“I know you wouldn’t do something like that,” his brother insisted, “but other people might not see it that way. Especially Andres—”
Declan shot him a warning look that cut the sentence off.
“Even if Andres wanted me dead,” Declan said coolly, “he wouldn’t choose now.”
He leaned back, voice low and steady as he laid it out. “Whoever’s behind this is smart. On one side, they’re spreading rumors in our circle that I’m in bed with Lincoln. On the other, they send someone to the hospital to silence me.”
He gave a short, humorless laugh. “Anyone with half a brain can see it’s a setup. A classic divide-and-conquer.”
Maeve looked at him with open admiration. “You really are the Fulton heir. You see the whole board, not just the next move.”
Then she waved at Naomi and the still-stunned Mateo. “You two talk. I’m heading out.”
Mateo offered to walk her out, but Maeve turned him down politely.
By the time she finally left the hospital, it was already ten at night.
She hadn’t slept at all the night before, and her eyelids felt like they were made of lead. Her experimental data still wasn’t giving her a clean result, and she was debating whether she should drag herself back to the lab and pull another all-nighter.
She pushed through the revolving doors—and a blast of hot air slammed into her face, even at this hour.
Across the drive sat a sleek, imposing black executive van. The moment Maeve stepped outside, it gave a brief honk, and the window glided down.
Maeve was still yawning when her eyes met Andres’s.
She lifted a hand in a casual greeting. “What a coincidence. Coming to the hospital this late—what is it, some kind of emergency?”
“I’m here to pick you up,” Andres said.
Murray got out, came around, and opened the rear door with practiced deference. “Miss Vance, please.”
Maeve’s smile thinned. She lifted her own car keys and gave them a little shake. “Appreciate it, but I drove.”

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