Chapter 6 - Fever in the Dark
My hand was shaking so violently that the phone slipped from my fingers, clattering against the linoleum.
"Who was that?" Sebastian demanded, his voice dropping into the terrifying growl of a predator. He was by my side in an instant, gripping my shoulders. "Maya, who was on the phone?"
"Clarissa," I gasped, the room spinning around me. Panic clawed at my throat. "She... she said Arthur knows you're here. She said they’re calling Child Protective Services tomorrow. They’re going to say I’m unfit, Sebastian! They’re going to take them away to Switzerland!"
"They won't touch them," Sebastian snarled, his eyes blazing with murderous fury. "Over my dead body. Arthur has no authority—"
A sudden, sharp cough interrupted him.
We both whirled around. Owen was still standing by the hallway, but he was no longer looking at us. His small hands were clutching his chest, his shoulders hitching violently as he tried to draw breath. A terrifying, high-pitched wheezing sound escaped his throat.
"Owen!" I screamed, dropping to my knees beside him.
His skin was burning to the touch, drenched in cold sweat. His lips had taken on a faint, terrifying bluish tint.
"Mommy... can't... breathe..." he wheezed, his little eyes rolling back slightly.
"His asthma," I panicked, my voice shrill with terror. "His inhaler—where is his nebulizer—"
I tore through the kitchen cabinets, knocking over spice jars and tea bags, but my hands were shaking so badly I could barely open the plastic containers. Owen’s asthma attacks were rare, but when they hit, they escalated with terrifying speed. His prescription had run out two days ago, and I had been waiting for my paycheck on Friday to refill the steroid solution.
"Forget the cabinet," Sebastian said, his voice cutting through my hysterical panic with absolute authority. He scooped Owen into his arms, wrapping his jacket around the boy’s trembling frame. "We’re going right now."
"The city hospital is twelve blocks away—the ER wait times are four hours—"
"We're not going to the city hospital," Sebastian commanded, kicking open the front door. "We're going to Presbyterian. My private medical wing. Noah! Ivy! Wake up, right now!"
In less than ninety seconds, Sebastian had organized the chaos. He carried Owen in one arm while I gathered Noah and Ivy, who were crying and confused, wrapping them in heavy blankets. We flew down the four flights of stairs, hitting the cold night air just as a sleek black Maybach screeched to a halt at the curb.
The driver leapt out, eyes widening as he saw Sebastian carrying a gasping, feverish child. "Mr. Vale—"
"Drive," Sebastian roared, kicking open the rear passenger door. "Call Dr. Harrison at Presbyterian. Tell him code red pediatric respiratory distress. If his trauma team isn't waiting on the ramp when we arrive, he's fired!"
The car rocketed into Manhattan traffic, sirens blaring from an emergency console I didn't even know civilian cars possessed.
In the backseat, I held Owen against my chest, crying uncontrollably as he struggled for air. "Stay with me, baby. Look at Mommy. Look at Noah and Ivy."
Sebastian sat right beside us, his large hand completely covering Owen’s tiny, burning chest. He was speaking into his phone, his voice steady, cold, and lethal, executing orders that moved an entire hospital system in the middle of the night. But when he looked down at Owen, his jaw trembled.
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"Don't you give up, little man," Sebastian whispered, his thumb stroking Owen’s clammy forehead. "Your dad just found you. Don't you dare leave me."
For the first time in four years, I saw the man I had fallen in love with—not the arrogant billionaire, but the fierce, unyielding protector who would rip the world apart to keep us safe.
