Chapter 3: The Penthouse Floor
[Seraphina POV]
I can't let her die like this.
My hands shake as I grab the gurney handles, ignoring the doctor who's trying to explain why there's nothing more they can do. His words blur together into meaningless noise. All I can see is my mother's still face, her chest barely moving with the artificial rhythm of the machines they've hooked her up to.
"Ma'am, please step away from the patient," the doctor says, reaching for my arm.
I jerk away from him. "No. I'm taking her upstairs."
"Ma'am, that's not—"
"The penthouse floor." My voice comes out raw, desperate. "Marco's up there with her, isn't he? With Livia?"
The doctor's face goes pale. "Mrs. Rossi, I really don't think—"
But I'm already moving, pushing the gurney toward the elevator. The wheels squeak against the polished floor as I navigate around startled nurses and medical equipment. Someone calls out behind me, but I don't stop.
The elevator doors slide open, and I wrestle the gurney inside. My reflection stares back at me from the polished steel walls—hair matted with lake water, mascara streaked down my cheeks, my expensive dress torn and stained. I look like a madwoman.
Maybe I am one.
The elevator climbs slowly, each floor feeling like an eternity. Fifth floor. Sixth. Seventh. My mother's breathing becomes more labored with each passing second.
"Hold on, Mom," I whisper, squeezing her cold hand. "Just hold on a little longer."
The penthouse floor. The doors open with a soft chime, revealing a corridor that looks more like a luxury hotel than a hospital. Marble floors, crystal chandeliers, oil paintings on the walls. This is where the Rossi family's most important patients stay.
This is where Livia is recovering.
I push the gurney down the hallway, my heart hammering against my ribs. At the end of the corridor, I can see light spilling from an open doorway. Voices drift toward me—Marco's low rumble and a woman's soft laughter.
They're laughing.
My mother is dying, and they're laughing.
I reach the doorway and freeze. Through the gap, I can see Marco sitting on the edge of a hospital bed, his hand gently stroking Livia's hair. She's propped up against silk pillows, looking pale but beautiful in a designer nightgown. Her kidney surgery is scheduled for tomorrow morning, but she looks nothing like someone who's supposed to be dying.
Marco leans down and kisses her forehead. "Don't worry, baby. Everything's going to be perfect. By tomorrow night, you'll have a brand new kidney, and we can finally start planning our future together."
"What about your wife?" Livia asks, her voice sweet and innocent.
Marco's expression hardens. "What about her? She's served her purpose. After the surgery, I won't need her anymore."
The gurney's wheel squeaks as I push through the doorway, and both of them look up. Marco's face transforms instantly—the tender expression vanishing, replaced by cold disgust.
"What the hell are you doing here?" he snarls, jumping to his feet.
I can barely speak. My throat feels like it's closing up. "Marco, I'm begging you, please have the cardiologist see my mother. She's on her last breath."
He glances at the gurney, at my mother's unconscious form, and his lip curls in revulsion. "Get that thing out of here."
"Please." I drop to my knees right there on the marble floor, my hands clasped in front of me like I'm praying. "Please, I'll do anything. I'll give Livia the kidney right now. Tonight. Just save her."
Livia sits up straighter in her bed, her eyes narrowing as she takes in the scene. "Marco, what is this?"
"Nothing, baby. Just my wife having another breakdown."
"Another breakdown?" Livia's voice takes on a sharp edge. "Marco, look at her. She's soaking wet and covered in blood. What happened?"
I slam my forehead against the floor, the impact sending stars across my vision. "Please, Marco. Please."
Blood trickles down my face, but I don't care. I do it again. And again.
"Stop that," Marco says, but he doesn't move to help me.
"Seraphina, I know you don't want to donate your kidney to me," Livia says suddenly, her voice taking on a wounded, accusatory tone. "That's why you'd invent a story about your mother being critically ill, just to make Marco feel sorry for you."
I lift my head, staring at her in shock. "What?"
"It's so obvious." Livia's eyes fill with tears—perfect, crystalline tears that make her look like a tragic heroine. "You've been trying to get out of the surgery for weeks. And now, conveniently, your mother is dying? Right before my operation?"
"She's not faking!" I scream, pointing at the gurney. "Look at her! She's been underwater for thirty minutes!"
But Marco's face is already changing, his features twisting with rage. He strides toward me, and I scramble backward on my hands and knees.
"You manipulative bitch," he growls. "Seraphina, it seems the lesson I just gave you wasn't enough. You'll stoop to telling any lie just to get out of donating your kidney."
His hand shoots out and grabs me by the throat, lifting me partially off the ground. I claw at his fingers, gasping for air.
"You'd better believe that I can make your mother die right this instant!"
"Marco, no," I choke out. "Are you really going to make me an orphan?"
For just a moment, something flickers in his eyes. Doubt? Regret? But then Livia lets out a soft moan from the bed, clutching her side.
"Oh, Marco," she whimpers. "The pain is getting worse. I don't know how much longer I can wait."
The moment of hesitation vanishes. Marco's grip tightens on my throat.
"Besides," he says, his voice dripping with contempt, "that thing in the lake was a dummy, not your mother. So stop putting on an act for me!"
He releases me, and I collapse to the floor, gasping. "A dummy?" I wheeze. "Marco, look at her! Look at the machines! She's dying right in front of you!"
But he's already turning away, walking back to Livia's bedside. "Get out of here, Seraphina. Before I have security throw you out."
"Marco, please!" I crawl toward the gurney, grabbing my mother's limp hand. "Mom, wake up. Please wake up and show him you're real."
I shake her gently, then more frantically. "Mom! Mom, please!"
The heart monitor attached to her chest starts beeping erratically. Her breathing becomes even more shallow.
"Look!" I scream at Marco. "Look at the monitors! She's crashing!"
But Marco doesn't even glance over. He's too busy comforting Livia, who's now sobbing dramatically into his shoulder.
"Make her stop, Marco," Livia cries. "She's scaring me."
I press my ear to my mother's chest, listening for a heartbeat that's growing fainter by the second. "No, no, no. Don't leave me. Please don't leave me."
The machines start beeping faster, more urgently. Alarms begin to sound.
"Mom!" I grab her shoulders, shaking her harder. "You have to wake up! You have to show them you're real!"
But her eyes remain closed, her face growing paler by the second.
And Marco still won't look.