Before Richard could draw breath to launch his furious rebuttal, the door to the hospital suite slammed open with a deafening crack.
Everyone inside jumped. The sharp, jarring sound echoed off the sterile walls like a gunshot.
A woman stormed in—graying hair disheveled, eyes blazing with fury, her presence like a thunderstorm rolling into the room. Greg froze. She looked... familiar. Her posture. Her gait. Her energy. It was like seeing a ghost from a blurred memory.
He barely had time to process it when—
*SLAP!*
The sound was sharp and brutal, and for a moment, the world went still.
Richard's head snapped to the side, the color draining from his face as he held his cheek, stunned into silence. No one in the room had ever seen him—the great Richard Cross—struck like that. Not by business rivals. Not by enemies. And certainly not like this.
