Liam’s POVThe moment Sinclair’s car plunged off the bridge, I gunned the truck forward, the tires squealing against the asphalt.My hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly my knuckles turned bone-white, but the twisted grin stretching across my face never wavered. Neither did the satisfaction I felt dwindle.A cruel laugh ripped from my throat, low and sharp, echoing in the confines of the truck.“See who’s dead now,” I muttered, the words tasting like victory on my tongue.The image replayed in my head, the headlights cutting through the misty night, the screech of metal, Sinclair’s car teetering for a heartbeat on the bridge’s edge before gravity claimed it.Then silence, broken only by the crashing waves below.And then he was gone. Just like that.The vibration of my phone shattered the moment, its sharp ring slicing through the hum of adrenaline. I fished it out of my jacket pocket, still smirking when the name lit up the screen.The Terminator.I swiped to answer.“It’s don

April’s POVI woke to the soft tug at my arm...“April…hey, hey, wake up,” Wren murmured softly, like she wouldn't have disturbed me if she didn't have to.I groaned, burying my face deeper into the pillow. “Mm…don’t want to,” I muttered, my voice thick, hoarse from crying earlier. My throat burned, my body ached, and the room felt unbearably heavy.“Food,” she said softly, nudging me again. “You need to eat something.”I rolled onto my side, refusing to meet her gaze. “I…don’t have any appetite.”Wren sighed. She sat beside me on the edge of the bed, her hand brushing my hair back gently. “April…you’re not going to be okay if you don’t take care of yourself. I know it’s hard, but you have to eat. Just a little.”I wanted to argue, but I felt too drained to even say another word. I couldn't eat. Not when the mere thought of food made bile rise in my throat.So rather than explain it to her, I just buried my face in my hands, letting the tears slide silently.Wren rested a hand on my s

APRIL'S POVI clutched him tighter, my tears soaking his bloodied shirt. His shallow, ragged breaths tore through me, each one a reminder of how close I was to losing him. I pressed my hands against his side, trying to offer any warmth I could, any comfort in the cold, damp night.His fingers twitched weakly in mine, and my chest tightened so hard I thought it might stop. "Stay with me, Sin… just stay with me a little longer..." I whispered, my voice shaking, my words punctuated by sobs that I couldn’t hold back.The forest around us was silent, except for the occasional rustle of leaves, each sound setting my nerves on fire. Every shadow, every crackling twig, made me flinch. I couldn’t think of anything except him—his blood, his pain, the possibility of losing him."Don’t leave me, please!" I choked out, pressing my forehead to his, feeling his cheek cold under my palm. His eyes flickered open for a second, and I caught a weak, pained smile. "…April…""Yes, me.." I whispered, clutch

The sound grew sharper and closer. What had been muffled chaos beyond the walls now thundered through the corridor like a stampede. I barely had time to breathe before the nurse stiffened and glanced at the door.And then it swung open.A flood of light, camera flashes, and perfume too expensive to belong in a hospital hit me all at once. She walked in like she owned the air itself.Veronica Decker. Perfect hair, perfect heels, perfect timing—as if she’d been waiting her whole life for this scene."Where is he?" she demanded, not at the nurse, not at me—at the universe. Her voice carried, low and controlled, but calculated enough that the reporters trailing her caught every syllable.The cameras didn’t stop. The flashes painted her face in white fire as she pressed a trembling hand against her chest, playing grief like a role she’d rehearsed for weeks. “My fiancé,” she whispered, just loud enough for the microphones shoved forward. “Please tell me he’s going to make it.”My throat clo

APRIL'S POV The corridor didn’t just swallow my cries—it replayed them. Echoed them back, warped and cruel, like the walls themselves wanted to mock me. My chest still heaved as the guard steered me down onto a hard plastic seat, muttering something about “calming down.” I sat there trembling, sweat sticking my hair to my temples and my throat raw from screaming. For a moment, I couldn’t even feel my legs. All I could do was stare at the ICU doors, praying they would open for me—for once—for me. But they didn’t. They opened for her. “…breaking news from St. Mary’s Hospital, where billionaire CEO Sinclair Hale fights for his life…” The voice jolted me. My head whipped toward the TV bolted to the wall. A live broadcast flickered across the screen—reporters swarming outside, their cameras throwing sharp stabs of light into the night. And there she was. Veronica. Perfect Veronica. The footage showed her earlier entrance, her coat flowing behind her like she had choreographed the mo