Chapter 78

Mirabelle’s POV

My footsteps echoed down the polished floors of the hospital, as I followed the doctor through the corridors to the rooms of the injured workers.

These were the men who had trusted me, who had worked on my project—the project that had gone up in flames. Now, they lay broken in these beds, and I had no idea how I would face them.

The first room was quiet except for the steady beep of machines monitoring the patient’s vitals. A man, no older than thirty, lay propped against pillows, his face pale and drawn. His leg, wrapped in layers of gauze and bandages, was elevated, suspended in a frame.

I swallowed, forcing a smile as I stepped closer. The doctor, a man in his fifties with graying hair, stepped forward. “He was lucky to survive.” The doctor began. “When the building collapsed, a section of the scaffolding came down on his legs. He’ll be bedridden for a while, but he’s alive.”

I looked at the man—at his closed eyes, the way his