Theodore Whitmore Jr. cast a disdainful glance at Victoria Langley's injured hand, his lips curling into a sardonic smile. "You'd better hurry to the emergency room before that scratch magically disappears on its own," he drawled, his tone dripping with mock concern.

Oliver Kingsley chimed in with a scoff. "Ms. Langley, it's barely a scrape. Does it really hurt that much? Even a child wouldn't make such a fuss over something so minor. Honestly, you're acting more fragile than a toddler."

Victoria clutched her hand dramatically, her face contorted in exaggerated pain, though her voice remained sharp. "You don't understand, Oliver. My body isn't like yours. Just last week, I nicked my finger, and the bleeding wouldn't stop. Alexander was so terrified of complications that he rushed me to the hospital immediately."

She sighed theatrically. "He knows how delicate my condition is. The slightest injury could lead to severe blood loss. He even had emergency blood bags prepared for me."

Her eyes flickered toward Amy Sinclair as she continued, "At the hospital, they prioritized another patient with worse bleeding. When Alexander found out, he was furious. What if I had needed that blood? He had every staff member involved in that decision fired on the spot."

She waved her uninjured hand dismissively. "Of course, it turned out to be nothing serious. But you know how overprotective he gets."

Every word was carefully calculated—a not-so-subtle reminder of just how much Alexander Blackwood doted on her. And a warning: if anything happened to her, he would hold someone accountable.

Amy regarded her with an unreadable smile. "Ms. Langley, don’t worry. I’ll call Alexander right now and have him come pick you up."

Victoria stiffened, caught off guard. She had expected anger, jealousy—anything but this calm offer to summon Alexander.

"Oh, Ms. Sinclair, really, it's nothing! Just a tiny scratch. No need to bother him—"

But Amy was already dialing.

Victoria’s eyes darkened. So this was just an excuse for Amy to talk to Alexander.

Except—Alexander never took calls from anyone but her.

The thought barely formed before the line connected.

"Amy?" Alexander’s voice came through, surprisingly warm, lacking its usual icy edge.

"Ms. Langley cut her hand while selecting herbs," Amy said smoothly. "You should probably take her to the hospital."

His tone instantly sharpened. "How bad is it?"

Amy glanced at Victoria’s barely-there wound. "You’ll have to see for yourself."

Before he could respond, Isabella Thornton’s voice filtered through the speaker. "Mr. Blackwood, the board is waiting for you."

Alexander hesitated. "I’m in the middle of a meeting. If it’s not serious, have Theodore handle it."

Amy pressed, "Ms. Langley’s condition is far too delicate for us to risk treating her. If something goes wrong, we can’t be held responsible. You know how precious her health is."

A beat of silence. Then, "Send me a picture. Let me see how bad it is."

"A photo won’t do it justice," Amy countered. "She’s practically in tears from the pain. You really should come see for yourself."

She paused, then added coolly, "But if you choose not to, and she collapses from blood loss—or worse—we won’t take the blame."