Chapter 114: Desperation

The engine of the dark metallic Mercedes didn’t just roar; it shrieked against the night, its tires tearing through standing water on the highway at a hundred miles an hour.

Kian drove like a man possessed, his knuckles white where his hands gripped the leather steering wheel.

The heavy rain hit the windshield in thick sheets, blinding the wipers, but he didn’t slow down.

He swerved past slow-moving sedans, cutting across three lanes of traffic, the sharp honks of terrified drivers drowned out by the thunder overhead.

He didn’t care about a speeding ticket. He didn’t care if a state trooper pulled up behind him. He didn’t even care about the red light glowing at the intersection near the St. Jude Trauma Center.

He slammed his foot on the brake at the last second, the luxury car skidding sideways over the slick pavement before coming to a halt directly in front of the emergency room’s ambulance bay. He didn’t park. He didn’t turn off the engine or pull the handbrake.

Kian threw the door open and hit the wet pavement running.

"Sir! Wait!" one of his men yelled, stumbling out of the passenger side, his umbrella blowing inside out the moment he opened it.

Kian didn’t hear him. He didn’t feel the ice-cold rain soaking through his custom suit jacket or the water filling his dress shoes. He burst through the double glass doors of the trauma center, his grey eyes wild, hair plastered to his forehead.

"Isabella Kingston!" he shouted, shoving past a paramedic who was pushing an empty gurney. The receptionist behind the front counter flinched at his tone. Kian slammed both hands onto the counter, leaning over it. "Where is she? Where is my wife?!"

"Sir, you need to step back—"

"Where is she?!" Kian roared, his voice cracking with a terrifying mix of panic and authority. "She was brought in from the river bridge! Where did you take her?!"

"Trauma Bay Two, but sir, you can’t go through those doors—"

Kian didn’t wait for her to finish. He turned and sprinted down the wide, white hallway, his wet soles squeaking loudly against the clean linoleum.

"Sir! Stop!" a security guard called out, stepping into the hall, but Kian hit him with his shoulder, knocking the man aside without even looking at him.

He reached the heavy doors marked CRITICAL CARE – AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY and shoved them open with both hands.

The hallway inside was a scene of controlled chaos. Nurses were rushing back and forth carrying bags of saline and dark blood, medical instruments clinking against silver trays. At the end of the corridor, three doctors stood outside a glass-walled room, talking in fast, hushed tones.

Kian took a step toward them, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. "Isabella..."

Before he could reach the glass, the outer automatic doors at the far end of the emergency wing slid open with a sharp, heavy hiss.

The air in the hallway instantly changed.

Four security men in soaked black suits stepped inside, forming a sharp perimeter. And between them stood Aaron Kazarov.

Aaron wasn’t wearing his suit. His shirt was damp, sticking to his broad shoulders, his blonde hair pushed back off his face.

He wasn’t running or shouting like Kian. But the sheer, suffocating pressure radiating off him made two passing nurses freeze in their tracks.

His blue eyes were terrifyingly clear, dark, and hollow, like two chips of ice set into stone.

Aaron’s gaze swept the hall and locked onto Kian.

Kian froze. The panic in his chest instantly twisted into something sour and ugly.

Instinctively, Kian stepped directly into the middle of the hallway, blocking the path to Isabella.

He lifted his chin, his breathing heavy, trying to pull his shattered composure back together.

"You have no right to be here," Kian said, his voice raw, pointing a shaking finger at Aaron. "Turn around and get out."

Aaron didn’t slow his stride. He walked straight toward Kian, his long legs covering the distance in seconds.

His guards stopped a few paces back, but Aaron kept coming until he was standing less than two feet away.

"Move," Aaron said. His voice wasn’t loud. It was low, quiet, and completely devoid of warmth.

"She is my wife," Kian spat, stepping closer, his chest almost touching Aaron’s. "Do you hear me? She is legally my wife. You are nothing to her. You’re an outsider playing hero, and I am telling you to get the hell out of this hospital."

Aaron looked down at Kian. For a long, brutal second, he didn’t say a word. He just stared into Kian’s grey eyes, watching the sweat pour down his pale face, watching the frantic, guilty tremor in his jaw.

"And what has being her husband done for her, Kian?" Aaron asked softly.

The words cut deeper than a blade. Kian flinched, his jaw tightening so hard his teeth clicked.

"You left her," Kian hissed, his voice rising as he tried to shift the weight pressing down on his own chest.

"You dragged her into your mess! You were supposed to be watching the road, you were supposed to protect her, and where were you?! Sitting in your office while she got run off a bridge!"

Aaron’s blue eyes narrowed to cold slits. "And whose fault is it that I had an emergency?"

"You did this!" Kian yelled, his self-control snapping completely. He raised a hand and shoved Aaron’s shoulder. "If she hadn’t met you, she wouldn’t even have been on that road! This is your fault!"

Aaron didn’t stumble back from the shove. He barely moved an inch. But the small remaining thread of his patience snapped.

Aaron’s right fist shot forward like a steel piston, striking Kian squarely across the left side of his jaw.

The crack of bone and flesh echoed down the quiet medical hall.

Kian’s head snapped back, his feet slipping on the wet floor as he crashed hard against the wall, sliding down onto one knee. He gasped, spitting a line of red blood onto the white tiles, his hand flying to his swelling jaw.

"Mr. Kazarov!" one of Aaron’s guards warned softly, stepping forward, but Aaron held up a single hand without looking back.

Aaron stood over Kian, his chest rising and falling slowly, his knuckles split and bleeding over his white shirt.

"Whoever hit that car came from your side, Kian," Aaron said, his voice dropping into a dangerous, terrifying whisper. "You played your cheap little harbor games this morning to pull me away. You thought you were being clever. And while you were playing games, someone put a truck through her car."

Kian looked up from the floor, his grey eyes wide with a mix of shock and sudden, cold dread. "What... what are you talking about?"

"Pray she lives," Aaron said, leaning down so his face was inches from Kian’s. "Because if she doesn’t, I won’t bother asking a judge for permission to end you."

"Hey! What is going on out here?!"