The Million-Dollar Heart by Rebecca Ryan

Vivienne paid little attention to the idle chatter as she completed a series of checks on Karen before they entered the operating room together.

Inside the pristine OR, Karen was hooked up to a plethora of monitors, all vital signs stable and within normal range.

Lying on the operating table, Karen looked up at her daughter and whispered, “Frost, I'm counting on you.” For Vivienne, there was no turning back now. All hesitation and concern had evaporated the moment they prepped for surgery. All that remained was her unwavering resolve to see her mother healed.

She hugged her mother gently, whispering into her ear, much like Karen had done to soothe her to sleep when she was little.

“Mom, just take a nice long nap, and when you wake up, we'll go out for shearty beef stew.” As the operating lights brightened, Brody stood outside, monitoring Karen's condition in real twith precision.

Percival sat rigidly outside, his expression betraying nothing of the turmoil within. Only he knew the depths of his unease—not just for his mentor’s condition but for the weight on Vivienne’s shoulders.

Outside YQ Research Center, Willa kept vigil by the door, perched on her motorcycle, clutching the ingredients for Karen's favorite beef stew.

A gentle breeze toyed with her long hair, veiling half her face—a portrait of stoic concern.

Back at the Perez Mansion, Maddox was in the yard, building and toppling towers of blocks with Natalia and Yasmine, locked in a cycle of creation and collapse.

In the study, Jasper poured over an album filled with photos of Karen up to the age of ten. It was a thick tome, about eight inches deep, with many gaps representing the thirty-plus years Karen had been away from the Perez family, only to be filled with abundant life snapshots upon her return.

As he flipped through the pages, Jaspers silent prayers weaved through the air.

A day and night passed. Percival’s back was soaked with sweat, dried, and then soaked again. The stew ingredients in Willa’s grasp had lost their appeal, the blocks gleamed from Maddox's handling, and Jasper, unable to sleep, remained with the album clutched to his chest.

In the OR, Vivienne stitched the last suture, wiping a bead of blood from Karen's face. She pressed the button to signal the end of the surgery, and Brody was the first to rush in.

“How is she? Everything looks normal, no rejection when the ST-1 was administered. Was it a success?” Vivienne didn’t answer but simply wheeled Karen out.

As the doors opened, Percival hurried forward, his gaze searching Vivienne’s face for answers.

Silently, they moved Karen to the ICU.

Brody looked confused; the surgery had gone well, with no complication in sight. Why the long faces? Once Karen was settled in the ICU, Vivienne finally removed her mask and called Maddox, Jasper, and Willa.

“The surgery was a success. When my mom wakes up, though, will depend on her own willpower.” The procedure had gone incredibly well. Karen's brain had been skillfully repaired, and her body had accepted the ST-1 without issue.

But Vivienne had detected a severe reaction between Karen's nervous system and the ST-1, plunging her mother into a deep coma—locked away in a space all her own, as if trapped within a nightmare.

If Karen could awaken soon, it would mean triumph over this ordeal. If not...

Vivienne sighed, adjusting the IV drip. “Get someone from the hospital over here. The lab’s too far from the city; | can’t always be here in time.” “Already done,” Percival assured her, ruffling her hair affectionately. “You've done great, Vivienne.” A hospital vehicle soon transferred Karen to a high-level ICU, with members of the Nine Mystics Society taking turns to ensure her safety.

Willa, concerned, cto tend to Karen herself, and that’s when she and Vivienne officially met.

Willa greeted Vivienne with a nod, as cool and laconic as Vivienne had imagined. “Hey, Vivienne.” Vivienne couldn’t help but smile, remembering how Karen had described Willa’s awkwardness even with Natalia and Yasmine being born in front of her eyes—just a pat on the head, a reserved greeting, as if afraid to harm something so fragile.

When faced with Vivienne, Willa was just as cautious, lightly patting her on the head.

Vivienne hugged Willa, feeling her body stiffen before slowly relaxing into the embrace.

“You're beautiful, just like Sasha,” Willa said, and they shared a smile that spoke of a deep, instant connection beyond blood.

Percival watched from a distance, giving them space. In moments like these, he thought, whether Vivienne or Karen or Willa, none would want any interruption.

Stepping out of the room, Percival’s phone rang—it was Thomas on the line.

“Trouble’s brewing, Percival. Flynn's been hijacked by Gillian. They're on the move as we speak, and the agency only just got wind of it!”Books Chapters Are Daily Updated Join & Stay Updated for All Books Updates...

Percival’s brow furrowed in concern. “But | thought Gillian lost all her privileges at the Vanguard Agency. How can she pull off moving a high-profile criminal?” “She pulled strings using the headquarters’ name,” cthe reply. “Claims that Captain Lark’s last visit to the prison broke protocol. They want Flynn transferred to a max-security facility where no one can get to him. HQ's given the green light.” Clutching his smartphone tightly, Percival muttered, “Got it.” Down the dusty lanes of the Rivenwood suburb, an armored vehicle trundled along.

Inside, Flynn was a picture of restraints, his body laden with shackles and monitored by a tracking device, all under the vigilant eyes of three Vanguard Agency operatives.

Suddenly, the desolate road was engulfed in a cloud of dust, forcing the vehicle carrying Flynn to a grinding halt.

The three operatives huddled protectively around Flynn, eyes peeled for the source of the disturbance.

As the dust settled, the imposing silhouette of a sleek black Bentley blocked their path. From within emerged a figure of chilling elegance.

Dressed in casual black, the man’s face was shielded by dark sunglasses. In his hand, he brandished a pistol and advanced toward the armored vehicle.

The operatives, including the driver, stood paralyzed.

With practiced ease, the man unlocked the vehicle and pointed the gun at the chains around Flynn's waist. His voice was cool, tinged with a hint of frost, “Unlock him, or it’s lights out.”