford last month’s rent. She’d already pawned her belongings, taken endless side jobs — nothing was enough. Her mind raced through a hopeless list of people she could call. But no one had that kind of money. No one. Except... Her phone vibrated sharply in her pocket. Clara: Emi! I heard about your mom. Where are you? I’m coming now! Emilia’s fingers shook as she typed: Mercy Hospital. Please don’t come. I can’t handle this. Another buzz. Clara: Too late. I’m already here. A fresh wave of sobs crashed over Emilia as she curled into herself on the floor, her forehead pressed against her knees. How did it come to this? Just last year, her mother made her favorite pasta on Sundays and sang old love songs while watering their tiny balcony garden. Now, all of that felt like a distant dream slipping through her fingers. "Please, God," Emilia whispered through her tears. "Please don’t take her from me. I’ll do anything." Moments later, hurried footsteps approached. Emilia looked up to see Clara running down the hall, her hair wild and eyes wide with fear. "Emi!" Clara dropped to her knees, pulling her into a fierce embrace. Emilia crumbled into her friend’s arms, sobbing uncontrollably. "She needs surgery. I don’t have the money, Clara. I don’t know what to do," Emilia gasped. Clara pulled back, her hands firm on Emilia’s shoulders. "Look at me. Listen carefully. I did something." Emilia’s eyes widened, her breath catching. "What… what did you do?" Clara swallowed hard, her own eyes glossy. "Remember that resume I begged you to send out? The one you kept hiding because you didn’t think you were good enough?" Emilia’s mouth fell open. "Clara… no. You didn’t—" "I did," Clara cut her off, voice steady. "I sent it to Knight Enterprises. And they called. You have an interview tomorrow morning at eight." The words slammed into Emilia like a violent wave. Knight Enterprises. The fortress of cold ambition and ruthless power, helmed by the infamous Alexander Knight — the man known for destroying careers with a single glance. Emilia felt her throat close up, her heart hammering in her chest. "Clara… I can’t. That place isn’t for people like me," she stammered, shaking her head desperately. Clara grabbed her chin, forcing Emilia to meet her gaze. "It’s exactly for people like you. You are stronger than you think, and you don’t have a choice right now. This is your shot to save your mom." Emilia’s breathing turned ragged. She saw her mother’s gentle smile, heard her soft laugh echoing in her mind. "I… I don’t even have anything to wear," she whispered, her voice cracking. Clara’s lips quivered, but she gave a small, determined smile. "Check outside the waiting room door. I brought something for you." Emilia rose shakily and opened the door. There, hanging from a plastic hook, was a navy blue dress in a garment bag — elegant, sharp, and powerful. She pressed a trembling hand to her lips. "Clara… I can’t—" "You can," Clara insisted, stepping forward to wrap her arms around her. "You’re going to go there tomorrow. You’re going to fight like hell. For her. And for you." Emilia looked back at the emergency room doors, her heart splintering with fear and love all at once. What if I fail? What if I lose her anyway? But beneath that fear, something new flickered — a raw, burning spark of determination. "I’ll do it," she whispered, her voice hoarse but firm. "I’ll go."