New beginning: Billionaire love story novel Chapter 458

Eligos leaned back in his leather chair, a wicked grin plastered across his face. His sharp eyes were glued to the monitor, watching the live feed from a surveillance camera he had hacked into with a little help from his tech guy. The screen showed Claire Peterson and Andrea bumping into each other at a café in London. It was like watching an unscripted reality show, and Eligos was the mastermind producer.

"Finally," he muttered, drumming his fingers on the desk. "The pieces are moving, just as I planned."

He chuckled softly, his laughter echoing in the dimly lit room. The idea of Claire and Andrea crossing paths—two half-siblings completely unaware of each other's existence—was too delicious to resist. The emotional fallout he was orchestrating promised to be a spectacle, and Eligos loved a good spectacle.

“Wait until Claire sees Andrea,” he mused, tilting his head as if imagining her expression. “Priceless. Absolutely priceless.”

Still grinning, Eligos glanced at another monitor showing Matthew lying unconscious in a hospital bed. The satisfaction he felt wasn’t just from his plan working but also from knowing it was his hand that dealt the blow. The accident that left Matthew in this state was no coincidence. Oh no, Eligos had ensured his second-in-command’s absence would cripple Claire's operations.

“Poor Claire,” he said mockingly, taking a sip of whiskey. “Let’s see if you can still hold everything together without your precious Matthew.”

The memory of that botched kidnapping attempt flickered in his mind, souring his mood momentarily. He hated failures, and that one had been particularly humiliating. Claire had slipped right through his fingers. But this time, there would be no escape. His revenge, served cold, was hitting right where it hurt—her closest ally.

“Patience,” he whispered to himself. “Play the cards right, and the jackpot will be mine.”

Meanwhile, Claire Peterson wasn’t feeling like herself. Every day, she made her way to the hospital to visit Matthew, hoping against hope that she’d walk in one day and find him awake, flashing that reassuring smile he always had.

Instead, the scene was painfully familiar: the steady beep of the machines, the faint scent of antiseptic, and Matthew, pale and motionless, hooked up to tubes and monitors. It was like a bad dream she couldn’t wake up from.

“Any change?” Claire asked the doctor, her voice heavy with worry.

The doctor sighed, pulling his glasses off and rubbing the bridge of his nose. “I wish I had better news, Ms. Peterson. The head trauma he suffered was severe. Right now, all we can do is monitor his condition and hope for signs of improvement.”

Hope. That word was starting to sound like an empty platitude to Claire. She nodded anyway, forcing herself to hold it together.

“Thanks, Doctor,” she said quietly, not trusting her voice to say more.

Later that day, Claire sat by Matthew’s bedside, her elbows resting on the edge of the bed as she stared at him. “You know,” she started, trying to sound upbeat, “you owe me a lot of explanations when you wake up. Starting with why you didn’t tell me how bad things were. Do you think I wouldn’t notice? You’re horrible at hiding stuff, Matthew.”

The only response was the rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor.

“You’re not allowed to leave me with all this, okay?” Claire’s voice cracked slightly. “I need you. And not just because you’re good at paperwork and keeping people in line. You’re my... my family.”

She leaned back, letting out a heavy sigh. “So, yeah. Get up soon, or I’m going to be really mad at you.”

The hospital room was as silent as a library after hours, except for the faint beeping of the heart monitor. Claire sat beside Matthew’s bed, her elbows resting on her knees, her hands clasped together tightly. She stared at his face, willing him to wake up, to say something, anything.

“Hey, Matt,” she whispered, her voice shaky but steady enough to mask the worry she felt deep in her chest. “It’s me. I—I’m here again. Bet you’re sick of me talking your ear off by now, huh?”

There was no response, of course. Just the rhythmic rise and fall of Matthew’s chest and the maddeningly steady beep from the monitor.

The doctor had been blunt: “The impact caused significant trauma to his head. We’re monitoring him, but recovery… it’s unpredictable.”

Unpredictable. What a horrible word. It left no room for certainty, no hope she could cling to.