Isabel’s POV"May I?" I asked, squeezing myself between Emerson and the car door to reach the bomb. My voice was steady, but my heart hammered in my chest. Sweat glistened on Emerson's forehead, his wide eyes flicking between me and the device. “Isabel, this isn’t—”“Shut up,” I snapped, glaring at him. “If you think I’m letting you handle this alone, you’ve underestimated me. Now move.”Emerson hesitated but stepped aside reluctantly, his hands trembling as they hovered protectively near me. I could hear Sebastian’s clipped voice coming through the phone, barking instructions.“Alright, Isabel,” Sebastian said, his tone surprisingly calm despite the stakes. “You’ll see a bundle of wires near the central panel. The yellow one is the trigger line. Whatever you do, don’t pull it.”I leaned closer, my fingers brushing the cold metal as I followed his directions. Sweat slid down my temples, stinging my eyes. I focused on the wires, each one a potential death sentence if handled wrong.“Ca
Isabel’s POV“Thanks, Sebastian… for everything,” Emerson said quietly, his voice unusually humble. He ended the call and stared at his phone, his brow furrowed.His pensive silence unnerved me. “What is it?” I asked, though I wasn’t sure I wanted to know the answer.“How did Woods get through to my phone?” Emerson muttered. He tapped the screen as if searching for an answer. “It’s highly secured.”A chill swept through me. If Victor—or whoever was behind the masked man—had the means to bypass Emerson’s sophisticated security, then we weren’t just dealing with petty criminals. This was something bigger. Something darker.I crossed my arms, trying to mask the unease settling in my stomach. “Maybe they’re watching us more closely than we think.”He glanced up at me, his expression hardening. “That’s what worries me.”We didn’t speak much on the drive back to the hospital. My mind churned with questions, fears, and the nagging sense that our luck was running out. Could we evade this shad
Isabel’s POV“Give me the phone, Emerson,” I said, reaching for it as he stepped out of my grasp. My voice was firm, but I knew it was laced with desperation.He turned away, his jaw set, and continued to speak with my father anyway. “Mr. White, it’s Emerson,” he began, ignoring my protests. My pulse raced as I tried again to snatch the phone. But he was faster, moving just out of reach.“Emerson!” I hissed. “Don’t do this. He’s barely recovered. It’s not fair to put him in this position.”He glanced at me, his expression torn but resolute. “Isa, I know how much this antidote means. I’ve already spoken with Robert. Your father’s recovery has been remarkable, and the test wouldn’t harm him. He’s strong enough to handle it, and this could save your life.”I froze, his words hitting me harder than I’d anticipated. A flicker of understanding tried to seep in, but my anger and fear burned too brightly. “You can’t make that decision for him—or for me!”Emerson didn’t respond to my protests,
Isabel’s POVRobert led me through the quiet hallways to the doctor's office. My heart was steady, though I could hear the rapid rhythm of his footsteps beside me. The clinical smell of disinfectant grew stronger as we approached. When a nurse opened the door and greeted us, the room felt colder, as if the air itself knew the risk I was walking into.Before I could step inside, Emerson’s voice echoed down the corridor. "Wait! Isabel!"I turned to see him sprinting toward us, his face pale and his eyes frantic. He came to a halt, slightly out of breath, and grabbed my arm gently. "I need to be here. I’m not letting you do this alone," he said, his voice firm but laced with vulnerability.I studied him for a moment. His determination softened the sharp edges of my own stubbornness. "Fine," I murmured, turning back to the room.The doctor was waiting, seated behind a steel tray filled with syringes and vials. The antidote rested in a small glass tube, glinting under the harsh fluorescen
Isabel’s POVA strange calm settled over me. As if the chaos and pain had been stripped away, leaving only weightless tranquility. The agony in my chest, the suffocating tightness, was gone. I floated in mid-air, untethered, watching the frantic scene unfold below.Doctors crowded around my body, their hands working with urgency. Machines blared in a cacophony of alarms. Emerson stood just beyond them, shouting at someone, his face a portrait of desperation.When my gaze fell on the figure lying on the bed—my own lifeless form—it sent a jolt of fear through me. Is that really me?Before panic could overtake me, a wave of warmth rolled through, soft and enveloping, like a mother’s embrace. It was soothing, reassuring. It pulled me toward a soft, golden light blooming in the distance.From within the light, a figure emerged—familiar and achingly dear.“Mom?” My voice trembled as I stepped forward, the tears falling freely down my face. She looked just as I remembered her, radiant and ge
Isabel’s POVSince surviving the ordeal with the poison, I found myself appreciating life with a new intensity. Every breath felt sharper, every color brighter, as if the world had been turned up a notch. Even the simplest things—the softness of my sheets, the warmth of the sun streaming through the hospital window—seemed precious in a way I’d never fully appreciated before.Emerson, however, had taken my near-death experience as an excuse to wrap me in bubble wrap.“Do you need another blanket? The room feels drafty,” he asked for the third time that morning, pacing like a mother hen.I gave him a wry smile. “Emerson, I’m recovering, not turning into porcelain.”He frowned, ignoring my jab. “You need to stay warm. I’ll get you—”“Don’t you dare,” I said, holding up a hand. “If you bring me one more pillow, I’ll start throwing them at you.”A reluctant grin tugged at the corner of his lips, though he tried to mask it with a serious expression. “Fine, but I’m keeping an eye on you.”He
Isabel’s POVThe drive to the address Michael had given us felt like a blur. Emerson gripped the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles turned white, and his jaw was set in grim determination. My chest tightened with each passing moment, my mind racing with worst-case scenarios. Michael’s words echoed in my head: “He’s not well.” What did that even mean? Was he hurt? Was it something worse?We arrived at a grand hotel. The scene before us was complete chaos. Police cars lined the front entrance, their lights casting a sickly red and blue glow across the building. Onlookers crowded the area, their murmurs blending into a cacophony that made my heart pound harder. My eyes darted upward, catching sight of the roofline where a section of the guardrail had been broken. A chill shot down my spine.“Stay close,” Emerson said, his voice taut. But I couldn’t wait. My legs carried me forward, pushing through the throng of people.“Isa, wait!” Emerson called after me. But I was already los
Emerson’s POVThe scene played on a loop in my mind, each detail sharper and more painful than the last. Mr. White’s lifeless body on the stretcher. The blood staining Isabel’s trembling hands. And, worst of all, his final words—a pointed, damning accusation: “It’s you… It’s all because of you.”His voice echoed in my ears, as sharp as a blade carving into my chest. I stood there, frozen, as if rooted to the spot by shame and guilt. What did he mean? Did he refer to the headlines in the papers? Somehow, it felt deeper than that. But what else could it be? I didn’t know. But Isabel’s hollow eyes and trembling lips as she glared at me said everything. She believed him—or at least part of her did.As they carried Mr. White’s body away, I moved closer, desperate to reach her. “Isabel—”“Don’t!” Her voice cut through the air like a whip.She turned on me, fury blazing in her tear-soaked eyes. “This is your fault! You pushed, you meddled, and now he’s gone!”“I didn’t—” My throat tighten
Sebastian/ Elias’s POVIt was time. The plan I had meticulously crafted over months was finally falling into place. Every piece was set, every contingency accounted for. Isabel had been transferred to safety, miles away from this chaos. Mateo had just handed me Isabel’s “death certificate,” a grim document that served as a lynchpin for my deception. I studied it one last time. The weight of the lies it represented settled on my shoulders.Nearby, the undertaker was putting the finishing touches on the wax figure meant to pass as Isabel’s body. The likeness was uncanny—the same gentle curve of her lips, the familiar softness of her features. Her hair had been styled exactly as she’d worn it in the hospital, and I couldn't help but marvel at the grotesque artistry of it all.“Perfect,” I murmured to the undertaker, my voice low and controlled. “She has to be perfect.”When the battle outside quieted, I knew the moment had arrived. I walked out, ready to start the deception. Emerson w
Emerson’s POVThe chaos outside the hospital was unlike anything I had ever seen. Smoke billowed from burning vehicles, and the air was thick with the acrid tang of gunpowder. The echo of gunfire and shouting ricocheted through the streets, mingling with the cries of the wounded. My men and I, battered and bloodied, pressed forward with unrelenting determination. Every step was a fight against the tide of Raoul’s hired mercenaries.Behind the barricade of overturned gurneys, I wiped the blood from my brow, glancing toward the hospital. Isabel.She was the reason I pushed through the pain. The sole force driving me to keep moving despite my injured body’s protests. I couldn’t fail her—not again.Was she okay? Could I trust Sebastian and his men to keep the operating room safe? It was a gamble—a risk. But I had no other choice. I was needed here, to take care of Raoul myself."Push forward!" I barked, my voice hoarse but commanding. My men surged with renewed vigor, a mix of loyalty an
Sebastian/ Elias’s POVThe call came through just as I finished reviewing some critical files. My subordinate’s urgent tone pierced the calm. “Sir, the hospital is under attack. Isabel’s in danger.”My heart stopped. I had stationed him there precisely to prevent something like this, yet here we were. Without hesitation, I grabbed my gear and called in reinforcements from my trusted network—men who owed me favors or believed in my cause. Risky as it was to show my face, I couldn’t sit idle when Isabel’s life was on the line.The scene outside the hospital was chaotic. Sirens blared, people screamed, and armed assailants surged through the area. My team and I pushed through the crowd. I barked orders, ensuring civilians were evacuated. The air smelled of smoke and fear, every second stretching as I thought about Isabel.We fought our way through the halls, clearing pockets of resistance. The hospital's sterile white walls were now smeared with destruction. Patients were being wheeled
Emerson’s POVMy hands trembled violently as I clutched my phone. The cryptic message was glaring back at me like an open wound. It couldn’t possibly be… him. Or could it?I could feel the rage boiling beneath my skin, threatening to erupt. My jaw clenched so tightly it ached, and my breaths came in uneven bursts.“Emerson.” Caleb’s voice broke through the haze. He stepped closer, concern etched into his face as he glanced at the phone in my hand. “What’s wrong? Who messaged you?”I hesitated for a moment, debating whether to keep the message to myself. But the weight of it was too much to bear alone. Without a word, I turned the screen toward him.Caleb’s expression shifted instantly. “Who...?” he started, but his voice trailed off. His brows furrowed, his lips pressing into a thin line as he read the message. Then, as if struck by a revelation, his eyes widened. With a mix of anger and disbelief, he exclaimed, “Could it be him? Could it be Raoul?”The name sent a jolt through me, d
Emerson’s POVThe scene played on a loop in my mind, each detail sharper and more painful than the last. Mr. White’s lifeless body on the stretcher. The blood staining Isabel’s trembling hands. And, worst of all, his final words—a pointed, damning accusation: “It’s you… It’s all because of you.”His voice echoed in my ears, as sharp as a blade carving into my chest. I stood there, frozen, as if rooted to the spot by shame and guilt. What did he mean? Did he refer to the headlines in the papers? Somehow, it felt deeper than that. But what else could it be? I didn’t know. But Isabel’s hollow eyes and trembling lips as she glared at me said everything. She believed him—or at least part of her did.As they carried Mr. White’s body away, I moved closer, desperate to reach her. “Isabel—”“Don’t!” Her voice cut through the air like a whip.She turned on me, fury blazing in her tear-soaked eyes. “This is your fault! You pushed, you meddled, and now he’s gone!”“I didn’t—” My throat tighten
Isabel’s POVThe drive to the address Michael had given us felt like a blur. Emerson gripped the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles turned white, and his jaw was set in grim determination. My chest tightened with each passing moment, my mind racing with worst-case scenarios. Michael’s words echoed in my head: “He’s not well.” What did that even mean? Was he hurt? Was it something worse?We arrived at a grand hotel. The scene before us was complete chaos. Police cars lined the front entrance, their lights casting a sickly red and blue glow across the building. Onlookers crowded the area, their murmurs blending into a cacophony that made my heart pound harder. My eyes darted upward, catching sight of the roofline where a section of the guardrail had been broken. A chill shot down my spine.“Stay close,” Emerson said, his voice taut. But I couldn’t wait. My legs carried me forward, pushing through the throng of people.“Isa, wait!” Emerson called after me. But I was already los
Isabel’s POVSince surviving the ordeal with the poison, I found myself appreciating life with a new intensity. Every breath felt sharper, every color brighter, as if the world had been turned up a notch. Even the simplest things—the softness of my sheets, the warmth of the sun streaming through the hospital window—seemed precious in a way I’d never fully appreciated before.Emerson, however, had taken my near-death experience as an excuse to wrap me in bubble wrap.“Do you need another blanket? The room feels drafty,” he asked for the third time that morning, pacing like a mother hen.I gave him a wry smile. “Emerson, I’m recovering, not turning into porcelain.”He frowned, ignoring my jab. “You need to stay warm. I’ll get you—”“Don’t you dare,” I said, holding up a hand. “If you bring me one more pillow, I’ll start throwing them at you.”A reluctant grin tugged at the corner of his lips, though he tried to mask it with a serious expression. “Fine, but I’m keeping an eye on you.”He
Isabel’s POVA strange calm settled over me. As if the chaos and pain had been stripped away, leaving only weightless tranquility. The agony in my chest, the suffocating tightness, was gone. I floated in mid-air, untethered, watching the frantic scene unfold below.Doctors crowded around my body, their hands working with urgency. Machines blared in a cacophony of alarms. Emerson stood just beyond them, shouting at someone, his face a portrait of desperation.When my gaze fell on the figure lying on the bed—my own lifeless form—it sent a jolt of fear through me. Is that really me?Before panic could overtake me, a wave of warmth rolled through, soft and enveloping, like a mother’s embrace. It was soothing, reassuring. It pulled me toward a soft, golden light blooming in the distance.From within the light, a figure emerged—familiar and achingly dear.“Mom?” My voice trembled as I stepped forward, the tears falling freely down my face. She looked just as I remembered her, radiant and ge
Isabel’s POVRobert led me through the quiet hallways to the doctor's office. My heart was steady, though I could hear the rapid rhythm of his footsteps beside me. The clinical smell of disinfectant grew stronger as we approached. When a nurse opened the door and greeted us, the room felt colder, as if the air itself knew the risk I was walking into.Before I could step inside, Emerson’s voice echoed down the corridor. "Wait! Isabel!"I turned to see him sprinting toward us, his face pale and his eyes frantic. He came to a halt, slightly out of breath, and grabbed my arm gently. "I need to be here. I’m not letting you do this alone," he said, his voice firm but laced with vulnerability.I studied him for a moment. His determination softened the sharp edges of my own stubbornness. "Fine," I murmured, turning back to the room.The doctor was waiting, seated behind a steel tray filled with syringes and vials. The antidote rested in a small glass tube, glinting under the harsh fluorescen