Hearts in Conflict

Chapter2

I sat there, trying to process what Dalton had just said. His lips moved, spilling out words but all I heard was muffled noise like someone pressing me under water.

Why would he give me this case? He knew. He knew what the past few years had done to me because of this.

Dalton slid a folder across the desk. The thick file stopped just short of my hand. One word was stamped on the cover in bold, black ink.

Hawthorne.

For a split second, my breath snagged. My throat closed. My fingers curled tight against my palms until my nails dug into skin.

“Why me?” I whispered. Dalton knew exactly what Hawthorne Biotech had taken from me.

He leaned forward. “I know how this looks, Amelia. But I believe assigning you this case might give you clarity. A chance to finally understand why the company did what they did. And truthfully” he paused, studying me “you’re the best person for this. No one else will fight for it the way you will.”

Clarity. As if clarity could bring back the dead.

When he finished, he told me to think about it and report back. His tone was gentle, but I didn’t miss the finality in his eyes. He wanted me on this case.

I rose on shaky legs, muttered something close to goodbye, and walked straight to the restroom. Locking myself in a stall, I collapsed onto the seat and buried my face in my hands.

The memories clawed their way back. The pharmacy clerk’s pitying look. Aunt’s trembling hands as she unfolded the receipt. Papa’s breath growing shallower with every missed dose.

Five years ago, he died.

Papa had lived with Gaucher disease, a rare genetic disorder that attacked his bones and swelled his spleen. We had managed it somehow, juggling weekly enzyme infusions, regular checkups and Gentle walks to keep his joints from stiffening. He’d done everything right. The prescriptions, the lifestyle changes.

Then Hawthrone stepped in.

When the company bought out the pharmaceutical supplier, the price of his drug skyrocketed by four hundred percent. Overnight, the medicine that kept him alive became a luxury we couldn’t afford.

We tried. Stretching papa’s infusions, rationed doses, prayed for miracles but it was not enough. Papa didn’t make it.

The image of him in his final days taunted me. His once booming laugh had dwindled. His hands shook when he tried to hold mine and all I could do was smile through tears so he wouldn’t see my breaking.

Afterwards, I had sworn vengeance, throwing myself into uncovering anything I could use against the company launching into my own investigation until it consumed me. An obsession that nearly destroyed me. Last year, I finally convinced myself that forgetting was the only way forward.

I stayed in the stall longer than I should have. When I stepped out, Thelma was waiting by the sinks.

“You okay?” she asked softly.

I shook my head.

“You look like someone who just found out her cat could talk.”

Despite myself, I let out a weak laugh. “It’s worse than that.”

“Worse?” she teased gently, before her smile faded into concern. “Tell me.”

I hesitated, then sighed. “He wants me on Hawthorne. Thinks there’s something there.”

Her brows shot up. “Lucian Hawthorne’s company? That’s heavy.” She studied me for a long moment. “You don’t want it, do you?”

“Want to?” I laughed bitterly. “Thelma, you know what the company did to my family. I can’t go down that road again.”

“I know.” Her voice was steady. “But maybe this is your chance, Amelia. Not to relive your pain but to make sure no one else goes through what you did. And this time, you wouldn’t be doing it alone.”

I stared at her, disbelief tightening my chest. But she was right, and we both knew it. She gave my hand a small squeeze before walking away, leaving me with my reflection in the mirror pale and tired. Could I do this again without losing myself?

That night, in my dim apartment, the folder sat open on the table. A crumpled news clipping lay beside it:

Lucian Hawthorne Defends Drug Price Hikes, Cites Research Costs.

His photograph stared back at me, eyes sharp, almost daring me. Thelma’s words echoed. After hours of circling my thoughts, I picked up my phone and dialed Dalton.

He answered on the second ring. “Amelia?”

“I’ll take the case,” I said.

Lucian

Lucian Hawthorne sat at the head of the boardroom table, half-listening as the investors droned on. To them, it was always about money profit margins, quarterly losses. Never about innovation. Never about the science.

What do they want now? he thought, resisting the urge to rub at the tension building between his brows.

“We need to know if our shares are safe,” the old man barked from the end of the table, his knuckles white against the polished table.

Lucian’s gaze swept the room, sharp and steady. “Hawthorne Biotech is stronger than ever. Our research pipeline is unmatched, with three new drugs already in phase II trials. Patent protection is secure for the next decade. And while delays are inconvenient, they’re temporary setbacks. Nothing more.”

Relief flickered across their faces. Lucian almost smiled. Bunch of jokers. A few words and they crumble.

At thirty, he had mastered control, bending men twice his age to his will. He thrived on it. But the last failure had taken its toll, the billions lost, the investors fleeing it had stung.

He wouldn’t let it happen again not when his sister’s memory still haunted him every night. Her frail body lost to a rare disease at sixteen. He’d built this empire to save others like her. To ensure no family watched a love one fade as he had.

If the world called him ruthless, so be it. They didn’t understand the cost of failure.