Emery’s POV
The hospital room is small and colorless, the kind of space that seems designed to strip away everything but the essential facts of illness and recovery. Fluorescent lights hum overhead, casting a sterile glow across white walls and beige linoleum.
Harmony looks fragile against the sheets. IV lines trail from her arm like translucent vines, and the steady beep of the heart monitor marks time in a rhythm I find both reassuring and terrifying. But when I step through the doorway, she manages a weak smile that reaches her eyes.
"There she is." Her voice is rough, diminished, but underneath it I hear the sharpness that first made me trust her. "Thought you'd forgotten about me."
I cross to the chair beside her bed and sink into it, my hand finding hers on the thin hospital blanket. Her skin feels papery, cool. "How are you feeling?"
"Like someone ran me over with a truck, then backed up to make sure they finished the job." She shifts against her pillows, wincing. "But I'm still here. That's something."
"It's everything." I squeeze her fingers gently. "Harmony, what do you remember? From that morning?"
Her brow furrows, and I watch her travel backward through the fog of whatever they pumped into her bloodstream. "I made my tea. Same as always. Earl Grey, one sugar, splash of milk." She pauses, her gaze going distant. "I remember drinking it in the kitchen. Then I felt tired. So tired. I thought maybe I hadn't slept well."
"And then?"
"Nothing." The word falls flat between us. "Just nothing until I woke up here with tubes in my arm and doctors asking if I wanted to hurt myself."
Something hot and sharp twists in my chest. "They actually asked you that?"
"Standard procedure, apparently." Her mouth curves into something that isn't quite a smile. "I told them I've never taken a sedative in my life. Never needed pills to sleep, never touched anything stronger than ibuprofen."
I lean closer, lowering my voice. "Someone did this to you."
"Obviously." She meets my eyes steadily. "I'm not surprised someone wanted me gone. I'm just surprised they moved so quickly." Her fingers tighten around mine. "Must have been getting close to something."
The words hang in the antiseptic air. I think about all the conversations we've had, the fragments of information she's gathered from kitchen gossip and hallway whispers. The picture we've been assembling piece by piece.
"Did you find something?" I ask. "Something specific?"
Harmony glances toward the door, then back to me. When she speaks again, her voice drops to barely above a whisper. "There's someone you should talk to. A former housekeeper named Gloria."
"I've never heard that name."
"You wouldn't have. She left the estate fifteen years ago. Long retired now." Harmony's expression sharpens despite her exhaustion. "She left with secrets, Emery. The kind Portia paid handsomely to bury."
My pulse kicks up. "What kind of secrets?"
"Personal ones this time. Not financial." She pauses, and I can see her weighing how much to reveal. "Something about Landon's father. A betrayal Portia discovered and resolved in ways Gloria never fully understood."
Landon's father. The man I've heard mentioned only in passing, always with careful neutrality, as if even speaking his name might summon something dangerous.
"What kind of betrayal?"
"Gloria didn't know the details. Just knew it was bad enough that Portia made it disappear. Made Gloria disappear too, with a severance package generous enough to buy silence." Harmony's eyes search my face. "Gloria might speak to you if you approached correctly. She was always uneasy about what happened. Guilt, maybe. Or fear."
My mind races through the implications, trying to connect threads I can't quite see yet. Landon's warnings echo in my head—his fear for me, his insistence that I let him handle things, his certainty that digging too deep would put us all in danger.
But I cannot pursue this now. Not while Harmony lies pale and diminished in this hospital bed. Not while Elsie's birthday approaches and I'm surrounded by people who want to destroy me. Not while enemies watch my every move and calculate their next strike.
"I'll look into it," I tell her quietly. "When the time is right."
Harmony nods, seeming to understand everything I'm not saying. "Be careful. Whatever Portia buried, she buried deep for a reason."
I squeeze her hand again, then straighten in my chair. "I want you to know that all your medical costs will be covered. Every test, every treatment, everything. And your position at the estate remains secure. You have a job waiting whenever you're ready to come back."
Her eyes fill with tears so suddenly it catches me off guard. This woman who has faced Marian's cruelty without flinching, who laughed off Lily's insults with cheerful indifference, who protected my daughter with fierce devotion—now she blinks rapidly, moisture spilling down her cheeks.
"I'm sorry," she whispers. "I'm so sorry I'll miss the little one's party."
The ache in my chest intensifies. Elsie's first birthday. A milestone I should be celebrating with joy, not planning under siege conditions.
"Don't apologize." I lean forward and press my other hand over both of ours, creating a small fortress of warmth. "You almost died protecting my family. There's nothing to be sorry for."
"I wanted to see her face when she tastes cake for the first time." Harmony's voice breaks slightly. "I had this whole plan. I was going to teach her to smash it. Really get in there with both fists."
Despite everything, I laugh. The sound surprises me, emerging rough and slightly wet. "She's going to love that. And you'll be there for her second birthday. Her third. Every single one after that."
"Promise?" The vulnerability in her face makes her look younger, smaller.
"I promise." I hold her gaze, willing her to believe me. "Focus on healing, Harmony. Rest. Let your body recover."
"And what about you?" She searches my expression with those sharp eyes that see too much. "Who's going to protect you while I'm stuck in here?"
I think about Landon holding our daughter this morning, choosing her over board meetings and corporate obligations. About the ocean of distance between us last night, and the war we're fighting on every front.
"I'll handle everything else," I tell her. "That's what I do."
Harmony's grip tightens once more before releasing. She settles back against her pillows, exhaustion finally winning. Her eyes drift closed, but the faint smile remains on her lips.
I stay for another hour, watching her sleep, listening to the steady beep of monitors that confirm she's still here, still fighting, still alive. When I finally leave, the hospital corridor stretches before me like a gauntlet I have to walk alone.
Gloria. Landon's father. Secrets Portia buried fifteen years ago.
Another thread to pull. Another truth waiting to unravel the carefully constructed world the Remingtons have built.
But not yet. Not now.