“No,” I said quietly. “I think attempted murder for profit is expensive.”
Celia stood frozen behind him, her makeup unable to hide the panic draining through her face.
My father stepped toward me.
For one terrifying second, I thought he might actually hit me.
Instead he hissed:
“You ungrateful little bitch.”
There it was.
The real man.
Not the billionaire.
Not the grieving father.
Not the charming executive.
Just a frightened predator realizing the prey survived.
I reached slowly toward my bedside drawer.
Victor stiffened.
Then I pulled out the folded DNR copy he signed.
The paper trembled slightly between my fingers.
“You know what hurts most?” I asked softly.
Neither of them answered.
I looked directly into his eyes.
“You signed my death warrant with the pen Mom gave you on your anniversary.”
His face changed.
Not anger this time.
Fear.
Because for the first time in his life…
Victor Vale understood something horrifying:
I was no longer my mother’s daughter lying quietly in the background.
I was her contingency plan.
And outside my hospital room…
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