The Supreme Heir

Chapter 4

The hospital corridor stayed loud for a few seconds after the last laugh, but the noise did not feel real anymore, not with her standing there and not with Dante lying still on the bed like he belonged to nobody.

“That’s a joke, right?” a man said, smiling too wide. “An Hale in this kind of hospital?”

Another voice joined in, sharper. “If she’s an Hale, then I’m the president.”

The chuckles came back, eager and messy, and the people who had no part in it still watched like they were scared to leave and miss the punchline.

Miss Hale did not move. She did not argue. She did not even look at the ones laughing.

The silence from her side made the laughter stumble, because people could handle anger, but they hated calm.

The doctor stepped forward, a slight frown on his face, like he was tired of childish games.

“Miss,” he said, “you’re only still here because of your fine face.”

A few people laughed again, and a woman near the wall whispered, “He’s right, she’s too pretty to be wasting time on that one.”

The paramedic who had brought Dante in clenched his jaw.

“Doctor,” he said, “he needs treatment.”

The doctor did not even glance at him.

“Treatment costs money,” he replied, loud enough for everyone to hear. “And he doesn’t have it.”

Miss Hale finally looked at him.

“You’re proud of saying that,” she said.

The doctor smiled as if he had just proven a point.

“I’m being honest,” he said. “You don’t need to forge lies to help a stranger. If you want to play the hero, pick a case you can actually carry.”

The crowd liked that. It sounded like wisdom.

A young man in a designer jacket leaned in and said, “She wants his face, that’s all.”

Another said, “Pretty girls always fall for bad men.”

The doctor tilted his head slightly, then pointed toward Dante’s bed like it was a warning sign.

“And if you want his fine face,” he said, “then you should know he’s already draining the life of another lady.”

The air shifted.

A nurse blinked hard. Someone muttered, “Another lady?”

The doctor nodded like he had inside knowledge.

“Yes,” he said, smooth and sure. “A woman is already suffering because of him. He clings to her, drags her down, eats what he didn’t earn. That’s what men like him do.”

The paramedic snapped.

“That’s not true.”

The doctor lifted a hand without looking at him.

“Let me finish,” he said, as if the paramedic was a child interrupting a lecture.

Miss Hale’s expression did not change, but her eyes sharpened.

“If anyone is draining anyone,” she said, “it was the lady and her people.”

The crowd reacted at once.

“What lady?”

“She knows the story?”

The doctor smirked.

“And you’re saying that with a straight face,” he said. “So now the woman is the villain and he’s the victim.”

Miss Hale’s voice stayed calm.

“I’m saying I’m not interested in my cousin,” she replied, flat and clear, “and I’m not here because I like his face.”

A few people gasped.

A man near the vending machine laughed awkwardly.

“Cousin?” he repeated, as if he had misheard.

The doctor scoffed.

“You can keep lying all you want,” he said. “It won’t change what he is.”

He took one step closer, lowering his voice as if he was doing her a favor.

“It would be better for you to disengage from that young man,” he said. “If you don’t, you’ll regret it.”

Miss Hale stared at him.

“Are you threatening me,” she asked, “or advising me?”

The doctor smiled again, the kind of smile that tried to look gentle but carried heat underneath.

“I’m warning you,” he said. “There are better men.”

He paused, and the pause was the message.

A few people in the crowd glanced at his white coat, then at his face, like they were suddenly seeing him the way he wanted to be seen.

A nurse shifted uncomfortably, eyes down, embarrassed for reasons she would never admit out loud.

Miss Hale’s tone did not rise, but it pressed down on the room.

“You’re not a better man,” she said.

The doctor’s smile tightened.

“Miss,” he said, “you’re emotional. I understand. You want to save him, you want to prove something, but the world doesn’t work like that.”

The paramedic stepped forward again.

“He’s still breathing,” he said. “If you don’t treat him, you’re breaking the law.”

The doctor turned his head slowly.

“The law doesn’t cover peasants,” he said, and this time he said it like a fact he enjoyed.

Some people laughed again, but it came out thin.

Others stayed silent because the word felt dangerous now, like it had crossed a line.

Miss Hale took a small step toward Dante’s bed, and her shadow fell across his face.

Dante’s eyes were open just enough to show he could hear, and the fact that he could hear but could not move made the whole thing uglier.

The doctor watched her look down at him and chuckled.

“You’re wasting your time,” he said. “He’s nothing.”

Miss Hale did not look away from Dante when she answered.

“You’re wrong,” she said.

The doctor spread his hands slightly.

“Then prove it,” he replied. “Say his name, say his rank, say what he owns. If you’re an Hale, you should have no problem doing that.”

The crowd leaned in.

That was the part they liked, the moment where someone got cornered and had to beg or break.

Miss Hale lifted her gaze back to the doctor.

“You want me to prove who he is,” she asked.

“Yes,” the doctor said. “Because right now, all I see is a man who came in with no protection, no money, and no worth.”

A woman whispered, “He’s right.”

A man said, “If she’s really an Hale, she’ll show it.”

Miss Hale’s eyes stayed steady.

“And if I am a Hale,” she said, “then I’m in the best position to tell you who he truly is.”

The doctor opened his mouth, ready to laugh again, ready to twist it, ready to turn the room back into his stage.

The hospital doors burst open.

Heavy footsteps hit the floor fast.

A supervisor rushed in drenched in sweat, breathing hard, her eyes scanning the corridor like she was looking for the person who could end her career with one sentence.

The doctor’s face brightened.

“Perfect timing,” he said, stepping toward her quickly. “Supervisor, tell her the truth. Tell her what this man is, tell her why we can’t waste resources on him.”

He reached out as if to guide her, as if she belonged to him, as if he could control the story once the authority arrived.

The supervisor did not even look at him.

She walked past him like he didn’t exist, straight toward Miss Hale, and the closer she got, the quieter the hallway became, because everyone could feel that something had changed.

The supervisor stopped in front of Miss Hale and bowed.

“I’m sorry for what happened,” she said, voice tight with fear. “Miss Hale.”