The ambulance screamed through city streets, sirens wailing. Blake sat beside Emma's stretcher, holding her hand, watching paramedics work frantically. Blood pressure dropping. Pulse weak. The bleeding wouldn't stop."Stay with me," Blake whispered. "Emma, please."Her eyes fluttered open, unfocused. "The baby?"Blake couldn't answer. Didn't know what to say. The paramedic met his eyes, shook her head slightly.They reached the hospital in seven minutes. Emma was rushed into emergency surgery. Blake followed as far as they'd let him, then security stopped him at the surgical doors."Family waiting room is down the hall," a nurse said gently.Blake stood frozen, Emma's blood still on his hands. Literally on his hands.Sam arrived within minutes, having followed the ambulance. He took one look at Blake and guided him to a sink, helped him wash the blood away. Neither man spoke. What was there to say?Diana appeared next, still in her surgical scrubs from her own hospital. "I heard. Is s

Blake stared at the compound through night vision goggles, watching guards patrol the perimeter. Sam crouched beside him, reviewing final assault plans. Marcus checked weapons for the third time. Everyone was ready.But Blake's mind was racing. Something about Mrs. Wellington's presence here bothered him. She'd supposedly disappeared months ago, right after Madam Mary's death. Police had searched for her, found nothing. Everyone assumed she'd fled the country or was hiding in some remote location.Instead, she was here. With Vincent and Nikolai. Planning attacks on Blake's family."How did she get here?" Blake asked suddenly. "Mrs. Wellington. She was supposed to be in hiding, broke, alone. How did she connect with Vincent?"Sam looked up from his tactical map. "Does it matter right now?""Yes. Because if she found Vincent, she must have been looking for him. Which means this wasn't random. She's been planning this." Blake's stomach twisted. "For how long?"Marcus overheard, moved clo

Emma Sterling locked the reinforced panic room door and leaned against it, breathing hard. Behind her, Grace lay on a cot, pale and sweating. James sat beside his sister, holding her hand, trying to be brave despite the fear in his eyes. Little Sarah, only two years old, clung to a stuffed bear and whimpered."Mommy, I'm scared," James whispered.Emma crossed the room, knelt in front of her children. "I know, baby. But Mommy's here. And Daddy's coming. We just have to be brave a little longer."Grace moaned, rolled over, vomited onto the floor. Emma grabbed a towel, cleaned her daughter's face. Grace's fever was climbing. The poison was working faster now.Emma checked the security monitors mounted on the panic room wall. Eight camera feeds showed different areas of the bunker. She could see her security guards—eight men, former military, well-trained—taking defensive positions at the outer checkpoints.Eight men against forty mercenaries.The numbers were impossible.Emma pulled open

Blake's phone was already ringing before the helicopter landed at the trauma center. He had every medical contact on speed dial—toxicologists, emergency physicians, specialists in rare poisons. He described Grace's symptoms to each one, desperate for answers."Fever, convulsions, vomiting blood, organ failure. Custom toxin, unknown composition. What can counteract it?"The answers were all the same. Without knowing the specific poison, treatment was guesswork. They could try broad-spectrum antitoxins, dialysis, supportive care. But with organs already failing, Grace's chances were minimal.Grace convulsed on the stretcher as they rushed her into the ER. Her small body jerked violently, foam specking her lips. The medical team swarmed her, calling out vitals that made Blake's blood run cold."Blood pressure seventy over forty and dropping. Heart rate one-eighty. Liver enzymes through the roof. Kidneys are failing."Blake tried to follow Grace into the trauma bay but a nurse blocked him

The video played on every news channel. Every website. Every social media platform. Vincent Cross, tied to a tree, paralyzed, begging for help. And Blake Sterling's voice, cold and final: "You wanted to watch me suffer. Now I'm going to watch you die. Slowly."Blake sat in his hospital room, watching the coverage. Watching his own voice condemn him. Watching the world decide he was a murderer.He couldn't argue with them. He was.Sam burst into the room, his face grim. "FBI is on their way. They have warrants. First-degree murder, kidnapping, torture. Blake, we need to move you now. Get you out of the country before they arrive."Blake shook his head. "No.""Blake, you'll spend the rest of your life in prison—""Then I'll spend it in prison. I'm not running. I'm not living as a fugitive." Blake looked at Grace, still unconscious but stable. "My children deserve a father who faces consequences. Not one who runs."Emma wheeled herself into the room, her face pale from her own injuries.