He Came Back to Mock the Dying Girl

Vivienne Cole's POV

My fingers brushed the cold metal of the car door just as the man leaned closer.

"Ready to go, Little Bird?" Julian asked.

The nickname hit me like a physical blow. My lungs seized. Only my father had ever called me that.

Behind me, Aaron's footsteps slapped hard against the pavement. "Who the hell are you?" he demanded, his voice echoing off the stone pillars.

Julian didn't even blink at him. He kept his attention on me. "Your hands are freezing."

"Take me home," I told him.

Julian reached down, slipping one arm behind my back and the other under my knees. He lifted me from the wheelchair with effortless ease.

"Hey!" Aaron barked, stepping closer. "I was talking to you!"

Julian ignored him. He settled me onto the leather backseat of the sedan.

"Wait," Sloane's voice chimed in, shrill and annoyed. "You're just leaving? We aren't finished."

Julian grabbed the heavy car door and slammed it shut. The thick glass completely muted the outside world. Aaron's angry face blurred behind the tint, his mouth moving rapidly as he shouted something I couldn't hear.

Helen climbed into the back seat beside me while Julian folded the wheelchair in three quick motions and placed it in the trunk. Then he slid into the driver's seat and locked the doors.

He was the physician who had overseen my supportive care. For eight years, Julian had tracked my charts, monitored my failing white blood cell counts, and watched me wither under Dr. Evans's treatment protocol. He also knew my surname was Cole from the first day I entered the oncology ward. He never leaked it to the press. He never told my family.

"He's still an arrogant prick," Julian noted, starting the engine.

"You remember him."

"Hard to forget the boy who broke your heart while Evans's team was pumping chemo into your veins."

I looked away, staring at the rain beginning to spot the window. "Just drive."

Julian reached for his seatbelt, pulling the strap across his chest. Then he stopped. The metal buckle hovered inches from the latch.

"I sent your last sample to a second lab," he said. His voice was far too flat.

I turned my head. "What?"

"The biopsy from Tuesday. I routed a portion to a facility in Boston."

"Why would you do that?" I asked, my pulse quickening. "Dr. Evans already gave me the timeline. The cancer is aggressive. The treatment failed."

Julian finally clicked the belt into place. "I wanted a different set of eyes on it."

"Julian, we discussed this. No false hope."

"It isn't false hope."

"Then what is it?"

He shifted the car into drive. He kept his eyes locked on the exit ramp of the driveway, refusing to meet my gaze. "We just need to wait for the results."

"Look at me."

"I'm driving, Vivienne."

"You're lying," I pressed, gripping the edge of the leather seat. "What did you see on that slide?"

"Nothing yet. We wait."

The evasion was completely unlike him. Julian always delivered bad news with brutal, clinical eye contact. Now, his jaw was clamped shut, a muscle ticking near his ear. He steered the car onto the main road, accelerating faster than usual.

The sedan merged onto the expressway. The rain fell harder, the wipers slicing back and forth across the glass.

"Take the downtown route," I told him.

"There's traffic."

"I don't care."

We drove in silence for twenty minutes until the towering glass structure of the Cole Group headquarters loomed on the left. The blue neon logo cut through the fog like a beacon.

I stared at the glowing letters.

Twelve years ago, still wearing my black mourning dress, I stood in my father's study. Marie tossed a stack of papers onto the mahogany desk. "You own zero percent of this company," my stepmother had sneered, tapping her manicured nail on the forged signature. "Pack your bags." She threw me out that night. She never realized Gerald, the head butler, had already sewn the authentic hidden equity certificates into the lining of my winter coat.

"You're torturing yourself," Julian said, breaking the silence.

"I'm just looking."

"Looking at the empire that belongs to you."

"Belonged," I corrected. "I don't have enough time left to fight her for it."

"You don't know that."

"I have the charts, Julian. My body is failing."

"Your spirit failed first."

I shot him a sharp glare. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me." He gripped the steering wheel tighter, his knuckles turning white. "You let Marie sit in that penthouse. You let Aaron parade his new fiancée in front of you. You act like a ghost before you're even dead."

"I am tired," I snapped.

"You are hiding."

"I am dying!" I yelled, my voice cracking in the small space.

Julian slammed on the brakes. The car jerked to a halt at a red light, throwing me forward against the seatbelt. He finally turned to look at me, his eyes fierce and unyielding.

"You are not dead yet," he said softly, every word clipped. "Stop acting like they've already buried you."

I swallowed hard, turning my face back to the window. The neon blue light of the Cole logo washed over the damp glass, painting my pale reflection in cold hues.

The light turned green. Julian hit the gas. He bypassed my apartment building, turning the wheel sharply and diving down a ramp into a subterranean parking garage.

"Where are we?" I asked, sitting up straighter.

"Safe house. Unlisted."

The tires squealed lightly against the polished concrete. We descended three levels underground before stopping in front of a private elevator bank. There were no other cars parked nearby. No security cameras visible on the ceiling. Just bare concrete and flickering fluorescent lights.

A figure stepped out of the shadows cast by a thick support column.

An older man in a pristine charcoal suit. He held a leather portfolio tight against his chest.

"Gerald," I whispered.

Julian cut the engine. "He insisted on meeting tonight."

I pushed my door open. My legs trembled as I forced myself to stand, leaning heavily against the car frame for support. The damp cold of the garage seeped through my thin clothes.

Gerald hurried forward. He didn't offer pitying looks at my frail state. He stopped two paces away and bowed his head slightly, exactly as he used to do when my father was alive.

"Ms. Cole."

I glanced at Julian. "You told him to call me Little Bird?"

Gerald nodded. "Your father left the name in his emergency instructions. I gave it to Dr. Julian so you would know he came on my behalf."

"You shouldn't be out this late, Gerald. If Marie catches you meeting with me..."

"Marie is currently drunk on champagne," Gerald replied smoothly, not missing a beat. "She notices very little when there is a party to host."

He extended the leather portfolio toward me.

I looked down at it. A heavy cream-colored envelope rested on top of the black leather. Pressed into the wax seal was the unmistakable steel emblem of the Cole Group.

"What is this?" I asked, my fingers hovering over the wax.

"We are out of time," Gerald said. His voice dropped to a harsh, urgent whisper. "Miss, the lease the Park family plans to sign tomorrow..."

A loud chime echoed through the concrete bunker.

The steel elevator doors slid open behind him.