My Two Billionaire Husbands: A Plan for Revenge

Chapter 312: Heartbeat

"The patient, Mr. Veston, listed both of you as his emergency contacts and legal guardians," the doctor informed Cammy and Greg, his voice grave as he handed over a waiver. "This was signed and witnessed by his attorney right before he was brought into surgery."

He took a deep breath before continuing, "He’s in critical condition. The gunshot was at extremely close range and caused significant internal damage—multiple organs were hit. He’s already lost a lot of blood and will likely require additional transfusions and possibly more surgeries. We need your consent now if we’re going to proceed."

The nurse beside him stepped forward with the documents. Without hesitation, Cammy reached out, her hands trembling as she grabbed the clipboard.

"Don’t wait. Do whatever it takes to save him. You have our full consent," she said firmly, tight with emotion as she quickly scribbled her signature.

The doctor nodded, already turning back toward the operating room, when a desperate voice broke through.

"Doctor, please—wait!" Bartolomeu rushed forward, eyes wide, panic painted deep into his face. "My daughter—Annie Tucker—she’s also in there! I need to know how she is!"

The doctor hesitated for a heartbeat, then turned to the nurse. "Please assist him. I need to get back to Mr. Veston now—there’s no time to waste."

As the doctor disappeared down the hallway, the nurse gently approached Bartolomeu to guide him to an update station.

Cammy gripped Greg’s arm, her knuckles white. "He’s going to make it, right?"

Greg didn’t speak. He only nodded, pulling her close, as the doors to the OR swung shut once again behind the doctor.

Then, as if the universe had aligned with the rising tension in the air, the operating room doors swung open again—this time, not one but two doctors stepped out, followed closely by a nurse clutching a clipboard against her chest as if it were her only anchor.

Bartolomeu’s breath caught in his throat. He rushed forward, nearly stumbling, weaving past Greg and Cammy, desperate for answers. Hope clashed violently with fear in his aging eyes.

One of the doctors removed his surgical cap slowly. The second followed suit. The nurse looked visibly tense, her knuckles white around the clipboard.

"Mr. Tucker? Is there a Mr. Bartolomeu Tucker here?" she called, her voice tight.

"I’m here!" Bartolomeu shouted, raising his hand high as he stepped forward. "It’s me! I’m Bartolomeu Tucker. Please, how’s my daughter? Whatever it takes—just save her! I’ll pay anything—anything at all!"

Greg’s gaze sharpened. He noticed one of the doctors let out a slow, reluctant sigh—the kind that never came with good news. His hand instinctively tightened around Cammy’s shoulder. She, too, tensed under his touch.

Ric stepped beside Bartolomeu quietly, his expression hardening as he prepared for the worst.

The lead doctor stepped forward and looked Bartolomeu in the eye. "Mr. Tucker... your daughter sustained multiple traumatic injuries. Her spine was fractured in several places. But the worst was the severe cranial trauma—she suffered a cracked skull and extensive internal bleeding in the brain."

The silence that followed was deafening.

"I’m... I’m sorry. We did everything we could... but we couldn’t save her."

Bartolomeu stood still—too still. The chaos around him faded into a silent void. No sound. No light. Just those words, echoing through his chest like thunder in an empty canyon.

Ric moved instantly, slipping an arm around the old man’s shoulders, steadying him in case he collapsed.

But Bartolomeu didn’t fall.

He didn’t speak.

He didn’t blink.

He just stood there—broken, silent, and still—as the truth shattered around him like glass.

Then, as if his body could no longer bear the weight of the grief, Bartolomeu’s knees buckled.

"Bartolomeu!" Ric shouted, catching him just in time.

But it was too late—he’d gone completely limp in Ric’s arms. Unconscious. Lifeless.

"Lay him down! Now!" one of the doctors barked, already dropping to his knees.

Ric eased Bartolomeu onto the cold tile floor while the medical team sprang into action.

"Check for breathing!" the lead doctor ordered.

Another doctor placed two fingers against the old man’s neck, his face paling. "No pulse! He’s not breathing!"

"Code blue! Starting compressions!" the lead doctor shouted, already interlocking his hands and driving them into Bartolomeu’s chest.

"Get me that damn gurney!" he bellowed.

A nurse sprinted to the nurses’ station, nearly knocking over a cart. "Code blue! We need a gurney, stat!" she screamed into the hallway.

Chaos exploded around them.

Ric backed away, stunned, blood drained from his face.

Cammy covered her mouth, tears brimming. "Oh my god..."

Greg pulled her protectively into his arms as the rapid beat of shoes echoed in every direction. More nurses came running. A crash cart wheeled around the corner, colliding with the wall before being yanked toward Bartolomeu’s side.

Defibrillator pads were slammed onto his chest.

"Charging to 200—clear!"

Bartolomeu’s body jolted.

"Still no rhythm!"

"Charging again—clear!"

Another jolt. No movement.

"Push 1mg epinephrine—now!"

Cammy clutched Greg’s shirt tightly, unable to look, her heart racing. Ric stood frozen, a million thoughts running through his head.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.

All around them, alarms beeped, voices shouted, and lives held their breath.

No one could believe it.

Within seconds, a man who had just pleaded for his daughter’s life... was now fighting for his own.

Then—

A single, precious sound cut through the chaos, and then more.

"I’ve got a heartbeat!" the lead doctor shouted, relief flooding his voice. "Move, move, move! Get him inside—NOW!"

Without hesitation, the team hoisted Bartolomeu onto the gurney like clockwork, their movements sharp and fluid. Wheels screeched against the linoleum floor as they raced him down the corridor, one nurse riding alongside, still manually assisting his breathing.

The swinging ER doors flung open, swallowing them whole.

Silence fell like a thunderclap.

Ric, Greg, and Cammy stood rooted in place, their minds reeling. No one spoke. No one moved. The air was thick with leftover adrenaline, grief, and disbelief. It was as if time had stopped, trapping them in the aftermath of chaos.

Cammy clutched her chest, breathing uneven. Greg’s jaw was tight, his arms still around her, holding her steady. Ric just stared at the doors, fists clenched, unable to process what had just unfolded.

Then, a soft voice shattered the tension.

"If he dies..." Grace whispered from behind, her voice trembling, "Annie’s daughter will be all alone."

Everyone turned to her.

"Poor baby," she added, her eyes welling up with tears. "No mother... no grandfather..."

The weight of her words hit like a blow to the chest.

Greg looked away, swallowing the lump in his throat. Cammy covered her mouth, tears silently falling. Ric’s gaze darkened, rage and helplessness simmering beneath his grief.

No one said it aloud, but they all knew— noveldrama

Another heartbeat was now fighting to hold on.