Sir, She's Dead And Will Never Return

Seraphina didn't sleep. She spent the night on the nursery floor, the cold seeping into her bones. At dawn, she rose stiffly and walked back into the main house.

In the guest suite mirror, her reflection was a stranger. A woman with hollows under her eyes. She thought of her father, Arthur Ross. He was in a long-term care facility, his own health failing. He was her only reason to keep breathing. She had to secure this money for him.

With practiced hands, she applied makeup. A mask of health. Concealer, blush, mascara. A soldier preparing for her final battle.

She was grabbing her purse when her phone buzzed.

Maria Kowalski. Her father's caregiver.

Seraphina’s breath caught in her throat.

"Seraphina, honey, you need to get to the hospital. Now." Maria's voice was strained. "It's your father… he had a heart attack."

The world tilted. The phone slipped from her grasp, clattering against the floor. She snatched it back up.

"Which hospital?"

She didn't remember the cab ride, only the frantic prayer repeating in her mind. *Please be okay. Please be okay.*

She burst through the emergency room doors and found Maria pacing, her face streaked with tears. A doctor in blue scrubs approached them.

"Ms. Blackwood? Your father is in critical condition. He needs an emergency bypass surgery. Without it…"

He didn't need to finish.

Seraphina's voice trembled. "How… how much will it cost?"

"The initial estimate is around five hundred thousand dollars."

The number hit her. She swayed, grabbing the back of a chair to steady herself. Every penny she had was gone. The ten million from Damien was her only hope.

She glanced at her watch. 9:30 AM.

Swallowing her pride, she stepped outside into the ambulance bay and dialed Damien's number.

He answered, his voice sharp. "What now, Seraphina? I'm on my way."

"Damien, please," she begged, her voice breaking. "I need the money. Now. My father… he's in the hospital. He needs emergency surgery."

The words tumbled out. "I'll take anything. Just give me the half-million for the surgery. You can keep the rest. Just please…"

A beat of silence. Then, a cold, disbelieving laugh.

"Your father?" he sneered. "Wow, Seraphina. I knew you were desperate, but to invent a story like that? That's a new low, even for you."

"And what if he is?" Damien's voice was flat. "You think I'm a fool? This is just another one of your pathetic attempts to manipulate me."

"I'm not lying!" she cried, tears streaming down her face. "He's here, at New York-Presbyterian!"

"I don't care," he said. "You made your choice when you decided to leave. I'm not your ATM, Seraphina. And I'm certainly not bailing out your father."

The line went dead.

Seraphina stood frozen, the phone still pressed to her ear.

Her phone rang again. It was the doctor.

"Ms. Blackwood, we're taking your father into surgery now. We'll worry about the payment later. Our priority is to save his life."

Her knees buckled. Relief, sharp and sudden, flooded through her.

"Thank you," she choked out. "Thank you so much."

She went back inside and sat on a hard plastic chair outside the surgical wing. The hours crawled by. Finally, the light above the door went off. The doctor emerged, pulling off his surgical mask.

"The surgery was a success. He's stable for now. He's a fighter."

The tension in Seraphina's body released all at once. She slumped forward, burying her face in her hands, and wept.

Five hundred thousand dollars.

Damien's words echoed in her mind. *I don't care.*

She knew then that he would not be at City Hall.

But she had to go.

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