FREYA'S POV
My hands shook violently as I reached into the deep front pocket of my denim apron and pulled out my mobile phone. I unlocked the screen with my thumb and immediately dialed the emergency dispatch number because every single second was critical to his survival. The operator answered the call after the first ring, and I provided the exact street address of Carl's Diner while I knelt on the sticky linoleum floor next to Thomas.
"The paramedics are driving here right now, and they told us to keep his airway completely clear," I instructed Mason while I carefully moved a heavy wooden dining chair out of the way to give the medical professionals more physical space to work.
Mason ignored my instructions and continued to hold his father's shoulders. The loud wail of ambulance sirens filled the quiet street exactly four minutes later, and two paramedics rushed through the glass front door carrying large orange medical bags and a collapsible metal stretcher. They quickly assessed Thomas's vital signs and lifted his unconscious body onto the stretcher before they strapped him down securely with thick canvas belts.
"I am riding in the back of the ambulance with him because he is my friend and he needs someone familiar beside him," I told the lead paramedic as I untied the strings of my stained apron and threw the fabric onto the nearest table.
"You are absolutely not riding in that vehicle," Mason argued forcefully while he stood up from the floor and straightened his expensive, tailored jacket. "He is my father, so I am the only person who should accompany him to the medical facility."
"You can follow the ambulance in your luxury car, but I am sitting next to him because you are the person who caused him to collapse in the first place," I countered angrily, and I stepped inside the back of the emergency vehicle before he could physically stop me. The paramedic slammed the heavy metal doors shut, and the vehicle sped away from the diner toward the nearest hospital.
After we arrived at the emergency department, the medical staff rushed Thomas through a set of double swinging doors, and a nurse instructed me to sit in the public waiting area. The large room was incredibly cold, and the fluorescent overhead lights buzzed loudly against the ceiling tiles. I walked over to a large metal vending machine in the corner and inserted three crumpled dollar bills into the payment slot. I pressed the plastic button for black coffee, and a thin paper cup dropped into the dispensing tray. The hot liquid tasted completely bitter and slightly burnt, but I drank it anyway because I needed the caffeine to stay awake.
I sat down on a hard plastic chair near the window and watched Mason pace back and forth across the white tiled floor. He held a silver mobile phone against his ear, and he spoke in a harsh, demanding tone to the person on the other end of the line.
"You need to contact the public relations department immediately and tell them to monitor all local news outlets," Mason ordered his employee loudly. "Nobody can publish a single article about my father suffering a medical emergency because the corporate stock price will plummet if the investors believe the company leadership is unstable. You must suppress this information completely until I give you further instructions."
He disconnected the call and ran his hand through his perfectly styled dark hair, ruining his neat appearance completely. Although he managed his business affairs with complete ruthlessness, and he only seemed to care about his financial assets, I noticed that his hands were shaking uncontrollably when he lowered the phone to his side. This physical reaction revealed his genuine, deep fear for his father's life, and that brief moment of human vulnerability surprised me entirely.
Leon stood silently against the painted concrete wall near the exit doors, and he monitored the busy hallway without speaking a single word to either of us. We waited in that tense, uncomfortable silence for over two hours until a doctor wearing a white laboratory coat finally walked through the double doors and approached our location.
"Are you the family members of Thomas Kingsley?" the doctor asked while he looked down at a plastic clipboard in his hands.
"I am his son, and this woman is just a waitress who followed us here," Mason answered quickly before I could introduce myself. "Tell me exactly what is wrong with his heart, and I demand that you transfer him to a private luxury suite immediately."
"Your father suffered a severe cardiac event, but we administered medication to stabilize his heart rate, and he is currently awake and alert," the doctor explained calmly, completely ignoring Mason's demanding attitude. "We moved him to a private recovery room on the fourth floor, and he specifically requested to speak with both of you at the same time."
Mason frowned deeply at my inclusion, but he did not argue with the medical professional. We followed the doctor into the metal elevator and rode it up to the cardiology department. The hallways on this floor were very quiet, and the air smelled strongly of antiseptic cleaning chemicals. We entered room number 412, and I saw Thomas lying on a narrow mechanical bed in the center of the room. Several thin wires connected his chest to a large medical monitor that beeped rhythmically next to his head, and a clear plastic tube delivered oxygen directly into his nose.
He looked incredibly pale and physically weak, yet his eyes were entirely sharp and focused when he looked at us.
"You look terrible, Dad," Mason said as he walked to the side of the bed and placed his hands on the metal railing. "You need to rest and recover, so you should not worry about anything regarding the company."
"I have to worry about the company because your cousin Aiden is actively trying to destroy everything I built," Thomas replied, and his voice sounded raspy but completely determined. "Aiden contacted the board of directors this morning, and he is gathering enough votes to remove you from the Chief Executive Officer position permanently."
Mason clenched his jaw tightly, and a muscle ticked in his cheek. "Aiden does not have the authority to remove me from the company, and the board will not support him."
"The board will support him because they believe you are too reckless and unstable to manage a billion-dollar corporate empire," Thomas argued while he adjusted the white cotton blanket over his legs. "They want a leader who has a grounded, respectable personal life, and you currently spend your weekends attending wild parties with superficial women. You need to prove your stability to the investors immediately, or you will lose the company and your entire trust fund before the end of the month."
"How exactly do you expect me to prove my personal stability to a room full of greedy corporate executives?" Mason asked angrily.
"You must get married immediately to show them that you are ready to settle down and take your responsibilities seriously," Thomas stated firmly without breaking eye contact with his son. "If you present a respectable, legally binding marriage to the board, Aiden will lose his argument completely, and your inheritance will be secured."
"I do not have a fiancée, and I cannot find a respectable woman to marry me in a matter of days," Mason argued because the demand was entirely illogical.
"You do not need to search for a wife because I already chose the perfect candidate for you," Thomas said, and he slowly lifted his right hand from the mattress to point his index finger directly at my face. "You are going to marry Freya."
I inhaled sharply and stepped backward until my shoulders hit the wooden doorframe because I could not believe the words he just spoke.
"I will never marry a manipulative waitress who serves cheap coffee in a filthy diner," Mason sneered while he glared at his father in complete disgust.
Thomas gripped the metal bed railing tightly and lifted his head off the pillows. "You will marry Freya within forty-eight hours, or I will legally transfer all of my voting shares to Aiden tomorrow morning, and you will lose the company forever."