His expression broke for half a second.
Then hardened.
“What did she tell you?”
“Security,” Lauren said calmly, “escort Mr. Vaughn out of the building.”
He resisted—not physically, but verbally, loudly, indignantly.
“You can’t do this! She’s mine!”
The word echoed down the hallway.
Mine.
Lauren felt something inside her snap into absolute certainty.
No one belonged to him.
Not anymore.
As security forced him toward the exit, Kiara lay inside the trauma bay shaking—not from pain medication, not from shock.
From release.
Lauren returned to her bedside.
“There’s something else, isn’t there?” she asked gently.
Kiara’s eyes flicked toward her coat.
“There’s… a flash drive,” she whispered. “In the lining. I sewed it in.”
Lauren retrieved the coat, feeling along the inner seam until her fingers touched hard plastic.
A navy-blue flash drive.
Her pulse accelerated as she inserted it into the secure hospital workstation.
Files populated the screen.
Video recordings.
Time-stamped.
Photos cataloged by date.
Audio clips.
Lauren clicked one.
Derek’s voice filled the room—raw, furious, unfiltered.
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