Left To Burn: The Heiress's Ruthless Comeback

A dead silence filled the hospital room, broken only by the rhythmic, mechanical beeping of the heart monitor.

Leo seemed to sense the heavy sadness radiating from Avah. He wiggled out from behind his father's leg and ran over, wrapping his little arms around Avah's knees.

"The bad man is gone. Don't be sad, Mommy," Leo said, his soft voice trying to comfort her.

The pure, innocent warmth of the child melted the ice around Avah's heart. She forced a small, tired smile and gently stroked Leo's soft hair.

Atticus stepped forward. He reached into the inner pocket of his suit jacket and pulled out a sleek, minimalist black business card. He handed it to Avah.

The card was heavy. It had only one word printed in silver foil: Atticus, followed by a private phone number. There was no company name, no title.

"If you require any further medical assistance, call this number," Atticus said, his tone strictly business.

Avah hesitated for a second, looking at his large hand, before taking the card. She placed it casually on the bedside table.

Atticus didn't linger. He scooped up a reluctant Leo, turned, and walked out of the room.

The moment Atticus stepped into the hospital corridor, he bumped into his close friend, investment banker Julian Vance, who was rushing toward him.

Julian stared at Atticus walking out of a standard VIP room, his face a mask of absolute shock and disbelief.

Julian grabbed Atticus's forearm and dragged him around the corner, lowering his voice to an urgent hiss.

"Are you insane? The board of directors is literally sitting in the conference room waiting for you to sign off on the acquisition, and you just vanished to come to a hospital for a random survivor?" Julian demanded.

Julian glanced back at the room number. "Look, I know the fire happened at one of your hotels, but you can't let the ghosts of your past dictate your actions today."

"Those old men are demanding an explanation. Don't throw away months of negotiations out of some misplaced sense of responsibility," Julian pleaded, his anxiety peaking.

Atticus coldly shoved Julian's hand off his arm. He slowly, deliberately adjusted his custom platinum cufflinks.

He looked at Julian. His blue eyes were dead calm, but beneath the surface, a terrifying obsession lurked. "She is not an ordinary victim."

Julian flinched at the raw possessiveness in Atticus's eyes. He stammered, "Then... then who is she?"

Atticus ignored the question. He turned to the head of his security detail standing nearby. "Lock down this entire floor. No one gets in or out without my approval."

He then looked at his executive assistant. "Contact the top orthopedic and burn specialists in the country. Assemble a private medical team for her immediately."

Julian listened to these insane orders, his jaw dropping. He couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"Atticus, you can't do this! You're going to expose your location. The head of the Duke Consortium can't be seen doing this!" Julian argued.

Atticus shot Julian a single, freezing glare that instantly snapped Julian's mouth shut.

Meanwhile, inside the room, Avah picked up the black business card from the table. She rubbed her thumb over the thick, textured paper.

The material was incredibly expensive, yet there was absolutely nothing linking him to the hotel management.

She tossed the card into the drawer, deciding she wanted nothing to do with this dangerous man.

Suddenly, the door opened. Two doctors in crisp white coats, led by the head nurse, walked in.

"Ms. Raymond, we have been commissioned by the hotel to conduct a comprehensive evaluation of your injuries," the older doctor said.

Avah stared at their faces. She recognized one of them from a major medical journal. A deep sense of suspicion twisted in her gut.

How could a regular hotel manager mobilize this level of terrifying medical power in less than thirty minutes?