Pampered By The Ruthless Tycoon Guardian

The rain was still coming down in sheets, turning the hospital's loading dock into a murky river. Desiree huddled under the concrete awning, her cardboard box of personal items sitting in a puddle at her feet. Her Chanel suit was ruined, her hair plastered to her skull. She looked like a drowned rat, but her eyes were blazing with fury. She pulled out her phone, her fingers shaking with rage as she dialed the number. It rang twice. "Sterling," she sobbed, her voice cracking perfectly. "Please, help me. They fired me. They're trying to destroy me." On the other end of the line, Sterling Coleman paused the board meeting he was leading. He stood up and walked over to the floor-to-ceiling window of his Wall Street office, looking out at the gray sky. "Desiree? What happened? Take a breath," he said, his voice calm but strained. "They fired me!" she wailed, turning on the waterworks full blast. "A wealthy patient, some arrogant sponsor, he demanded I give his baby unauthorized medication. When I refused to break the rules, he attacked me! He forced the hospital to fire me! He's trying to ruin my career!" She laid it on thick, emphasizing the words "arrogant" and "bully." She knew how much Sterling hated people who abused their power. It was his one weakness-his chivalry. Sterling's jaw tightened. "Who is this man?" "I don't know his name," Desiree lied, sniffling. "He's up in the VIP penthouse. Sterling, I'm so scared. I have nowhere to go." "I'm on my way," Sterling said firmly. He hung up and turned to his driver. "Gus, the hospital. Now." The black Rolls-Royce Phantom sliced through the Manhattan traffic. When it pulled into the hospital's underground parking garage, Desiree was waiting. The moment Sterling stepped out of the car, she launched herself at him, wrapping her arms around his waist and burying her face in his chest. "Sterling! It was awful!" she cried, her body shaking. Sterling patted her back awkwardly. He was trying to be supportive, but something felt off. As he held her, a faint scent hit his nose. It wasn't antiseptic or soap. It was the heavy, sweet smell of a nightclub-cigarette smoke, cheap vodka, and sweat. It was the smell of 4 a.m., not a 36-hour shift. He thought about the anonymous email his legal team had received that morning. No sender, just a file detailing discrepancies in Desiree's academic record. A seed of doubt had been planted, and the smell was watering it. Desiree pulled back, her face tear-streaked and desperate. "You have to confront him, Sterling. He's still up there. You have to make him pay for what he did." Sterling didn't explode. He didn't promise to destroy the man. Instead, he gently pushed her back, holding her at arm's length. He looked into her eyes, his gaze sharp and searching. "I will handle it," he said, his voice quiet and firm. "But first, I need to see the incident report. I need to read the hospital's official findings before I speak to anyone." Desiree's heart skipped a beat. The panic she had been faking suddenly became real. "The report? Sterling, they falsified it! You can't believe anything they write! You have to believe me!" "If the report is falsified," Sterling replied, his tone hardening, "my lawyers will tear it apart. But I don't walk into a fight blind, Desiree. What are you afraid of?" She opened her mouth, but no sound came out. She hadn't expected this. She expected a knight in shining armor, not a cold, calculating businessman. "Take me up there," Sterling said, turning toward the elevator. Desiree had no choice but to follow, her heels clicking nervously on the concrete. Upstairs, in the VIP suite, Kenzie was being held firmly against Devin's chest. His large hand carefully supported the back of her fragile neck, anchoring her weak, three-month-old body while she looked out the window over his shoulder, her enhanced vision picking out the tiny figures in the parking garage below. She focused her mind, reaching out. The distance was stretching her limits, but she caught the edge of Desiree's panic. "Interesting," Kenzie thought, a hint of amusement in her voice. "The little brother isn't completely brain-dead. He asked for evidence first. Maybe there's hope for this family after all." Devin, who was sipping a glass of whiskey, heard the thought. A proud, almost imperceptible smile touched his lips. He took a slow sip, savoring the burn. The elevator dinged in the hallway. Sterling stepped out, Desiree trailing behind him like a shadow. He marched up to the nurses' station, his posture radiating authority. "I want to see the disciplinary file for Dr. Dillon," he demanded. "Now." The head nurse stammered, pointing a trembling finger down the hall. "The files are in the administrator's office, but... the gentleman is in the lounge right there." Sterling looked at the frosted glass door. He could see the silhouette of a tall man sitting inside. He took a deep breath, straightened his tie, and walked toward the door, ready for war.