Chapter 5 - THE MIDNIGHT CONSPIRACYBack at St. Jude Memorial Hospital, the hallway was quiet, save for the rhythmic hum of the vending machines and the distant footsteps of nurses on their rounds.
Harrison stood by the window of the waiting area, looking out at the rain-washed street.
Clare sat on a green vinyl bench nearby, watching over Tyler through the glass panel of the door. The toddler had finally fallen into a deep, healing sleep.
"You can't go back to that apartment, Clare," Harrison said quietly, turning around to face her. "My security team will handle the move. I've already arranged for a private suite at the Plaza Hotel until we can secure a permanent estate."
Clare looked up, shaking her head. "Harrison, stop. You can't just buy a family. You have a wife. You have a multi-billion-dollar empire that expects you to be a ruthless corporate machine. What happens when your father finds out?"
"Let him find out," Harrison said, his jaw set with iron determination. "My father is living in the past. My empire is mine now. And my children... my children are my life."
He walked over, kneeling in front of her bench so he was eye-level with her.
"Give me a chance, Clare," he pleaded softly. "Let me fix what my family broke. Let me be a father to Arya and Tyler."
Clare looked into his gray-green eyes—the exact same eyes her daughter had—and felt the iron armor around her heart crack. She reached out, placing her hand gently against his cheek.
"You always were stubborn, Harrison," she whispered, a sad, tender smile touching her lips.
Before Harrison could lean in, the harsh glare of camera flashbulbs suddenly blinded them from down the hallway.
Click! Click! Click!
Harrison spun around on his heel, shielding Clare with his body.
Striding down the corridor was a pack of aggressive tabloid reporters and paparazzi, led by a local gossip blogger known for destroying corporate careers.
"Mr. Blackwell! Is it true that you have secret illegitimate children living in poverty while you sign fifty-million-dollar deals?" shouted a reporter, shoving a microphone forward. "Does Mrs. Victoria Blackwell know about your secret family?"
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Harrison’s blood boiled. He lunged forward, grabbing the reporter’s camera by the strap. "Delete those photos right now, or you won't practice journalism in this city ever again!"
"Too late, Mr. Blackwell!" the reporter sneered. "The story is already live. By morning, every newspaper in America will have your face on the front page."
