Fifteen minutes later, Ken slipped into the recovery room, silently handed over a sleek, silver MacBook Pro, and sprinted back out.
Diana snatched the laptop eagerly. She propped it up on her lap, wincing slightly as it brushed against her bandaged thigh, but her victorious smile never wavered.
The rapid, aggressive click-clack of her acrylic nails hitting the keyboard filled the room.
Damien stood near the window, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, his face a mask of stoicism. But internally...well, he wasn't as calm.
He knew his sister. She was insane and profoundly obsessed with him.
He had literally fled the continent when he was eighteen just to escape her.
Damien had received early acceptance letters from Harvard, Yale, and Princeton, but he had intentionally chosen a university in Europe simply to put an entire ocean between himself and Diana's suffocating, neurotic "mothering."
