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𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄

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Cora was in bed when she received the call.

She was lying on her back, scrolling through her Instagram feed. A silk eye mask propped up against her forehead, a look of tense concentration in her dark brown eyes.

She was staring at two posts stacked atop one another, one from a Yale alum she had met in her brief stint at the college and the other from an influencer who'd made her money hocking diet teas and waist trainers. The rumours about her semi-regular lipo appointments were well known in Cora's circles, her hypocrisy openly mocked. Both of the posts were announcing pregnancies, the respective women grinning into the camera. Pleased grins set to a background of autumnal leaves and too blue skies.

Cordelia Vernon wouldn't coin herself a failure, nor would she ever overstate her success.

She possessed a great many things that people sought in life: a hefty fortune, a degree of notoriety, relative health. Her closet was expansive, her little black book nothing to scoff at. Her family name held weight, Vernon née Evans. The daughter of an oil tycoon and a philanthropist - the latter to service vanity over fostering any real career. Even her own public exploits could be smoothed over with these caveats, for what else was a woman to do with all the time and money in the world other than act the part of a hedonist?

She was a glittering mirage, as most people are from a distance.

Cora squinted her eyes at the screen as she considered her approach. Her instinctual response had been oily with envy. Not so long ago, she would have laughed, perhaps even sent a screenshot of the posts to her friend Violet, captioned with a snide comment about the overuse of saturation on the posts. But a reminder of mortality tended to pull things into uncomfortable focus, of which Cordelia Vernon had recently suffered, and besides, the last time she had messaged Violet she had been left on read. There was no one waiting on her, and there hadn't been for some months.

She stared at the picture of Instagram post of the girl she had met during rush week at Yale. Should she say something? Was there protocol for a moment like this? She was 33, yet children and marriage remained mere afterthoughts. Even Violet, who had been married since her twenties, had an apathy towards the concept. These were the beats of a heteronormative life, the birth-death cycle, but rang hollow as any unearned milestone was wont to.

At least she earned property, though she certainly couldn't have claimed that idea as her own. Her mother's will had come with lawyers and accountants attached.

cord.vernon: good luck lol!

She stared at the letters in their sans-serif font. Did it sound bitchy? Was she being bitchy? Was she overthinking? Was she not thinking enough? The frequency of her own thoughts remained an unintended side effect to her burgeoning sobriety. With no liquor to filter the noise, her mind tended to get away from her.

Before she could draw any firm conclusions on the comment, her phone shuddered in her hand. As her eyes grazed the caller ID, Cora's stomach dropped.

Cora had received some of the worst phone calls that a person could over the span of her short life, and moments before each she had felt a dark inkling of dread. Answering the phone had only ever affirmed her foreboding. In comparison, the effect of seeing Siobhan Roy's name was similar to a freight train. It had been years since she'd dared to say Shiv's name aloud.

Briefly Cora considered rejecting the call, but old habits die hard and the pull of her own curiosity proved too strong. She shot up in bed, her body rigid as she held the phone to her ear.

"Hey."

It was not Shiv's voice through the speaker, but the elongated vowels of Roman Roy. Cora inhaled audibly, memories intruding - raspberry vodka, Red Hot Chili Peppers' Porcelain, the ache of regret.

"Rome?" Her voice echoed of the past. She cleared her throat quickly as she corrected herself. "Sorry, Roman?"

"Yeah, this is he."

Silence fell. Knowing him, it was an attempt at a joke, but laughing with someone you hadn't spoken to in over a decade seemed wrong.

"You ... Called me." Cora muttered. Distantly on his end of the line she could hear muted voices, the beep of machines, something that sounded like an alarm wailing in the distance.

"Yup. Yup, I did. I did that, I called you."

"And was there a reason?"

Her mind ticked through the possible reasons why Roman Roy of all people had called her. And on Shiv's phone no less. She sucked pensively on her bottom lip, trying to still the quickening of her heartbeat through sheer mental will. Maybe if she tried hard enough she wouldn't feel like she was going to void her large intestine.

"It's... Yeah. It's Frank. He's had a stroke. He's in a coma?"

The question hung in the air, and for a second, Cordelia considered answering it.

No, my step-father isn't in a coma. He's probably having a whiskey with Logan Roy, or watching MacGyver or struggling to work the remote for the TV in the first place. He's probably on a private jet for a work thing, he's probably asleep on the couch with his shoes still on. Coma? No. Unheard of.

Because she'd know, right? Well, no.

In truth, it had been even longer since she'd spoken to Frank than she had to one of the Roy siblings. Yeah he'd left voicemails on her phone, sent cards for her birthdays, for Christmas. But an actual conversation? Maybe it had been at her mother's funeral, maybe a little while after when they'd been sorting out the will. The details were fuzzy in her memory, of that year and of all the ones that followed.

But a coma? This had to be Roman's sick idea of a prank.

"He's not in a coma." Her voice was indignant, wavering ever so slightly. He made a sound of uncertainty, an attempt at speech only to stop short. Her throat itched. She needed a drink.

"He is. We're at the hospital. The doctors said you had to co-"

She stopped him short. "Is this a joke?"

Roman sighed. "It's not a joke, no. But it sounds like a joke I'd make."

Cora flinched, opening her mouth to retort and finding nothing but air. After a moment, Roman spoke again.

"Look, we'll send a driver to your place. Kendall gave the address. I'm gonna play it safe and ask if you've moved or not? You need to come here, they need next of kin."

She remained silent in response. She realised with a start that she was trembling all over, shivering as though caught out in the snow. Panicked breathing filled the call. Roman said something, drowned by the sound of her frantically beating heart.

"-Hey ... Hey!"

Cora jumped as the sound of his voice brought her back to the present. She took a sharp inhale, the air whistling through her teeth. The walls of her stomach had clenched together, now sitting heavy inside of her like a rock.

"Y-yep?" She stuttered as she attempted to center herself.

"Has your address changed?" Roman's tone was firm and managed to ground her further. She closed her eyes in concentration.

"No."

"Ok, cool. See you in like 15 minutes then. Tops."

"Fine." She moved to hang up the phone.

"Oh, and Cora?"

Cora forced herself to pause, feeling dizzy from how lightheaded she had become. Her seated position was not enough. She needed to collapse.

"Uh huh?"

"Don't do anything stupid."

Time had no erased his knowledge of her. It was small comfort.

She hung up, a high pitched ringing filling her ears. Despite the stillness of her bedroom, Cora felt frenzied. It's happening again. The thought echoed, circling itself until it was all she could think. Through the haze of panic, she found it in herself to break the spiral.

The slap was so loud that it echoed out against the walls of her bedroom. It was one of her less favourable habits that she hadn't yet broken. As far as she was concerned she probably wouldn't try to any time soon. Better hot cheek than alcohol poisoning. Or worse.

With a groan, she forced herself from beneath the covers.

She dressed simply in jeans, a black turtleneck with a sweater layered on top. She ran a brush through her hair, still damp from the bath she had taken an hour ago and framing her face in loose dark curls. In the days where she had cared about maintaining appearances, she had kept it pin straight to resist the s-shaped waves inherited from her mother. The less she spent looking at her own reflection, the better.

She could not resist the urge to linger this evening though.

Cora knew she was beautiful in the implicit way all beautiful women do. It had been forced on her from an uncomfortable age, the knowledge that there was something desirable about the arrangement of her features and the slender length of her body.

She had dark round eyes that petered at an upwards angle, a defined cupid's bow to her slender lips, a strong nose running handsome across the centre of her face. Two moles, small dark circles, sat on the right side of her face. One above her top lip and the other where the curve of her cheek became angled with bone. A dimple in her chin to match the ones that appeared in rare moments of glee.

But she had always worn her own body like a stranger. She found grace did not come naturally to her, nor did any of the trappings of femininity like makeup or obvious styling of her hair. One way she compensated was fashion. Tailored hems, clean lines. Better to obscure the nervous flitter of her gaze, the uneasy way she held herself.

The buzzer to her apartment sounded. Without a spare moment to think, she pulled on a black parka, stuffing her keys and phone into her pocket.

Outside the sky was a thick blanket of navy, steely and swirling with burgeoning snowfall. The song of traffic with its steady hum of engines underscored the nervous patter of her pulse. Cordelia's breath formed a neat cloud before her mouth as she looked at the street outside. Her cheeks flushed, rosy from the cold.

As she stepped from beneath the awning at the front of her building, she saw him.

He was standing in front of a sleek black SUV, leaning against it in a long grey coat. The collar of his white shirt peeked out from beneath. His hair was as she had remembered it - slightly tousled and dark. His gleaming eyes, dark from a distance, watched her as she moved tentatively down the front steps. With hesitation, she stepped onto the pavement below.

"Hey."

Roman sounded just as he had on the phone - a little sheepish, as though he were hiding something. He stepped away from the car, extending his arms to welcome a hug. It took her by surprise. After the last time they had seen one another, it seemed like the last thing he would want to do. She accepted it awkwardly, her body leaden as they embraced. Quickly, they stepped away from each other. "Thanks fo-"

"Can we just go?" Cora replied stiffly. "Sorry but maybe we can keep the pleasantries until we're at the hospital."

"Alright." He raised his hands as if in surrender, before grasping the handle of the car door and pulling it open. "After you."

The car ride to the hospital was silent, save for the low undercurrent of Roman's distant humming. Neither of them wanted to acknowledge the repetition of history. They had not seen one other since her mother's funeral, where there had been no parting words between them. Only silence, empty as the one between them now.

Cora propped her elbow against the windowsill, looking out New York whisked by.

There it was again, that itch. You'll have good days and you'll have bad, was what she had heard shortly after she'd been given the green light to leave in-patient rehab. She wondered what kind of a day this qualified as. Bad felt like an understatement, its proximity to good was too close for her liking. What was a better word? Horrid? Catastrophic? Tragic? What exactly was the protocol for a tragic day? She'd never quite learned it, despite going 0 for 2 on the alive parents count.

The car dropped the two out the front of the hospital before driving off into the frigid night. Cora did not linger. She felt Roman's eyes latched onto back her as she moved towards the door. His footsteps filled her ears. A jump as he grasped her forearm, stopping her in her tracks. She whipped around, her hair fanning out around her, unable to stifle the confusion that contorted her brows.

"It's good to see you, Cora. You look good. Like, healthy and stuff." He nodded towards her. She could only stare at him. How else was she meant to react? Her arm went limp and he loosened his grip to let it fall back down her side, his eyes still locked on hers. "It's, uh, nice to hear your voice again."

"I thought maybe it would take a little less than my step-dad going into a coma for you to reach out to me."

Her reply was icier than intended, but with characteristic bluntness. Age had mellowed some things but this aspect of her remained true. Despite her tone, his mouth pulled into a wry half-smile.

"You were the one who never returned my calls."

Heat rushed to her face. She shrugged stiffly and turned from him without another word.

Roman quickly took the lead before it became too obvious that she was walking for the sake of it. They paused only as he flagged down an ICU nurse, allowing them past a sliding door. Beyond it, the smell of antiseptic cleaner flood her nose.

It was in a section to the side, with the curtains partially drawn and the music of hospital machines sounding low around her, that she saw them all again.

Her step-father, his face drained of colour and his eyes closed in artificial slumber. Wires snaked from beneath a hospital gown - IVs, cords wrapped in bright red plastic. The only indication of his active function was the slow beep of a heart rate monitor.

Shiv leaned at the back of the room, her pale face pulled into a severe pout. Bright blue eyes flickered upwards to greet Cora, narrowing for a beat before remembering herself. A rush of deja vu. Shiv's parting words appearing as a text bubble in her mind's eye. Delete my number. Cora never had been able to bring herself to.

Beside Shiv, a dark haired man with nervous eyes and rounded shoulders wore a dark sweater, his arms crossed against his broad chest. He tapped his fingers against the surface of his forearm, a hard frown as he swept Cora. She detected recognition in his gaze, and faintly she felt it in her own. Tom Wambsgans. She'd seen the press release when they'd married. She had not received an invite.

Kendall hovered near the bedside, his father standing in his wake like a shadow. Roman moved past her to join the only member Cora had no prior knowledge of. A lanky brunette, head cowed and expression fearful, with his hands shoved deep in the pockets of his jeans.

Her skin prickled with the intensity of their sudden attention. Arms folded across her chest, hands clasping the points of her elbows. She wished she could crawl into a hole and burrow down into the cool dark earth.

Without a word, she paced to the side of Frank's bed.

For a moment, she feared her body would give out, weighted so heavily by the memory of her mother's death. That day at the Reagan's side she had had nothing but dread to keep her company. With all the effort she could muster, Cora forced her tears to stay firmly in her ducts, sobs stifled to die at the back of her throat.

She would not cry in front of the Roys. Not now. Not after everything.

Cora pulled away from the bed, trying to straighten herself up. "Have they said anything about him?"

Kendall stepped into view by her side. She steadied her gaze on Frank, it was easier meeting his closed eyes than Kendall's. A brief glance his way elicited memory. His voice, like the whisper of a ghost, echoed in her ears. Tell me honestly that you haven't ever wondered.

"Just that his condition is stable. They don't know when he'll wake up, though. And they don't know what condition he'll be in when he does."

"What caused it?" She pressed. From her peripherals, she noticed Kendall's brow quirk upwards. He seemed surprised that she'd managed to sound so calm. Impressed, even.

"A blood clot." Kendall replied with a degree of finality. She waved a hand to indicate she wished to hear no further.

Shiv moved to stand opposite Cordelia. Everyone around them was tense, but as Cora had so often seen her, Shiv remained impassive. There was something hard and cold in her eyes, the same sharkishness Cora had spied in lawyers and businessmen.

"It's good to see you, Cora." Shiv said, her voice low.

"You too, Shiv." She replied, her lips pulling into a hesitant smile.

"Mm." Her old friend gave a curt nod, glancing towards Frank for a beat. "And we obviously all hope for a fast recovery for Frank. Waystar will be covering all of the medical expenses, so you won't need to worry too much in that regard."

"Uh huh." Cordelia gave a nod, though a little confused.

She was sure that Frank's salary could cover a hospital stay, even if it turned out to be prolonged. And besides, Cordelia's own wealth was no secret to the Roys. Perhaps it was the estrangement that had made the line of conversation pertinent, if not a little forward. She tried her best to dismiss the knock of foreboding that echoed in her mind.

"There's just one more thing."

Cordelia's eyes flickered to Shiv's. She opened her mouth to speak, but the redhead cut her off, the corners of her mouth turning upwards ever so slightly.

"On the matter of Frank's board position ..."

Cordelia swallowed. Her eyes flickered from Shiv to find Roman, whose lips belied the truth in the way they cringed at Shiv's bluntness. Her next of kin status wasn't a requirement from the hospital, it had been a requirement of the Roys.

A sharp pain stung in her side like the tip of a blade. She had walked right into a trap.