Chapter 3

My hands shook as I answered the call. Margot's voice came through broken and raw: "Isadora... your father..."

"What happened?" I managed to sound calmer than I felt.

"Heart attack. About an hour ago." Her sobs made the world tilt sideways. "He's in surgery. The doctors say it's touch and go, but he keeps asking for you. And Max."

The blood drained from my face. Five years of marriage had taught me to hold it together when everything was falling apart, but this shattered every defense I had.

"I'm coming," I said, already calculating flight times. "Tell him to wait for me."

"Isadora, he wants to see Max too. He's worried about you, wants to make sure you're okay..." Each word was a fresh wound. "Have you called Max?"

I closed my eyes. Call Max? The man who'd just called me pathetic, who was probably wrapped around Lucia right now?

"I'll handle it."

After I hung up, my knees nearly buckled. The room spun around me, but all I could hear was my father's voice—the man who'd walked me down the aisle with tears in his eyes, who was now fighting for his life.

I couldn't fall apart. Not now.

Thirty minutes later, I was on a private jet to Berlin. The cabin hummed with engine noise and my hammering heartbeat. I called Max over and over, each ring ending in that same robotic voicemail.

"Max, please pick up... Dad's in critical condition, he's asking for you..."

On the seventeenth try, I reached Klaus, Max's assistant.

"Klaus, I need you to find Max right now." I was past caring how desperate I sounded. "My father had a heart attack. He's dying, and he wants to see Max."

Klaus cleared his throat uncomfortably. "Ma'am, Mr. Habsburg gave strict orders not to be disturbed for a week. He's at the private lodge in Zermatt and said absolutely no contact..."

"This is an emergency!" My voice cracked in the small cabin. "Give me the address. I'll go there myself."

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but his instructions were very clear..." Klaus's voice dropped. "He said he needed time to think about... your situation."

The words hit like a slap. Even now, with my father dying, Max was playing games.

Dawn was breaking when we landed in Berlin. The hospital smell—disinfectant and despair—nearly knocked me over.

The ICU waiting area felt like a tomb. Margot sat hunched in a plastic chair, her face puffy from crying. She practically threw herself at me when I walked in.

"Thank God you're here." She clung to me. "Surgery went okay, but he's been asking for you and Max since he woke up."

Relief and dread battled in my chest. Relief that he'd made it through surgery. Dread because I had no idea where my husband was.

"Where's Max? When's he getting here?" Margot searched my face.

I opened my mouth, then closed it. How could I explain that my husband was skiing while her brother fought for his life?

"He's on his way," I lied.

They gave me five minutes with Dad. The room buzzed with machines keeping him alive. Seeing him with tubes down his throat nearly broke me in half.

"Dad..." I took his cold hand—the same hand that taught me piano, that applauded at every recital.

His eyes fluttered open. When he saw me, something like peace crossed his face. He tried to speak around the breathing tube, managing only whispered sounds.

"My little musician..." His voice was barely there. "Where's Max?"

My heart cracked. Even now, his biggest worry wasn't himself—it was whether I had someone to take care of me.

"He'll be here soon, Dad." I fought to keep my voice steady. "You just focus on getting better. We'll both be here when you wake up."

He nodded weakly, then squeezed my hand with what little strength he had. "Tell him... to take care of you... promise me..."

"Don't talk like that." The tears came anyway. "You're going to be fine. We still have that concert in Prague, remember?"

His eyes held so much he wanted to say, but the doctor was already signaling my time was up. Letting go of his hand felt like tearing out my own heart.

The second I stepped into the hallway, I tried Max again. Straight to voicemail.

I slumped against the wall, feeling hollow. The person who loved me most was fighting for his life, and the person I needed most had vanished into thin air.

For the first time in five years, I understood what truly alone felt like.

Then the alarms started screaming from Dad's room.

My blood turned to ice as medical staff rushed past me. Through the window, I watched them swarm around his bed, the heart monitor showing jagged, erratic lines.

"What's happening?" I tried to push into the room but a nurse blocked me.

"Family needs to stay out here. His condition's deteriorating rapidly. We're doing everything we can."

I pressed against the glass, watching them work on him. The monitor showed chaos where his steady heartbeat should be. Someone was doing chest compressions.

My phone still showed seventeen missed calls to Max. Those unanswered rings felt like mockery now.

Standing in that sterile hallway, watching strangers fight to save the most important person in my world, I finally understood what rock bottom looked like. Not my husband's betrayal. Not the family's humiliation. This—needing someone and having absolutely no one.

"Dad, please don't leave me. I can't do this alone."