Chapter 7: At All Costs

Rick's POV

The phone buzzed against the mahogany desk in my office at The Foundry.

I didn't look at it immediately. I was in the middle of reviewing a quarterly investor report, a massive acquisition deal that required my undivided attention. But the moment I realized who that specific text tone belonged to, the rest of the world ceased to exist.  

I picked it up. Her reply burned through the screen.

Sammie: I don't feel good today and I need some time to think.

My jaw clenched so hard a sharp ache flared in my temple.

 I don't feel good.

Three simple words, yet they hit me like a physical blow, fracturing the cold, calculated control I spent every day maintaining. Last night, I had watched her walk away with a heart too heavy for her shoulders, weighed down by a pathetic excuse of a relationship that was slowly extinguishing her light.

If she was sick today, it wasn't just a physical ailment—it was the crushing toll of tolerating a boy who didn't know how to treasure a queen.

I forced my thumb to tap out a single, disciplined word to keep from overwhelming her, to keep her from retreating further behind her walls.

“Okay.”

But the moment the message sent, I tossed the phone onto the desk and stood up, my chair scraping harshly against the floor. An unfamiliar, borderline terrifying panic seized my chest. It wasn't just a desire to see her; it was a visceral, desperate need. The thought of her sitting alone in that apartment, hurting, suffocated by her own thoughts while some loser drained her energy, made a raw, possessive knot tighten in my gut. I couldn't sit here. I couldn't breathe until I knew she was safe.

I grabbed my leather jacket off the hanger, shoving my arms through the sleeves.

"Louis," I barked into the intercom, my voice dripping with an urgency my staff had likely never heard from me before.

My personal chauffeur answered within two seconds. "Yes, boss?"

"Bring the bike around. And get the Lamborghini ready. I need you to follow me to Samantha's address."

"Understood, sir. Are we bringing security?"

"No," I muttered, my mind already racing through the gridlock downtown. "But stop by the premium pharmacy. Get the best migraine and pain medications they have. Then, hit the luxury boutique next door. Clear out whatever flowers look freshest and grab their highest-end gift sets. Loungewear, silk, whatever. Just make it fast."

"On it, boss."

Ten minutes later, the roar of my matte-black motorcycle cut through the morning air. The storm from last night had cleared, but I tore through the streets with a reckless, consuming focus, weaving between cars with a dangerous urgency. I didn't care about the investor meeting in thirty minutes. I didn't care about the spreadsheets or the club's revenue. All that mattered was reaching her. If she needed time to think, I would give her an eternity—but I would do it while ensuring she was protected, warm, and taken care of.

When I finally pulled up across from her high-rise building, I didn't even register that I was parked illegally in a red zone. I cut the engine, resting one heavy boot on the asphalt, and leaned back against the leather seat, trying to steady the frantic rhythm of my chest.

I pulled out my phone and dialed her number.

My eyes instantly tracked up to the fourth floor of the upscale building. A second later, the sheer curtains parted. There she was. Even from this distance, looking pale and beautifully fragile against the window frame, she completely leveled me.

"Look out your window, Samantha," I said into the receiver, my voice dropping into a low, protective rumble.

I watched her baby blue eyes lock accurately onto me. I felt completely defenseless under her gaze.

"I know you said you need time to think," I told her, my heart hammering as I caught the exhaustion in her whispered reply. "But you also said you don't feel good and I'm not leaving you alone like that. Do I have the permission to come up?"

Behind me, Louis pulled the Lamborghini to the curb and stepped out, immediately opening the trunk to reveal the mountain of luxury bags and the pharmacy package. I waited, entirely at her mercy, holding my breath for her judgment.

"Come on up," she finally murmured.

A heavy, grounding wave of relief washed over me, settling the storm in my chest.

"Yes ma'am," I replied, hanging up the phone.

I swung my leg off the bike and pocketed the keys. Grabbing the heavy pharmacy bag from Louis, I nodded toward the rest of the items. "Bring the rest up behind me, Louis."

As we entered the sleek, quiet lobby and stepped into the mirrored elevator, the digital numbers began to climb. Four floors. It was a short ride, but the closer the elevator got to her door, the tighter my chest became. I caught my reflection in the polished glass, running a hand through my hair, realizing my palms were actually sweating. Me. A man who dealt with underground syndicates and multi-million dollar deals without blinking.

"God, why am I so nervous and worried at the same damn time?" I murmured under my breath, my voice cutting through the quiet hum of the elevator.

I wasn't just worried about her headache; I was terrified of what I would find when she opened that door. I was terrified that she would look at me and regret letting me in. But more than anything, I was terrified of how badly I wanted her to never close that door on me again.

The elevator chimed, the doors sliding open to the fourth floor. I exhaled a slow, steady breath, hardening my resolve, and stepped out into the hallway. It was time to show Samantha what it actually felt like to be cherished.

“I need this woman, Lord help me”.