Oliver's POV
I could see the pain in my mother's eyes—the way her features splintered as my words hit home—but I refused to let it get to me. I had spent years being the son who didn't matter; I wasn't going to let her tears rewrite history now that I was the son with the title.
I turned my gaze toward Knox, my voice a jagged rasp. "Knox… please. Make her leave."
My mother stood there, speechless, her mouth opening and closing like a landed fish. Oscar's face turned an angry shade of red. "Oliver, mind your words. You're talking to your mother."
"I said get out!" I snarled, the effort sending a white-hot spike of agony through my chest. "Both of you. Now."
The healers, sensing my vitals spiking on the monitors, stepped in with worried expressions. "Please, for his health, you have to leave," the head healer urged, guiding Oscar and my mother toward the door. "He cannot afford any pressure right now. The silver is still active in his system."
