NATHAN CROSS STRIKE BACK..

Chapter 26

He had no other choice then, did he?

Nathan's muscles tensed slightly, preparing to execute the techniques his body somehow knew — preparing to use what his fragmented memories called the Iron Fist style, a brutal and efficient combat system designed for exactly this kind of close-quarters situation.

The bodyguard with the knife raised it slightly, adjusting his grip, preparing to make the cut.

Two paces away now.

Then one.

Nathan's fist clenched.

His spiritual energy began to flow, gathering in his arms and legs, preparing for the explosive burst of speed and strength he would need to—

"What the hell do you think you are doing?!"

The voice cut through the tension like a thunderclap.

It was not loud.

It was not a shout.

But it carried absolute authority — the kind of authority that made everyone freeze in place instinctively, including the bodyguard with the knife raised just inches from Nathan's face.

Everyone's heads snapped toward the source of the voice.

Vivienne Sterling was standing.

Not leaning on anything.

Not supported by anyone.

Just standing on her own two feet, her posture straight and strong, her expression a mixture of fury and disbelief as she stared at the scene unfolding in front of her.

She had stood up by herself.

Without help.

Without warning.

One moment she had been kneeling on the pavement, apparently unable to move or speak.

The next moment she was on her feet, looking healthier and stronger than Claire had seen her look in two years.

Claire stared at her employer in shock.

Her mouth fell open slightly.

Her hands, which had been clenched into fists at her sides, loosened and dropped.

"You... you are okay?" Claire stammered, her voice barely above a whisper.

She took a tentative step forward, her mind struggling to process what she was seeing.

"My goodness," Claire continued, her voice gaining strength as relief began to replace the fury that had been consuming her moments before. "You are okay. I thought for some seconds that you were actually done for. I thought for some seconds that this scumbag had actually—"

"I told you to let him be," Vivienne interrupted, her voice cold and sharp. "I told you to let him do what he needed to do. Why are you trying to go this far? Why were you trying to hurt him? I told you to allow him to do his thing, but you actually wanted to intervene in something of this magnitude?"

Claire froze.

The relief that had been flooding through her evaporated instantly, replaced by cold, creeping dread.

She had seen that expression on Vivienne's face before.

It was the expression Vivienne wore when she was truly, genuinely angry — not the frustrated anger of dealing with incompetent subordinates or annoying business rivals, but the deep, cold fury that came from being betrayed or disrespected by someone she trusted.

And right now, that expression was directed at Claire.

"I... I am sorry," Claire said quickly, bowing her head ninety degrees in the formal gesture of deep apology that was customary in their circle. "I am sorry, Miss Sterling. I was only trying to protect you. I thought he was—"

"I know what you thought," Vivienne said quietly, her voice still carrying that sharp edge. "But you were wrong."

She turned away from Claire and looked at Nathan, who was still being held by the two bodyguards, though their grips had loosened considerably in the confusion.

Their eyes met.

And Vivienne felt something shift in her chest.

Gratitude.

Wonder.

Disbelief.

Over the past two years, she had been battling with this condition.

This terrible, mysterious illness that caused her body to produce unnatural cold from the inside out. That filled her with unbearable pain at random intervals. That had gradually gotten worse and worse despite the best medical treatment money could buy.

She had tried everything.

Every specialist. Every experimental treatment. Every alternative therapy that had even the slightest chance of helping.

Nothing had worked.

Nothing had even come close.

The best the doctors could do was manage the symptoms — give her drugs to dull the pain, provide emergency treatment when the episodes got severe enough to threaten her life, and tell her to avoid stress and cold environments as much as possible.

But manage was all they could do.

They could not cure her.

They could not make the pain go away.

They could not give her back her life.

Until today.

Until this stranger — this man whose name she barely knew, whose face she had only seen clearly for the first time an hour ago — had knelt beside her on a cold pavement and done something that should have been impossible.

He had healed her.

Completely.

Utterly.

She could feel it in every cell of her body.

The cold was gone.

The pain was gone.

The constant low-level discomfort that had been her companion for two years — so familiar she had almost stopped noticing it — was gone.

Everything was just... gone.

She felt free.

She felt light.

She felt like herself again for the first time in so long she had almost forgotten what it felt like.

No pain.

No cold.

No fear that the next episode would be the one that finally killed her.Just... normal.

Healthy, alive.

It was the best thing she had felt in years.Maybe ever.

And it was all thanks to this stranger.

This stranger with whom she had shared a one-night stand just yesterday — a night she barely remembered through the haze of alcohol and recklessness and desperate need to feel something other than pain.

This stranger who had appeared at exactly the right moment today, when she was dying on a pavement with her secretary screaming and her bodyguards helpless and death closing in around her like a frozen fist.

This stranger who had saved her life at the most crucial time.