Nora came to Dallas hoping to earn enough money for nursing school, but on her first day inside the Caldwell mansion, she challenged the billionaire’s daughter—and discovered the family needed her for something far more important.

The rain lashed against the French windows of the Caldwell mansion that evening. Nora had relocated to the private staff suite on the third floor, but she couldn't sleep. Her mind raced with the gravity of Richard's revelation.

Madison wasn't just a spoiled brat throwing tantrums for amusement; she was a terrified young woman living under the shadow of a ticking clock.

At 1:30 AM, Nora heard a dull, muffled thud from the floor below.

She slipped into her slippers, grabbed her compact diagnostic kit from her bag—stethoscope and blood pressure cuff—and crept down the back stairwell. The east wing was dark, except for a strip of pale light bleeding from under Madison’s bedroom door.

Nora approached silently. From inside, she heard ragged, desperate gasps.

She didn't knock. She turned the brass knob and pushed the door open.

Madison was on her hands and knees by her vanity table. The room was a whirlwind of scattered cosmetics, overturned velvet chairs, and crushed pills on the hardwood floor. Madison was clutching her chest with both hands, her fingernails digging through her silk pajamas into her skin. Her face was ashen, her lips taking on a faint blue tint.

"M-Madison?" Nora whispered, rushing forward.

Madison looked up, her dilated pupils wide with pure panic. She tried to speak, to yell at Nora to leave, but only a strangled wheeze escaped her throat. Her heart was beating visibly against her ribs, erratic and violent.

"I can't... breathe..." Madison choked out, collapsing onto her side.

Nora's training instantly took over. Fear vanished, replaced by clinical precision. She dropped to her knees, positioning Madison onto her back and elevating her head and shoulders against a pile of pillows.

"Look at me, Madison," Nora ordered firmly, placing two warm fingers on the pulse point of Madison’s neck. The pulse was dangerously fast—tachycardia, racing well over 160 beats per minute. "Focus on my eyes. Do not close them."

"Going to... die..." Madison gasped, tears streaming down her pale cheeks.

"You are not going to die tonight. Not on my watch," Nora said with fierce certainty. She reached into her pocket, pulling out a small pulse oximeter she had brought from her kit, slipping it onto Madison's index finger. Her oxygen saturation was dropping.

Nora spotted the medication bottle under the dresser—Beta-blockers, prescribed three weeks ago, untouched.

"You're having a panic attack on top of an arrhythmia," Nora said calmly, taking Madison’s ice-cold hands into her own. "Breathe with me. Four seconds in through your nose. Hold it. Breathe out through your mouth. Do it with me, Madison. In... one, two, three, four..."