When Power Meets Her

‎The woman staring back at Keziah Bennett from the full-length Candace mirror looked less like a living person and more like a beautifully preserved corpse. ‎She hadn’t moved in minutes. ‎Not a blink. ‎Not a breath she could feel. ‎Only the violent pounding of her heart reminded her she was still alive. ‎Tears gathered in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. ‎It must be a prank, she told herself, forcing a smile that trembled and vanished almost instantly. ‎Noah didn’t do pranks. ‎And if he ever decided to start, it certainly wouldn’t involve her father’s life. ‎Her fingers tightened around her phone. ‎She would call him back. He would laugh softly and say the words he always used whenever she worried too much: ‎"Relax, little boss. I got you." ‎But as she lifted her hand, something felt wrong. ‎Too light. ‎Her breath hitched. ‎“What’s going on?” she whispered, staring at her empty palm. ‎A cold sensation crept up her spine. ‎“Where the hell is my phone?” ‎She spun toward the vanity, rummaging through neatly arranged cosmetics, knocking over a perfume bottle in the process. ‎“For goodness’ sake, I just received a call minutes ago!” ‎Her voice cracked as panic clawed its way into her chest. ‎Then she saw it. ‎Her phone lay scattered across the marble floor — shattered into lifeless pieces. ‎For a moment, she simply stared. ‎Repairing it never crossed her mind. Even if it could be fixed, she didn’t have the patience for it now. ‎Something was terribly wrong. ‎Without another thought, she rushed out of her room. ‎When Keziah stormed into the sitting room, the cleaners froze mid-task. They had been working under Noah’s strict instruction to ensure the house was spotless before his arrival. ‎Her sudden appearance — barefoot, pale, and wild-eyed — sent a ripple of alarm through them. ‎“Keziah! It’s past 10 PM! Where on earth are you going?” the cleaning supervisor, Mrs. Hannah, called after her. ‎But the front door had already slammed shut. ‎Keziah was gone. ************************************ ‎Noah hated hospitals. ‎The smell alone made his stomach twist, but tonight it was worse. Much worse. ‎Chaos ruled the theater corridor. ‎Doctors moved quickly. Nurses whispered urgently. Equipment rattled past. ‎Justin Bennett had been rushed into surgery less than twenty minutes ago. ‎Noah adjusted his tie, then loosened it completely when it began to feel like a noose around his throat. He unbuttoned his collar, dragging in a breath that refused to steady him. ‎He wanted to grab a doctor. ‎Demand answers. ‎Punch a wall. ‎Instead, he inhaled slowly. ‎Control yourself. ‎“Breathe in…” ‎“Breathe out…” ‎A pair of bedroom slippers suddenly flew past him. ‎He frowned. ‎“You haven’t paid for the service!” an elderly taxi driver shouted. ‎Noah turned — and the moment he saw her, recognition struck instantly. ‎Keziah. ‎Her hair was slightly disheveled, her chest rising and falling too fast, her eyes glassy with unshed tears. ‎She looked seconds away from breaking. ‎Torn between chasing her and settling the furious driver, Noah chose the latter. He reached into his pocket and handed the man a hundred-dollar bill. ‎“For the young lady who just got out.” ‎“Let me get your—” ‎“Keep the change.” ‎Gratitude spread across the driver’s face, but Noah was already moving. He picked up the discarded slippers and hurried inside. ‎He knew exactly what Keziah was capable of when pushed into emotional corners. ‎And tonight, she was far beyond the edge. ‎At the theater entrance, two nurses struggled to hold her back. ‎“I need to see him!” she demanded, her voice trembling despite her effort to sound composed. ‎The nurses looked relieved when Noah approached. ‎“I got this,” he said calmly. ‎The instant his voice reached her, Keziah turned. ‎Her light brown eyes shimmered with tears that finally spilled over. ‎“Noah…” Her voice was frighteningly steady. “Tell me my dad isn’t the one in there.” ‎For a split second, Noah wished he could lie. ‎“He’s going to be fine.” ‎The fragile dam she’d built shattered. ‎Tears streamed down her face as her knees buckled. Noah caught her before she hit the floor and guided her to a chair. ‎She didn’t thank him. ‎She didn’t speak. ‎She just stared at the theater doors as if willing them to open. ‎Hours crawled by. ‎When the doors finally swung open, Keziah shot to her feet. ‎Dr. Kyle stepped out, his surgical cap still in place, exhaustion etched into his features. ‎“How is he?” she asked before he could speak. ‎The doctor hesitated — never a good sign. ‎“We managed to stop the heart bleed,” he said carefully, “but he is currently in a vegetative state.” ‎The words seemed to echo. ‎“Vegetative… what?” she whispered. ‎Her vision blurred, but she blinked the tears away stubbornly. ‎“Is he going to recover?” ‎“We will continue treatment and observe how he responds.” ‎Professional. ‎Measured. ‎Not reassuring enough. ‎“Please,” she said, her voice breaking despite her effort to remain strong. “Make sure nothing happens to him, Kyle.” ‎“We’ll do our best.” ‎“Can we see him?” Noah asked. ‎“He’ll be transferred to the VIP ward shortly.” ‎Keziah nodded silently, though dread had already begun to coil tightly inside her chest. ‎Something told her that life — the one she knew, the one where her father was untouchable — had just begun to c***k. ‎And deep down… ‎She feared it might never be the same again.