HIS PRINCESS

CHAPTER 9

The hospital lights glowed bright as the cab pulled up to Emergency section of the hospital. Ariana threw cash at the driver and ran through the automatic doors, her shoes squeaking on the polished floors.

At the nurse's station, a doctor in blue scrubs was waiting. "Ms. Ross? Follow me."

They moved quickly through a maze of corridors. The doctor spoke as they walked. "The donor has no family. His organs are perfect matches for three patients, including your grandfather. But we need to act fast."

Martin arrived just as they reached the administrative office. His suit jacket was wrinkled, tie loose, as if he'd dressed in a hurry. He pulled Ariana aside. "Do you have the deposit?"

Ariana shook her head. "Not all of it. But maybe—"

Martin cut her off with a raised hand. He turned to the doctor. "I'll need to see the donor's medical records and the transplant authorization."

While Martin reviewed the documents, Ariana paced the small waiting area. The vinyl chairs were empty at this late hour.

Finally, Martin emerged. "It's legitimate." He lowered his voice. "And I may have a solution for the deposit."

Ariana raised an eyebrow. Martin continued. "The hospital has a charitable fund for exactly these situations. Given the circumstances, I think we can make a case."

The clock on the wall ticked past 10:00 PM as they sat with the hospital administrator. Paperwork was signed, phone calls made. An hour later, the administrator finally nodded.

"We'll proceed with the harvest surgery. Your grandfather is being prepped now at Mercy General."

Ariana exhaled sharply, her shoulders slumping with relief. Martin squeezed her arm. "Let's go. You should be there when he wakes up."

As they walked back through the quiet hospital corridors, Ariana realized she'd missed Sebastian's deadline entirely. But she didn't care. The choice had been taken from her hands - and she'd gotten what mattered most.

---

The hospital elevator doors slid open at the ICU floor. Ariana and Martin stepped out into the bright hallway, their footsteps echoing on the linoleum. A nurse intercepted them before they could reach her grandfather's room.

"Ms. Ross," the nurse said, clipboard in hand. "We need to speak with you."

Martin took the clipboard first, scanning the documents. His expression darkened. "There's a problem with the donor's blood work."

Ariana's stomach dropped. "What kind of problem?"

The nurse glanced at Martin before answering. "The preliminary tests showed a perfect match, but the full panel revealed incompatible antibodies. The transplant can't proceed."

Ariana leaned against the wall, the cool surface pressing through her shirt.

Martin handed back the clipboard. "What are the options now?"

"Back on the waiting list," the nurse said softly. "I'm sorry."

Ariana pushed off the wall and walked to the viewing window of her grandfather's room. He lay motionless, already prepped for surgery that wouldn't happen. The monitors beeped steadily.

Martin joined her, his reflection ghostlike in the glass. "We'll find another way."

Ariana watched the rise and fall of her grandfather's chest. The decision crystallized in her mind - no matter what, she wouldn't go to Sebastian Harris. Not tonight, not ever.

She turned away from the window. "Let's talk to the doctors about other treatments."

---

Ariana and Martin walked down the VIP wing's silent hallway when a polished black shoe stepped into their path. The man wore a tailored charcoal suit, his cufflinks glinting under the hospital lights.

"Ms. Ross," he said smoothly. "I'm Spencer. My boss requested a moment with you."

Ariana frowned. "I'm in the middle of something urgent—"

Martin placed a subtle hand on her arm. "Go," he murmured. "I'll handle the doctors."

Spencer waited, posture perfect, as Ariana hesitated. Finally, she nodded and followed him.

They turned down a private corridor lined with oil paintings. The air smelled of lemon cleaner and fresh linen. Spencer stopped at a mahogany door.

"Wait inside, please." He gestured to the plush lounge before disappearing through another door.

Ariana entered. The room held two leather armchairs and a sofa, all facing a floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the city. A silver tea set sat untouched on the coffee table. The delicate porcelain gleamed under the soft lighting, steam no longer rising from the spout.

Minutes later, the inner door opened. Instead of Spencer, an elegant elderly woman entered, leaning lightly on a middle-aged attendant's arm. The woman's silver hair was styled in a neat chignon, her jade-green dress perfectly pressed. The attendant guided her to the sofa, adjusting a cashmere shawl over her shoulders before bowing and withdrawing.

Ariana remained still until the woman's clear voice broke the silence. "You are Ariana Ross, right?"

Ariana's fingers tightened on the armrest. "Yes."

The woman smiled. "I don't want to beat around the bush." She slid a folder across the table. "I want you to have a child with my grandson."

Ariana's breath caught.

"My grandson Khalid has a rare condition," the woman continued calmly. "Aggressive episodes, unstable moods. Marriage seems impossible." She tapped the folder. "This contract ensures your family's troubles disappear. In return, you bear his child. After delivery, you walk away without any custody claims."

Ariana's pulse pounded. Khalid Scott's reputation flashed through her mind—violent outbursts, shattered hotel rooms, hushed-up scandals.

The woman studied her. "I understand this is sudden. Take your time." She pressed a button on the sofa.

The attendant reappeared, helping the woman stand. With a final nod, she left, the door clicking shut behind her.

Ariana stared at the folder. After a moment, she picked it up, the weight heavier than expected.

Spencer entered, holding an ivory envelope. "From Madam," he said.

Ariana accepted it without comment. The envelope bulged slightly—cash, likely.

Spencer escorted her out. The hallway lights were too bright. Ariana walked in a daze toward the doctor's office where Marrin was waiting, the folder tucked under her arm, the envelope in her pocket.

Martin looked up as she entered. "Is everything okay?"

Ariana forced a smile. "Just minor issues, nothing serious."

Martin studied her for a moment before nodding. He didn't press further.

The doctor entered, holding a thin file. He sat across from them, adjusting his glasses.

"Your grandfather's condition is worsening," he said plainly. "His heart function has decreased by fifteen percent since yesterday. Fluid is building in his lungs. Without intervention, he has weeks. Maybe less."

Ariana's fingers dug into her thighs. The folder on her lap seemed to grow heavier.

The doctor continued. "We can adjust his medications. Buy some time. But not much."

Martin leaned forward. "What about the transplant list?"

"Still waiting. No matches yet." The doctor closed the file. "I'm sorry."

Ariana stared at the scuff marks on the floor. Sebastian Harris's offer was one thing—cold, transactional. But the Scott matriarch's proposal was different.

Martin sighed. "We'll figure something out."

Ariana nodded absently, her mind elsewhere. The folder pressed against her legs, its contents undeniable. Some choices couldn't be undone. Some prices couldn't be repaid.

The doctor stood. "I'll check on him again in an hour."

After he left, Ariana excused herself to the restroom. She locked the stall door and opened the folder with trembling hands. The contract was concise—terms, conditions, figures. All laid out in crisp black ink.

She closed it slowly. The envelope of cash rustled in her pocket.

Ariana splashed water on her face. The mirror showed dark circles under her eyes. Time was running out. For her grandfather. For her father. For her.

She tucked the folder into her bag and walked back to the hallway where Martin was standing. Martin was on the phone when Ariana returned. He stood near the window, his voice low but tense. She waited a few steps away, not interrupting. The folder felt like a brick inside her bag.

He ended the call and turned to her with a grim look.

“That was Cynthia,” he said. “She tried calling you first, but your phone must’ve been off.”

Ariana nodded slowly. “What happened?”

Martin took a breath. “The police sealed the company building this morning. Daniel Collins disappeared. No one knows where he is.”

Ariana blinked. “Disappeared?”

“He didn’t show up today at the company as he used to. His phone was switched off and his apartment was found empty. Cynthia said he even tended he resignation letter before his disappearance.”

Ariana leaned against the wall, her thoughts racing. The company was their only steady support. Her father’s reputation was tied to it. If this went public…

She opened her bag and glanced at the folder, then quickly zipped it shut again.

Martin was still watching her. “Do you think Daniel is behind this?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “Let me check on Grandpa first.” She added after some minutes of silence.

They walked back to the hospital room. The sound of machines hummed in the background. Her grandfather lay motionless, his breathing shallow. A nurse adjusted the IV drip, then quietly stepped out.

Ariana sat beside him, her eyes on his face. Martin stood nearby, silent.

After a moment, she reached for his hand and held it gently. His skin felt colder than before.

Martin finally spoke. “We don’t have much time.”

Ariana gave a faint nod. She looked at her grandfather, then at the bag in her lap.

---

Ariana walked out of the hospital with her hands tucked into her sleeves. The night air was cold and quiet. Not a single cab passed. Streetlights flickered above her like they were just as tired as she was.

She didn't feel like heading home yet. Her head was heavy, and her chest was tighter than it had been all week.

She walked past the pharmacy near the back of the hospital. Her shoes clicked gently on the pavement, the only sound keeping her company.

Then she noticed someone ahead—a man standing alone by the street corner.

He wasn’t moving much. Just swaying a little, like he was losing his balance. At first, she thought he might be drunk. But the closer she got, the more it didn’t sit right.

He was too still.

Too tense.

He looked dressed up—long coat, neat clothes—but something was off. His breathing was sharp, and his hands were curled into fists. His lips moved like he was talking, but no sound came out.

Ariana slowed down.

“You okay?” she asked gently.

No answer.