When Charles arrived at the hospital, Philip had already been rushed into emergency surgery.
Derrick stood outside the operating room, his face a mask of remorse.
For the first time in his life, he needed Charles—and he knew it.
"Charles, your brother... Philip, he—"
"All of this—Philip ending up like this—is your fault!"
Charles cut him off, his voice hoarse and bitter.
The dried blood on his face stood out stark against his pale skin, and every line of red burned into Derrick's vision like punishment.
He had used Charles.
He had nearly destroyed him.
And now, he had almost killed Philip.
The light outside the operating room stayed on the entire night.
It never went off.
Doctors and nurses rushed in and out, and Charles lost count of how many times someone brought out a critical condition notice.
He didn't even know how his heart was still beating.
Every time those doors opened, hope and dread collided inside him.
