104 "Beyond the Glass and Blood: Where Corporate Greed Feeds a Deadly Conspiracy, a Risen Ghost Shatters a Fake Dynasty, and the Ultimate Vengeance Begins at Dawn"

The corridor shrank to a single narrow lane where time itself seemed to fracture under the fluorescent glare. Veronica Hale froze ten paces away, her manicured hand gripping her designer handbag with enough force to turn her knuckles chalk white. Her ice-blue eyes swept over the blue surgical cap, the ill-fitting orderly uniform, and then down to the unconscious bulk of Miller sprawled across the floor behind me.

In that microsecond, every trace of the grieving fiancée dissolved into cold, calculated venom.

“Dominic,” she breathed, the name slipping past her lips like a curse rather than a prayer.

I didn't answer. I didn't run. I reached down, my fingers wrapping around the cold steel grip of the Glock tucked into my waistband, and stared right back into the eyes of the woman who had planned my murder.

“You’re supposed to be comatose,” Veronica whispered, taking a slow, deliberate step forward despite the warning signs radiating off my posture. Her voice didn't shake; it hardened with ruthless clarity. “Anthony swore the sedative mixture was enough to keep you under until the board signed the transfer papers.”

“Anthony is a fool, and you’re a thief,” I rasped, my throat still burning as I pushed the laundry cart another foot forward. “And you both underestimated how much I hate being interrupted.”

Veronica’s gaze darted past me, locking onto Grace, who stood trembling beside the cart clutching the leather ledger to her chest like a shield. A cruel, razor-thin smile touched Veronica’s lips.

“You think walking out of this hospital saves you?” Veronica laughed softly, a chilling sound that echoed off the tiled walls. “The board meets at nine o’clock tomorrow morning, Dominic. Even if you walk out of these doors, you have no board, no assets, and no empire. You’re a ghost without a name.”

“Ghosts are notoriously hard to kill,” I said.

Before she could reach into her handbag—where I knew a weapon was waiting—I drew the Glock, leveled it straight at the floor between her feet, and pulled the trigger.

Crack!

The deafening roar of the gunshot shattered the hospital's eerie silence, gouging a white splinter of concrete out of the linoleum inches from her stiletto heel. Veronica shrieked, stumbling backward in genuine panic.