Say Less I Love You Episode 18

Chapter 205

 NYLA 

"Stone Hospital Group believes only the rich should survive."

The New York Times posts their scathing expose, causing my phone to buzz at 5 AM, jerking me awake. The screen lights up with a barrage of even more notifications, each one making my stomach sink further. Headlines scream about Stone Hospital Group's "unethical drug hoarding" and "patient exploitation."

"This can't be happening." I swipe through article after article, each worse than the last. The words blur together: "Whistleblower reveals," "withholding life-saving treatment," "corporate greed."

My phone buzzes again, this time with a call from the hospital board secretary. "Emergency meeting in thirty minutes, Ms. Thomas."

I should be on a beach right now. The Louis Vuitton luggage by my door mocks me - packed for a wedding and a honeymoon that's now on hold. "Who leaked this story?"

"Everyone's asking the same question. The Times is painting us as monsters."

I pace my bedroom, bare feet sinking into the plush carpet. "They've got it all wrong. We're protecting people from an addictive drug, not hoarding it from them."

"The board's in panic mode. They need you there."

My heart clenches. I should be at Jacob's bedside, not dealing with this PR nightmare. "I'll be there. But first I need to check on Jacob."

"Ms. Thomas-"

"He's still in a coma. I can't just-" My voice cracks. "Give me fifteen minutes to stop by ICU first."

"The vultures are already circling the hospital. Use the service entrance."

I hang up and slump against the wall. The engagement ring on my finger catches the morning light - a promise of happiness now twisted into something else entirely. My phone lights up with another headline: "Stone Hospital Group CEO in Coma as Scandal Breaks."

"Damn you, Marcus," I whisper to the empty room. "What game are you playing?"

The headlines keep rolling in, each one more sensational than the last. Someone's orchestrated this perfectly - timing the expose with Jacob's condition. But why twist the truth about Neuromax? What's the endgame here?

The drive to the hospital is surreal. Protestors line the entrance, their signs bobbing in the early morning light. Security guards part the crowd so I can pull through.

"Give us Neuromax!" someone shouts, pounding on my car window.

"Murderers!" Another voice pierces through.

I do my best to hide my face as I head to the service entrance. Once inside the glaring light of the hospital, I finally feel at ease. This was always the place I felt the most in control, and that's how I long to feel now.

The elevator doors open to the VIP floor, and the antiseptic smell hits me like a wall. My heels click against the polished floor as I make my way to Jacob's room. Through the glass walls, I see Dr. Patel checking his vitals.

"Any change?" The monitors beep steadily, mocking me with their rhythm.

Dr. Patel shakes his head, adjusting Jacob's IV. "His condition remains critical but stable. The poison's effects are unlike anything we've seen before."

I move closer to the bed, taking in Jacob's pale face. The man who once commanded boardrooms with a single look now lies still, vulnerable. My fingers brush against his hand, cold and unresponsive.

"We need to maintain twenty-four-hour observation," Dr. Patel says, making notes on his tablet. "The next forty-eight hours are crucial."

I nod, "I'll find someone I trust. What about the blood work?"

"Still inconclusive. Whatever this toxin is, it's sophisticated. Engineered to be untraceable."

I grip the railing of Jacob's bed. "They knew exactly what they were doing."

"Ms. Thomas..." Dr. Patel hesitates. "The longer he stays under, the higher the risk of permanent damage."

The words hit me like a right hook. Outside the window, protesters' chants drift up from the street below. The company Jacob built is under siege, and he's not here to defend it. But I am.

"Keep me updated on any changes." I straighten my spine. "No matter how small."

"Of course." She pauses at the door. "And Nyla? Take care of yourself too."

I lean down, pressing my lips to Jacob's forehead. "I'm going to fix this," I whisper. "All of it. I promise."

I leave Jacob's room, my heels clicking against the tile floors as I head toward the executive wing. The sound of breaking glass echoes from around the corner, followed by Hilda's distinctive scoff.

"Barbaric." Hilda Stone stands at the floor-to-ceiling windows, her designer suit as crisp as her tone. "Look at them down there, acting like animals."

Through the window, I see a protestor hurling another rock at the hospital's reinforced glass. Security guards rush to contain the situation.

"Those 'animals' are desperate people seeking treatment." I stop beside her, keeping my distance. The morning sun highlights the steel in her gray hair.

"Please. Half of them are paid actors. The other half wouldn't know what to do with Neuromax if we gave it to them." She turns, her diamond earrings catching the light.

The protesters' chants grow louder. A news van pulls up to the curb.

I cross my arms. "Those are real people out there, not just numbers on a spreadsheet."

"You think I don't know that?" Her voice drops dangerously low. "My son is lying in a hospital bed. Don't lecture me about what's real."

"Then help him! I heard you on the phone with Marcus—"

"Not this again." She adjusts her Cartier bracelet. "I told you before—"

"Some things are bigger than me?" I step closer. "What's bigger than Jacob's life? What could possibly be so important that you'd let your own son—"

"You have no idea what you're dealing with." Her perfectly composed mask slips for just a second. "None. And if you keep pushing, you'll make things worse."

"Worse than Jacob in a coma? Worse than people dying because someone tampered with Neuromax?" My voice breaks. "Just tell me what Marcus said to you. Please."

"Get out of my sight." She turns away. "And remember your place. You may have shares in this company, but you're still the help."

The words sting, but I catch something in her eyes – fear. Hilda Stone is afraid, and that terrifies me more than anything else.

Chapter 206

 NYLA

I slide into my seat at the conference table, the leather chair still warm from hours of emergency meetings. The wall-mounted screens flash images of protesters wielding signs, their angry faces a stark reminder of what we're facing. Jacob's empty chair at the head of the table makes my stomach sink.

"These leaks are destroying everything we've built," says Harold Blackwell, adjusting his wire-rimmed glasses.

"The press is having a field day," adds William, scrolling through his tablet. "Social media's exploding with conspiracy theories."

The mahogany doors swing open as Hilda strides in, her Louboutins striking the floor like a judge's gavel. The room falls silent. She takes Jacob's usual seat, and my fingers dig into my armrest.

"I've called this emergency meeting to address the reputational damage from the recent leaks," she announces, her voice cutting through the tension. "As you all know, my son Jacob has been..." The slight tremor in her voice catches me off guard. "...incapacitated under mysterious circumstances."

Whispers ripple across the table. Papers shuffle. Someone's pen clatters to the floor.

"This is unprecedented," Paul Thompson speaks up, his bow tie slightly askew. "We need to hold a vote for an interim CEO replacement. It's protocol."

Hilda's eyes narrow to steel points. "We do not have time for governance bureaucracy with an angry mob at our doorstep, thanks to these damning leaks. For now, I will steer this ship until my son recovers."

The same fear I spotted earlier flashes across her face. She knows something about Jacob's condition - something she's not telling us. My fingernails dig deeper into the leather armrest as I watch her maintain her facade of control.

The board members exchange loaded glances across the polished mahogany. My stomach churns as I watch them silently accept Hilda's power grab. No one dares challenge her - not with protesters scaling our gates and regulators breathing down our necks.

"The source of these leaks must be identified and contained," Hilda continues, tapping her manicured nails against Jacob's leather portfolio. The same one he'd forgotten in my apartment last week, filled with his messy notes about hospital expansion plans.

"Could be an internal whistleblower," suggests Thompson, adjusting his bow tie. "Someone with access to the Neuromax files."

William cuts in, "Or industrial espionage. Our competitors would love to see us burn."

"Whoever it is," Blackwell interjects, "they've handed the media a loaded gun. These clinical trial documents..."

"Are incomplete and out of context," Hilda snaps. Her eyes dart to mine for a fraction of a second. That same flash of fear. She knows something about both the leaks and Jacob's condition - I'm sure of it now.

I grip my pen tighter, pretending to take notes while my mind races. The leaked Neuromax documents, Jacob's poisoning, Marcus's supposed death, and now this corporate chaos - they're all connected. But how?

"We need a unified response," Thompson drones on. "Something to reassure the shareholders..."

My phone buzzes beneath the table - another news alert about protesters breaching the hospital's south entrance. The company Jacob built is crumbling, and I'm trapped in this room, watching his mother capitalize on his absence.

Derek adjusts his glasses. "The regulators are breathing down our necks. They're demanding access to all our trial data, development records—"

Hilda rises from her chair, "I've already contacted Harrison & Mills PR. They're sending their crisis team within the hour."

I clear my throat. I've tried to stay quiet, but there is one thing no one in the room is addressing.  "We cannot release Neuromax, no matter what. The addictive properties in the tampered formula—"

"Cannot become public knowledge," Hilda interrupts. "The moment that gets out, our stock will tank. The FDA will shut us down completely."

Harold Blackwell shuffles through his papers. "We need to control the narrative. Issue a statement about ongoing clinical trials, emphasize patient safety—"

"No." I slam my palm on the table. "We're not spinning this. Those protestors out there? They're desperate people with sick family members. Just like my grandfather. We need to tell them the truth – that releasing Neuromax now would hurt more people than it helps."

"And tank the company in the process," Hilda says. "Is that what you want? To destroy everything Jacob built?"

The mention of his name makes my chest tighten. "I want to save him. And I want to stop whoever did this to him. But I won't lie to dying people to do it."

"Then what do you suggest?" Hilda asks.

"We tell them we're investigating concerns about the formula's safety. It's not a lie, and it buys us time to find who's really behind this."

William clears his throat. "Ms. Thomas's suggestion has merit. Transparency, within reason, might be our best defense."

Derek taps his pen on the table, "Legally, it's a good position."

The other board members nod in agreement, gathering their papers. Everyone looks around, without Jacob here, no one is really sure who is in charge.

But before anyone can respond, the conference room doors crash open with enough force to rattle the glass walls. My heart stops as Trixa sweeps in, her Hermès scarf trailing behind her like a battle flag. Two men in expensive suits flank her, their briefcases held like shields.

The room temperature seems to drop ten degrees. Board members freeze mid-motion - Thompson's coffee cup hovers halfway to his lips, William's pen suspended over his notepad.

"What... what are you doing here?" Hilda's composure cracks, her elegant hand gripping the edge of the table.

My fingers curl into fists beneath the table. Last I heard, my dear step-sister was supposedly dying in some Swiss clinic. Yet here she stands, looking remarkably healthy in her designer suit and sky-high heels.

"I'm here to make sure my father's miracle drug isn't tainted forever in the wake of these leaks," Trixa declares coolly, her gaze sweeping the room before landing on me. A slight smirk plays at the corner of her mouth.

I watch Trixa glide across the room, her designer heels clicking like a timer counting down to detonation. The way she carries herself - head high, shoulders back - screams victory before she's even spoken. Something's shifted in her demeanor since I last saw her. The vulnerable woman who fled her own wedding is gone, replaced by someone harder, more calculating.

"Remarkable recovery," I say, keeping my voice neutral. "The Swiss air must have worked wonders."

Her lips curve into a smile that doesn't reach her eyes. "Oh, you have no idea how... rejuvenating... my time away has been."

"Trixa, darling," Hilda starts, but Trixa raises a manicured hand.

"Save it. I'm not here for pleasantries." She nods to one of her suited companions, who slides a thick folder onto the table. "I'm here because someone needs to save this company from itself. And since Jacob is... indisposed...I'd say we need some real leadership."

The way she says Jacob's name makes my skin crawl. There's no concern there, no trace of the woman who once claimed to love him enough to marry him.

I study her face, searching for any hint of the woman who was so vulnerable and on the verge of death. The woman who I gave my own bone marrow to in order to keep her alive. But there's nothing familiar there anymore. Just cold ambition and something else - something that makes my instincts scream danger.