Chapter 8 - The Emergency
The autumn turned into a brutal, icy winter, the streets of the city covered in a thick sheet of black ice. Elena continued her routine at the bakery, her heart slowly softening, though the pride and pain of the deception still kept her from returning to the manor.
At 4:00 AM on a freezing Friday morning, the phone in the guest cottage where Elena was temporarily staying rang violently.
She scrambled out of bed, her breath visible in the cold air as she picked up the receiver. It was Thomas, the elderly head butler of the Whitman Manor, his voice cracked with a terrifying, raw panic.
"Miss Elena... forgive me for calling you, but you must come to the main house immediately," Thomas stammered, the sound of wind howling through the line. "It’s Mr. Alexander. He didn't come back from his night run on the northern cliffs. The security team found him at the base of the ridge. The ice... he slipped. His right leg... it’s trapped under a fallen pine tree, and his temperature is dropping fast."
Elena’s blood went entirely cold. The bouquet of orchids she had crushed at the wedding didn't compare to the tight, crushing grip of absolute terror that seized her chest now.
"Did you call the paramedics, Thomas?" she screamed, already pulling her heavy winter coat over her nightgown.
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"The mountain roads are completely frozen over, Miss Elena! The ambulance can't get up the ridge for another forty minutes! We are trying to lift the tree, but the slope is too steep—"
Elena didn't let him finish. She slammed the phone down, grabbed her keys, and ran out into the freezing dark, her feet slipping on the icy path as she sprinted toward the main estate's garage. This time, there was no wheelchair. This time, there was no performance. The man she loved was actually breaking, and the universe had decided to test her one final time.
