He hadn’t moved or spoken since his brief awakening.

A light knock on the door broke the silence.

The door opened, and Vivian Thornton stepped into the room.

She leaned heavily on her silver-handled cane, her silver hair styled in a perfect, rigid wave.

Her dark eyes swept over me with cold assessment.

“You look terrible, girl,” Vivian said, her voice raspy but commanding.

“I didn’t sleep well,” I said, rising to my feet.

“A wife should look presentable in this house,” she said, walking toward the bed.

She stood over her grandson, her expression unreadable.

“Has there been any change?” she asked.

“None,” I said, holding my breath.

“The lawyers are finalizing the estate transition next week,” Vivian said, not looking at me.

“So soon?” I asked.

“We cannot keep an empire waiting on a dead man’s breath,” she said coldly.

I felt a chill run down my spine.

“He isn’t dead,” I whispered.

Vivian turned her sharp gaze to me.

“He might as well be,” she said.

She turned and walked toward the door, her cane clicking rhythmically.