CHAPTER 268: SHE IS ALIVE...

The elevator doors slid open, revealing the hushed opulence of the private garage. The black limousine, engine idling, waited like a predator. The world outside seemed to tilt as they guided me into the back seat, my body protesting every movement. The door closed with a heavy, final thud, encasing us in a bubble of leather and silence.

The sun was merciless.

It pressed down through the tinted windows of the car, turning the world outside into a glare of heat.

Gray rode up front, speaking into a secure line, his voice low and clipped. The rest of the team flanked us in a diamond formation—unmarked, untraceable, and lethal. Cameron sat beside me, his crutch wedged against the seat, his jaw locked in quiet pain.

Every so often, his eyes flicked toward me — that mix of worry and restraint that had become second nature to him.

My shirt clung to my back — fresh, but already damp from sweat. The bandage beneath it tugged with every breath, a constant, burning reminder that I was still alive when I shouldn’t be.

"She’s awake." The words replayed, looping through the static. Each time they struck, they hit different — first as disbelief, then as prayer, now as command.

I wasn’t sure which one was keeping me conscious anymore.

"Boss," Gray said quietly as the hospital loomed into view—white walls and mirrored windows gleaming like a monument to everything sterile and merciless. "Dr. Kassel’s waiting at the private entrance."

Gray’s voice barely registered. My fingers twitched against the leather seat, the rhythm of my own pulse erratic—like the stuttering hum of the limo’s engine.

Cameron shifted beside me, fingers tightening around his crutch. "You good?" he muttered, voice low enough that Gray wouldn’t hear.

I wasn’t. But that didn’t matter.

"Hmm."

The car rolled to a stop. The door opened, and the first thing that hit me was the smell—antiseptic and metal and something faintly electrical. It filled my lungs like punishment.

Dr. Kassel was there, waiting by the entrance. The sunlight caught on her glasses as she turned, her expression unreadable, though I could see the faint tremor in her hands when she took me in. I must’ve looked worse than I thought — too pale, too thin, eyes sunken from days without sleep.

"Mr. Walton," she greeted softly. "You should let me—"

"I’m fine," I cut her off. My voice sounded strange, like it was coming from someone else. "Where is she?"

Kassel hesitated, her gaze flickering between the three of us. "She’s stable. Conscious. A little disoriented, but—alive."

She paused, then lowered her voice. "Would you like to see her first, or... do you want to rest for a moment? You’ve lost a lot of blood, Adrien."

I looked at her, and for the first time in years that I had known her, it felt like every muscle in my face had forgotten how to hold itself together. My throat burned. My chest felt too tight for breath.

"I want to see my wife," I said quietly.

It wasn’t a request. It wasn’t even a sentence.

It was the only thing keeping me upright.

The silence that followed was heavier than the summer heat. Dr. Kassel gave a single, sharp nod, her professional mask snapping back into place.

The elevator to the private Wing was biometric-locked, shielded by reinforced glass and guarded by men who didn’t flinch at gunfire. It opened only for me and Kassel.

Gray stood beside me, silent, his patched eye scanning every inch of the corridor as we ascended.

The elevator ride was silent, except for the mechanical hum and the occasional click of Cameron’s crutch against the tile. I leaned my shoulder against the mirrored wall, my reflection pale, eyes sunken, and the ghost of control.

This floor didn’t exist on the hospital map. It was built for moments like this—when the world needed to be shut out and pain needed to be contained. . The hallway leading to her suite was lined with men who’d killed for less than what had been done to her.

When the doors opened, the hallway was quieter than I remembered — the kind of quiet that carried prayers and fear in equal measure.

We reached her door.

It was unmarked. No nameplate. No number. Just a biometric panel and a silence that felt sacred.

Dr. Kassel paused, her hand hovering near the panel. "She’s awake. But... she hasn’t spoken much. She’s... fragile. Emotionally, physically."

I looked at the glass door. For a heartbeat, I couldn’t move.

"Adrien," Cameron murmured behind me.

I didn’t answer.

I stepped forward and pressed my palm to the biometric panel.

The door hissed open.

Inside, the suite was cathedral-quiet. Walls of matte gold and cream. Soundproofed. The light inside was gentler — filtered through cream curtains that swayed slightly with the hum of the air conditioner. Monitors embedded in the glass. A single bed in the center, surrounded by a halo of the soft light. No wires visible. No machines exposed. Just silence and breath.

She was sitting up slightly, head tilted toward the window, her skin was translucently pale, her dark hair a stark contrast against the white linen. Her fingers clutched the sheets, knuckles white. There were faint bruises along her arms, her jawline, and eyebrow, smudges of purple and green that stood out against her pallor, and a bandage peeking from beneath her gown near her collarbone, the soft tremor of her breathing visible even from here.

She turned her head as the door closed behind me, her movement slow, deliberate, as if her neck were made of glass.

But her eyes... her eyes were open. They were haunted, hollowed out by a pain I could only imagine, but they were aware. They found mine the second I entered.

Everything else—the world, the air, the battles, the pain in my body, the blood— the ache in my head—ceased to exist.

I moved forward, slow, like approaching something holy and fragile.

And then, before I could reach here, before I could speak, before I could even breathe—

A single tear slipped down the corner of her eye, trailing a path through the bruise on her cheek silently into the white of her pillow.

I crossed the room in three strides, ignoring the screaming protest from my side, and sank to my knees beside her bed. my composure gone, my control gone — everything gone.

"Bella," I whispered, my voice breaking on the syllable as her name tore itself out of me.

My hand found hers, so small and cold in mine. I brought it to my lips, closing my eyes against the burn of tears I refused to shed.

"I’m here," I whispered. "I’m so sorry. I’m here."