### AT GOLDEN HEALTH HOSPITAL ###
As I pushed open the heavy glass door of Golden Health Hospital, the sterile scent of antiseptic mingled with the frenzied energy of a bustling emergency room met my senses with a punch.
My heart raced, a rapid drumbeat beneath my ribs, every thought tethered to my father, the man whose strength had always been my anchor.
In my haste, I felt Amanda trailing closely, her footsteps subdued compared to my own frantic pace.
I made my way through the maze of whitewashed corridors,
urgency pulling me toward my father's room, but as I reached the threshold, I found Nick, Dad's ever-vigilant security detail, blocking the entrance.
His expression was grave; the tension crackled in the air.
"She can't come in," he insisted firmly, his eyes darting back to the figure of Amanda as if she were a threat.
"Nick, she's with me!" I declared, my voice sharper than intended, tinged with impatience.
After a moment's hesitation, he scrutinized Amanda, conducting a quick yet thorough search before finally relenting, allowing her to step into the room.
As she crossed the threshold, I caught a glimpse of her embarrassment; it danced across her features, but strangely enough, it was an expression I didn't mind witnessing.
"Dad," I called softly, settling beside him on the hospital bed,
my heart heavy with apprehension as I noticed an elderly gentleman in a sharp suit standing beside him, his demeanor outwardly professional, yet I sensed an air of familiarity about him.
"Hey son, meet Mike Rutherford," Dad introduced, a slight smile playing on his lips. "He's my private lawyer."
"Greetings, young master," Mike said, his voice smooth and practiced,
an attempt at formality that felt oddly misplaced in these somber surroundings.
"Where's your wife?" Dad asked casually, his tone revealing his attempt to lighten the mood, the question floating in the air like a fragile bubble.
In response, Amanda took a step forward; I felt a spark of tension seeping through her body,
her emotions swirling just beneath the surface. I couldn't help but smile at her fiery spirit.
"Wow, you've got good taste, son," Dad said, eyeing her appreciatively, that fatherly warmth evident in his gaze.
"She's Michaelson's daughter," I replied, feeling a peculiar pride swell at my chest as I mentioned her name.
"Ah, Herbert was here earlier," Dad continued, enthusiasm creeping into his voice.
"We chatted for quite a long time. I've dreamed of this day ever since you both were little. I always wished for her to be your wife." His words hung in the air, a weighty proclamation that caught me off guard.
"Uh… sir, with all due respect, I didn't approve of this marriage," Amanda interjected, a hint of defiance in her tone.
"I was forced into this! I'm just 18 years old." The realization of her predicament hit me like a cold splash of water, the seriousness of our situation dawning on me.
Dad smiled knowingly, nodding his head, as if he were imparting wisdom from a lifetime of experiences.
"Things are bound to happen, sweetheart. You've got yourself a rare treasure here; don't throw it away," he advised, his voice rich with conviction.
As I observed the dynamic between my father and Amanda, I couldn't help but smirk. It was astonishing to see the way they engaged in conversation.
I found myself admiring her, she was willful, obstinate in her principles, yet somehow totally dependable, a combination both intriguing and maddening.
"Now, Mike," Dad said, shifting the conversation,
"hurry up and sign over all my wealth to my son. Make him and his the ones in charge of the Drake's Conglomerate and all our assets." His voice boomed with authority, yet I could feel the undercurrent of vulnerability beneath it.
"But Dad," I objected weakly, "I'm not ready for that yet."
"There are many battles we will need to face at a young age," he replied earnestly, his eyes locked on mine.
"I'm genuinely proud of you, son, but always remember, we have countless enemies, both from within our household and beyond. Trust none of them." His words held a gravity I did not take lightly.
"I trust Amanda can defend herself perfectly, but keep a close watch on her," he added, his gaze flitting toward her as she immersed herself in her phone, oblivious to the storm brewing within these four walls.
"Hey, listen," Dad called, breaking through the tension.
"You need to make babies soon! Fight for your right. It won't be an easy journey, my boy, but I trust you with my life." He patted my shoulder, and I found myself at a loss for words, my mind reeling with what he had just implied.
"Wait.. are you insinuating that I should get her pregnant?" I asked incredulously, my eyebrows shooting up in disbelief.
"Exactly what I'm saying. There's no need to waste time," Dad replied, an almost apologetic glint in his eyes.
he took a moment, his countenance softening, and murmured,
"I'm sorry about all of this. If only I had listened to her, we wouldn't be in this situation now."
"Her? Who? What's going on, Dad?" I probed, confusion flooding my thoughts. But before he could respond,
his face contorted in pain, his heartbeat quickened, and the rhythmic beeping of the machines surged in urgency.
"Dad! Someone get the doctor! Dad?" I yelled, panic lacing my voice, dread pooling in my gut.
Within moments, a flurry of commotion erupted, doctors and nurses rushing into the room, their faces masks of determination.
The sterile scent of antiseptic infused the air once more as they began working on my father, desperate attempts to stabilize him flooding the room with frantic energy.
Just then, chaos enveloped us as my mother burst into the space, her face ghostly pale with fear.
"Eddie? What happened to him?" she cried, rushing toward him like a whirlwind, but I shoved her aside,
holding my father's hand tightly, willing him to fight, to hold on for just a moment longer.
"Remember, son, trust no one." Those were his last coherent words, uttered with a fierce intensity before he suddenly went limp,
his life slipping away as the machines around him wailed their discordant cacophony.
"Dad? No!" My voice broke, sorrow flooding my heart as I gripped his hand tighter, tears spilling down my cheeks like an unrelenting river.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Drakes, but we did everything we could," the doctor said solemnly, but I could hardly process the words, my mind hazy with disbelief and anguish.
In a fit of rage, I seized the doctor by his collar, my vision blurring with anger and despair.
"Do something!" I shouted, my voice a guttural plea wrapped in desperation.
"Take it easy, sir. Things like this can happen," he said, visibly shaken, but I could barely hear him, lost in the tempest of my emotions.
"No, he can't die like this!" I screamed, my heart crumbling under the weight of reality.
I had done everything I could to ensure his quick recovery, followed every one of his instructions,
yet here I was, staring into the abyss of loss, grappling with the unforgiving fact that I had lost the idol of my life.
I wept like a child, raw and unrestrained, surrendering to the waves of grief crashing over me,
when suddenly, I felt a warm pair of soft hands resting gently on my shoulders. I looked up to find Amanda standing there, her expression steeped in sorrow, condolences vividly etched in her eyes.
"Sorry about him," she uttered softly, her voice a soothing balm amidst the chaos that surrounded us.