Mirabelle’s POV:
My footsteps echoed down the polished floors of the hospital, as I followed the doctor through the corridors to the rooms of the injured workers.
These were the men who had trusted me, who had worked on my project-the project that had gone up in flames. Now, they lay broken in these beds, and I had no idea how I would face them.
The first room was quiet except for the steady beep of machines monitoring the patient’s vitals. A man, no older than thirty, lay propped against pillows, his face pale and drawn. His leg, wrapped in layers of gauze and bandages, was elevated, suspended in a frame.
I swallowed, forcing a smile as I stepped closer. The doctor, a man in his fifties with graying hair, stepped forward. “He was lucky to survive.” The doctor began. “When the building collapsed, a section of the scaffolding came down on his legs. He’ll be bedridden for a while, but he’s alive.”
I looked at the man-at his closed eyes, the way his chest rose and fell with labored breaths. I wanted to say something comforting, but the words died in my throat. I settled for a quiet moment. “Thank you, Doctor.” As I turned away, guilt ate away at my insides.
The second room wasn’t much better. Another man lay there, his arms heavily bandaged, the skin beneath mottled with burns. The doctor informed me that according to the man he had been caught in the flames while trying to help others escape. His injuries were severe-burns on his hands and legs that would take months to heal.
“What about their families?” I asked, my voice sounding oddly detached. “Have they been informed?”
The doctor hesitated, glancing at his clipboard. “The police are still searching for their next of kin. Not all of them had proper identification on them when they were admitted, so it’s taking time to track down their families.”
I nodded, my throat tightening. How did it come to this? How did a simple renovation turn into such chaos?
We moved on to the third room, where the remaining injured workers were kept together. I took a deep breath before entering. The room was dim, the hum of machinery the only sound-until a woman’s sharp voice cut through the silence.
“You!” She hissed the moment I stepped inside. I looked up to see a woman in her mid-thirties, her eyes filled with tears. She was standing by one of the beds, gripping the bed’s metal rail so tightly her knuckles were white.
I barely had a chance to open my mouth before she lunged forward, her voice rising. “It’s all your fault! My husband… he can’t see! The fire-he went blind because of you!”
Her words hit me hard, as I took a step back, my breath catching in my throat. The doctor moved as if to intervene, but I raised a hand, stopping him. I had to face this-her anger was justified.
This was my responsibility.
“I… I’m so sorry.” I stammered, struggling to find the right words. “I’ll make sure your husband is compensated. Whatever he needs, I’ll take care of it.”
“Money!” She spat, her face twisting with rage. “You think you can fix this with money? You’re just like the rest of them, throwing cash at problems until they go away! My husband’s life is ruined, and all you can talk about is money!”
I flinched, her words stinging more than I expected. She was right, of course. I did think money could fix things.
“Please.” I said, my voice softer, almost pleading. “I’ll arrange for the best surgeons. I’ll make sure he has the best care possible. Just… let me help.”
Her eyes, filled with anger, bore into mine. Before she could respond, my phone rang, breaking the tense silence. I pulled it out of my pocket, seeing Officer Carter’s name flashing on the screen.
Luckily we had exchanged numbers at the site. My hand shook slightly as I answered.
“Mrs. Sylvester.” His voice came through the line. “I wanted to inform you that the investigation has started. We’ll be conducting a thorough examination, and I’ll let you know if we find anything significant.”
“Thank you, Officer.” I replied, forcing myself to focus. “Please, keep me updated.”
“I’ll need to ask you a few questions soon. I’ll be in touch.” He continued.
“Of course.” I murmured, glancing at the doctor and the woman still glaring at me. “I’m willing to cooperate fully.”
The call ended, and I looked back at the woman, who had turned away, dismissing me entirely. The doctor’s expression was sympathetic but distant, as if he’d seen this scene play out too many times before.
“Thank you for your time.” I said quietly, giving him a small nod. “I’ll make sure someone from my office contacts you soon with details for the compensation and the surgery arrangements.”
The doctor returned my nod. Then I left the room, the woman’s angry words trailing behind me like a curse. I wanted to say more, to make her understand that I wasn’t the heartless person she thought I was, but there were no words that could heal the damage done.
The drive home was a blur. My thoughts kept circling back to the lives shattered because of me. I ran a hand through my hair, my fingers tangling in the strands. The steering wheel felt cold under my hands, and I gripped it harder, wishing I could strangle the truth out of the situation.
I turned on the radio, desperate for a distraction, but instead, I stumbled onto a news broadcast.
“… the fire that claimed four lives and hospitalized nine, with three more still unaccounted for earlier today.” A stern female voice said. “The building was owned by Mrs. Mirabelle Sylvester, wife of billionaire tycoon Noah Sylvester.”
My breath hitched, and I wanted to scream as a male voice responded. “How could someone with such a reputable name allow something like this to happen? Is this negligence or plain ignorance?”