The jet flew steadily high in the night sky, slicing through clouds. Inside the luxurious private jet, the mood was anything but peaceful. Liam lay unconscious on a sleek hospital bed bolted to the floor, his body pale, skin clammy with sweat, and his veins pulsing with a faint, red glow that had no business being there.
Ella stood over him, her arms crossed tightly under her chest, her eyes burning holes through his motionless figure. Then her gaze shifted sideways—and her expression darkened even more.
Just a few meters away, Ann was crouched on the floor. She hadn't moved since they carried Liam in. Her head was bowed, her hands trembling slightly as they rested on her thighs, her eyes locked on Liam like she was staring at the ghost of her own guilt. She hadn't shed a single tear since the jet took off, but it wasn't strength—it was devastation.
