Dark Lord Seduction System: Taming Wives, Daughters, Aunts, and CEOs Chapter 689 Lila Flatlines

"Yes," Rojas confird. "Surgical ICU. Continuous ICP monitoring if we bolt her. Neuro checks every hour. Labs every two."

They moved around the bed in practiced choreography—adjusting drips, recalibrating monitors, speaking in clipped shorthand I understood perfectly: GCS 8, possible evolving DIC, high ARDS risk.

Glasgow Coma Scale of eight—deep coma. Disseminated intravascular coagulation—her blood could start clotting inside vessels and bleeding everywhere else. Acute respiratory distress—lungs filling with fluid, drowning her from the inside.

I knew every grim statistic. Every mortality curve.

And it was all useless.

Rojas peeled off her gloves with a sharp snap, stepping back to survey the quiet battlefield. "We've done everything we can right now. We stabilize. We watch. We intervene the second anything shifts." Her dark eyes found mine, steady and unflinching. "The rest is up to her. Her body has to choose whether it still wants to fight."

I nodded, throat too tight for words, and pulled the chair closer to the bed. I took Lila's cold hand in mine—careful of the IV—and settled in to wait.

The monitors kept their slow, stubborn rhythm.

Beep… beep… beep…

As if, sowhere beneath the swelling and the bruises, she was already deciding.

The monitor beeped.

Beep... beep... beep...

Steady. Weak. But there.

Then it changed.

Beep... beep... beep-beep...

Santiago frowned. "Arrhythmia."

Beep-beep... beep... beep-beep-beep...

"Heart rate climbing," Elena called out. "Seventy. Eighty. Ninety."

Rojas moved fast. "What's her pressure?"

"Dropping. Seventy over forty."

My stomach dropped with it.

"She's crashing," Santiago said, voice sharp. "Epi, point-five milligrams."

A nurse grabbed a syringe, injected clear liquid into the IV port.

Beep-beep-beep-beep-beep—

"Heart rate one-forty. Pressure sixty over thirty."

"Not responding," Santiago said. "V-tach onset. Get the crash cart!"

Ventricular tachycardia, my brain supplied uselessly. Lethal arrhythmia. Heart beating so fast it can't pump blood. Cardiac arrest imminent.

Knowing didn't stop it.

The monitor scread.

BEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEP—

"V-fib!" Santiago shouted. "Full arrest! Charge paddles, two hundred!"

The defibrillator ca out. Paddles in hand, machine whining as it charged.

"Everyone clear!"

Hands lifted. Paddles pressed to Lila's chest.

"CLEAR!"

THUNK.

Her body arced off the bed, arms flopping, back rigid. The sll of ozone.

The monitor stuttered.

Beep—

Then flatlined.

BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP.

That sound. That endless, soul-destroying tone. The green line went flat.

Nothing.

"Asystole!" I yelled. "Start compressions!"

Morgan climbed onto the bed without asking anything, hands locking over Lila's sternum. He pumped. Hard. Fast.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

"Epi, one milligram!"

Elena injected.

Ten. Eleven. Twelve.

The monitor stayed flat.

BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP.

"Out," Rojas said, looking at . "You need to leave. Now."

"No—"

"Sir." Her voice was steel. "Let us work."

A nurse took my arm. Gentle but firm. Ava's hand on my shoulder.

"Eros," she said quietly. "Co on."

They pushed us out. The door closed.

Through the small rectangular window, I watched.

Morgan pumping. "CLEAR!"

THUNK.

Lila's body jerked.

BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP.

Nothing.

"Again!"

My hands pressed flat against the door. Breath fogging glass. Heart hamring so hard it hurt.

Twenty compressions. Thirty. Forty.

"CLEAR!"

THUNK.

BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP.

Santiago checked the clock. "Four minutes."

Rojas took over compressions. Morgan stepped back, chest heaving.

My fist slamd into the wall beside the door. Once. Twice. Knuckles split. Blood sared white paint.

"Eros," Ava said. "Stay strong."

But I wasn't. I was shattering. Watching the woman who'd whispered Eros as she fell, who'd trusted to save her—

Die.

Fifty compressions. Sixty.

"CLEAR!"

THUNK.

BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP.

"Five minutes," Flores said, voice tight.

Rojas's arms shook. Fatigue. She kept pumping.

"Let ," Morgan said, climbing back up.

They switched.

"One more round," Rojas said, breathing hard. "Maximum voltage."

Three-sixty joules, my brain supplied. If this doesn't work—

I couldn't finish the thought.

"CLEAR!"

THUNK.

Lila's entire body lifted. Violent. Crashed back down.

BEEEEEEEEEEEEEE—

—beep.

One spike. Tiny.

beep.

Another.

beep... beep... beep...

"Sinus rhythm!" Santiago shouted. "We have rhythm!"

But her face didn't look relieved.

The monitor settled.

Beep... beep... beep...

Forty-five BPM. Too slow.

"Pressure?" Rojas demanded.

"Sixty over thirty. Still critical."

"Oxygen sat?"

"Eighty-six percent. Dropping."

"Intubate her. Now."

They moved fast. Laryngoscope. Endotracheal tube down her throat. Ventilator connected. The machine started breathing for her—rhythmic hiss and click.

Rojas listened to her chest with a stethoscope. Her face darkened. "Pulmonary edema. Fluid in her lungs. ARDS developing."

Morgan checked pupils again. "One pupil's blown. Unequal response. ICP's spiking."

"Mannitol, one hundred CCs, IV push. Now."

Elena grabbed a bag, connected it, squeezed hard. Clear liquid flooded the line.

Santiago checked the monitor. "Heart rate stabilizing. Fifty BPM. Pressure sixty-five over forty. Not good, but holding."

Rojas looked at the team. "Next twenty-four hours are critical. Organ failure risk is high. Brain herniation is possible. Even if she survives..." She paused. "Neurological damage is likely."

Morgan added, "We're looking at potential vegetative state if the brain doesn't recover. The ICP spike, the prolonged hypoxia during arrest... the damage could be catastrophic."

They kept working. But their movents were slower now. Less urgent. More... resigned.

"Transfer to SICU," Rojas ordered. "Continuous neuro monitoring, hourly vitals, labs every four hours. Call if anything changes."

They started disconnecting monitors, preparing to move her.

I stood at the window, staring.

The monitor beeped. Slow. Weak. chanical ventilator breathing for her. Her chest rising and falling not because she chose to, but because a machine forced it.

Beep... beep... beep...

Ava stood beside . Silent.

The door opened. Rojas stepped out, still in her blood-spattered gown.

"She's alive," she said. "But barely. The next day will determine if she makes it. Fifty-fifty at best. Prepare for the worst."

"And if she survives?" I asked, voice hollow.

"Brain damage is almost certain. How much..." She shook her head. "We won't know until she wakes. If she wakes."

She walked away.

Through the window, I watched them wheel Lila out on a gurney. Tubes and wires everywhere. Ventilator breathing for her. IV pumps hanging from poles.

She looked dead already.

Ava's hand found mine. "She's still fighting."

But for how long?

The hallway emptied. The monitor sounds faded. Just and Ava, standing outside an empty room.

All my knowledge, all my power, all my money—

And I couldn't save her.