Transmigrated: Stealing the CEO husband-Chapter 68: Crying Elias

"Would she be alright?" Liam asked the doctor. Inside the room with a small glass panel on top of the door lay Ariana. Her head covered in a bandage, blood seeped out of her wound and turned the white bandage crimson.

"The patient had lethal damage to the brain. Luckily, she was brought to the ER in time. Otherwise, she would have bled out to death." The male Doctor replied.

Hearing the word death, Luiss felt a crisis in himself that he hadn’t ever had in his life. "Can we see the patient now?"

"Yes, you can see her now. The wounds have been stitched. However, when she wakes up depends upon herself and the luck"

After Ariana disappearance, Luiss got unsettled. He sent for his men who he had been secretly protecting her from the shadows. Two hour laters when he was pacing up and down in his room, he received the news.

The driver had been dead upon the impact. Ariana had suffered the lethal blow. His man had taken her to the hospital, which resulted in her early treatment that saved her.

"Why did they not interfere when Ariana was sitting with an anonymous man in the car." Luiss was angry beyond words. "I want a full report. And if there’s negligence on anyone’s part, they would have to deal with severe consequences."

"Understood... President Luiss." Liam gave a bow and went away to undertake the investigation. "There is something more."

"What is it?"

"President, your mother, Mrs Wellington, had been waiting for you

...

A lady of class sat alone in the low-lit corner of the private club, bathed in the gentle amber glow of a hanging crystal lamp suspended above her. The soft murmur of conversation from other tables blended seamlessly with the refined strains of piano jazz from the far end of the lounge. Waiters in crisp black uniforms moved quietly between tables, but no one dared approach her unless summoned.

She was middle-aged—somewhere in her early sixties—but time had treated her with reverence. Her poise was impeccable. She sat with a straight spine, legs crossed neatly at the ankle, like a portrait of old-world elegance captured in motion. A tailored navy-blue sheath dress hugged her frame with subtle precision, and a cream shawl, so light it seemed made of air, was draped loosely around her shoulders.

She wore her silver-streaked hair in an elegant chignon, not a strand out of place. Her makeup was minimal, expertly applied, highlighting sharp cheekbones and calm, discerning gray eyes. She wore a slim platinum watch on her left wrist and a pair of pearl studs in her ears—understated, yet undeniably expensive. A modest wedding ring still rested on her finger, though its luster had faded slightly with the years. She had never taken it off. Not even after her husband’s death two decades ago.

In one hand, she held a half-finished glass of dry white wine, the crystal stem pinched between long, elegant fingers. She raised it occasionally, not out of thirst, but as a ritual—something to do while she waited. She wasn’t anxious, nor was she bored. She was simply... waiting. Her eyes, cool and intelligent, scanned the entrance without urgency. She wasn’t expecting just anyone.

She was expecting him.

"Mother."

The voice finally broke the silence, low and laced with restrained respect. Luiss Wellington approached the table, tall and composed in a steel-gray suit, but the tension in his shoulders betrayed his mood. He looked tired—his eyes rimmed red, as though sleep had eluded him the night before. His dark hair, usually perfectly combed, was tousled. Yet, even disheveled, he looked every bit the powerful man he had become.

Mrs. Julian Wellington set down her wine glass with deliberate grace. She looked up, her eyes narrowing slightly.

"So you are finally here."

Her tone was polite, but cool—an iciness beneath the surface of civility.

Luiss pulled out the chair opposite her and sat down slowly. "Have I done something wrong?"

Julian tilted her head slightly, a smile playing at the corner of her lips—but it didn’t reach her eyes. "I’m afraid that you’ve done something more than just wrong, my dear."

There was a beat of silence.

"So the news has reached you," he said, not as a question, but a statement.

She gave a soft laugh—dry, almost amused. "Nothing stays hidden from me, my honey."

She took another sip of her wine, then placed the glass aside. Her fingers laced gently on her lap as she leaned forward just a bit.

"Now," she said calmly, "let’s discuss how we’re going to deal with this issue."

"Issue?" Luiss repeated, lifting an eyebrow.

"Yes," she said with a sharpness that sliced through the air. "Issue."

"Mother, while I respect you..." He paused. "We might differ in opinion on what exactly this is."

Julian studied him in silence. Her expression did not change, but the atmosphere shifted.

"Of course," she said after a moment, her voice level. "The opinion of the youth often differs from their elders. You still fail to see the bigger picture."

"I have obeyed you on every matter, no matter what," Luiss said, his jaw tightening. "Every decision you made, I followed without question. I’ve run the company the way Father would have wanted. I’ve lived the life you mapped out for me."

"And that," she said, her voice softening slightly, "has been my pride and joy. You’ve been everything your father hoped you would become."

"But this time..." He leaned in slightly. "This time, I might have to disobey you."

Julian blinked. The silence that followed was heavy, but not hostile—just... reflective. She looked at her son—not as the President of Wellington Enterprises, but as the boy she had raised with iron rules and unconditional expectations.

"Because of her?" she asked finally, no bitterness in her voice—just quiet curiosity.

Luiss didn’t answer immediately.

Julian’s eyes gleamed with perception. "You stayed by her hospital bed all night. That nurse told me."

"Yes, I did," he confirmed. "Because I couldn’t leave her."

She exhaled slowly, clasping her hands tighter. "Ariana... Is she really worth risking the name? The legacy?"

"She didn’t ask for my help. She didn’t chase me. She didn’t try to use me." He stared his mother down. "She almost died, Mother. And I couldn’t... I wouldn’t let that happen."

For a moment, Julian said nothing. Her gaze dropped to her wedding ring, the dulled gold, and she twisted it absentmindedly.

"You’re starting to sound like your father," she murmured, more to herself than to him. "He disobeyed his family too—for me."

A long silence fell between them. The jazz music in the background now seemed distant.

"Then perhaps it’s in the blood," Luiss replied quietly.

Julian looked up at her son, truly seeing him—not as a boy, not as a subordinate, but as a man who had made a decision.

And in her silence, Luiss knew—this was not permission, but it was not resistance either.

It was... acceptance.