Semua Bab My arranged marriage : Bab 61 - Bab 70

Emma Watson The ambulance lights flashed red and blue against the glass of the building as health care professionals loaded Lucas onto a stretcher. His bloodied shirt was soaked all over with blood.his face ghostly pale, but his fingers brushed mine weakly as they rolled him toward the doors.“I’m fine,” he said.You should go with Ray.”I shook my head, tears rolling down out of my eyes. “You’re not fine, Lucas. You’re bleeding and trying to act as if it’s nothing He managed a ghost of a grin. “It’s a very dramatic paper cut.”I let out a soft smile , holding his hand for one more moment before the medics took him into the ambulance. I watched the doors close behind them, taking a piece of my heart away with dem.Behind me, Ray stood with his back to the scene, his shoulders rigid, his hands clenched into fists. The blood on his knuckles—some of it Moreau’s, some of it his own—had started to dry, crusted and dark.He didn’t say anything.Neither did I.The silence between us was hea

Ray Maverick The scent of smoke and gunpowder clung to my clothes like a second skin, a reminder of everything we’d survived—and everything we’d lost. I stood in the hallway outside Lucas’s hospital room, my hands jammed into the pockets of my jacket, replaying the last forty-eight hours like a scratched tape that wouldn’t stop looping. Moreau. Benita. The penthouse soaked in chaos and blood. Emma. She’d saved my life—more than once. And now she was the only thing grounding me. But standing here, outside the door to my best friend’s hospital room, I realized just how much damage had been done. Not just physically, but to the trust between us all. The silence between Lucas and me since the ambulance ride had been deafening. He hadn’t said a word. Just lay there, pale and trembling, as paramedics worked to stabilize him. He was awake now. Recovering. But he still hadn’t asked for me. Maybe he didn’t want to see me. I rubbed a hand over my face, exhaustion sinking into my

Ray Maverick The moment I stepped into the hospital corridor, the weight of everything that had happened slammed into my chest. The hallway buzzed with the low murmur of nurses and the occasional metallic clatter of a medical cart, but all I could focus on was the sterile white walls and the scent of antiseptic burning in my nostrils. My shirt was still stained with blood—Lucas’s blood—and my knuckles throbbed from the fight with Moreau. But none of that mattered now. Not compared to the hollow ache spreading through my chest. Lucas was in surgery. That bullet had gone in deep, and the doctors weren’t sure how bad the internal damage was. All I knew was that he’d been conscious when we got here, cracking jokes like he wasn’t bleeding out all over the backseat of my car. But the moment the ER doors swallowed him whole, I’d felt something inside me unravel. I’d nearly lost him. Again. Emma sat on one of the hard plastic chairs across from me, her hands clutched in her lap. She

Ray Maverick I’ve been shot at, betrayed, hunted like an animal, and watched people I trusted turn into monsters. But nothing—and I mean nothing—prepared me for what it would feel like to watch Emma get dragged into this war. I should’ve ended it sooner. I should’ve stopped Moreau years ago. And Benita... I should've never let her get close in the first place. Now I was standing in the ruins of what used to be my life. A penthouse that looked like a warzone. A man I once called a brother lying dead at my feet. And Emma—Emma, who still looked at me like I was worth saving. I didn’t deserve it. But I sure as hell wasn’t going to waste it. She stood beside me in the doorway, one hand gently resting on Lucas’s back as he was helped into the waiting ambulance. He was stable now, the paramedics assured us, but he needed surgery. Fast. Emma’s hand dropped from his back as they shut the doors. The flashing red and blue lights bounced off her face, catching the tightness in her jaw

Ray Maverick The hospital corridor was too quiet. Not the kind of silence that meant peace or rest—but the kind that wrapped around you like fog, heavy and suffocating. I stood with my back against the wall, arms crossed, watching the closed door to Lucas’s room. Inside, he was stable, they’d said. Recovering. But that word didn’t mean what it used to. Recovering implied going back to how things were before. And nothing about this felt like before. I didn’t know how long I’d been standing there, only that the world felt slower since we’d taken Moreau down. Since Benita crumpled in front of me with that stunned look in her eyes. Since Emma had looked at me like I was both her hero and a man she wasn’t quite sure she recognized. That look haunted me. I hadn’t slept in thirty-six hours, and even if I tried, I knew I wouldn’t. My body was tired, but my mind wouldn’t stop replaying it all—every gunshot, every choice, every consequence. The guilt didn’t claw at me. It didn’t n