LOGINMarceline did not bother changing out of the soaked dress.She took the first car that pulled up, ignored the driver’s concerned glance at her dripping clothes and the red mark still blooming on her cheek, and stared straight ahead as the gates of the Cross mansion disappeared behind them. The city lights smeared past the windows. Every red light felt personal. Every slow turn of the wheels felt like time she could not afford to lose.By the time the hospital came into view her hands were clenched so tightly in her lap that the nails had left half-moons in her palms. The babies had gone quiet again, as if they too were holding their breath.Ethan met her at the private elevator.He took one look at her...wet hair, wet dress, the faint tremor she could not quite hide...and said nothing about any of it. He only fell into step beside her.“Vitals are steadier,” he told her as the elevator rose. “They stopped the worst of the seizures. He’s still under, but the numbers look better than t
Marceline had the phone pressed to her ear when the front door shuddered under a sudden, heavy impact. She froze. Ethan’s voice continued on the other end, calm and measured, updating her on Adrian’s condition, but the words blurred. Another impact followed—harder. The deadbolt held, yet the wood groaned. Marcus moved first, hand already on his weapon. Marceline ended the call without answering, slipped the phone away, and crossed the foyer. Her wet dress clung to her thighs with every step. The twins sat low and heavy, a constant pressure that made sudden movement risky, but she did not slow down. She unlocked the door and yanked it open. Vivian stood on the threshold, breathing hard, one hand braced against the frame. The injured man was gone. She had come back alone. “You don’t get to lock me out of my own family's house,” Vivian said. Her voice had lost the earlier polish. It was raw now, edged with something close to panic. “I will not be dismissed by a girl who—” Marceline
Marceline did not lower the pistol.Vivian recovered first. The shock on her face hardened into something colder and more calculating. She stepped half in front of the injured man as if the bleeding shoulder belonged to her.“You heard a private conversation and decided it was a confession,” Vivian said. “That is a dangerous habit.”“I heard enough.” Marceline’s voice stayed level even though her legs felt unsteady. The post-fight crash was settling in hard—tremors in her hands, a deep pull across her lower back, the twins shifting in tight, uneasy rolls. Water still plastered the dress to her skin. “You brought them here. You paid them. Now you leave.”The man with the bleeding shoulder shifted his weight. Marcus appeared in the foyer behind Marceline, silent, waiting for a signal. Two more of Adrian’s men flanked the far doorway. The air felt tight.Vivian’s laugh was short. “You think pointing that thing makes you the head of this family? Adrian is lying in a hospital bed. The mome
Marceline had only reached the first landing when the first crash echoed through the house. Glass shattered somewhere on the ground floor when the second impact followed. Then the overlapping shouts of men who did not belong there. She froze, one hand still on the banister, water dripping from the hem of her dress onto the carpet. The babies kicked hard, as if they felt the sudden spike in her pulse. For a split second her mind went blank. Then training she had never wanted, lessons forced on her in the early months of this marriage, kicked in. She turned and moved as fast as her body would allow, back toward the master wing. The panic button on the wall of the hallway was already flashing red....someone on staff had triggered it.She heard footsteps pounding below, more glass shattering and the sound of a gunshot cracking through the foyer, then another. Marceline shoved open the door to Adrian’s study, crossed straight to the hidden panel behind the desk, and pulled it open.
The sting on Marceline’s cheek pulsed in time with her heartbeat. Water still slid down the back of her neck and under the collar of her soaked dress. The babies had gone quiet, a heavy, watchful stillness that somehow made everything feel extra dreadful. She looked at Vivian for a long second. The older woman’s chin was high, eyes bright with the kind of satisfaction that came from landing a blow and expecting no answer. Marceline’s hand moved before she fully decided to let it. The slap cracked across Vivian’s face hard enough to snap her head sideways. The sound bounced off the marble and the high ceiling. Vivian staggered a half step, one hand flying to her cheek, eyes wide with pure shock. “You—” Vivian started. “Don’t.” Marceline’s voice came out low and rough. “Don’t you say another word about my husband. Don’t you say another word about my pregnancy. And don’t you ever put your hands on me again.” Vivian’s mouth opened, then closed. A red mark was already rising on her s
The alarms were still shrieking when the door opened again.Ethan came in hard, shoulders rising and falling like he had run the entire length of the corridor. His shirt was wrinkled, hair pushed back from his forehead with one hand, eyes already locked on the bed. He took in the cluster of staff, the way Adrian’s body still twitched under their hands, and then his gaze snapped to Marceline.She stood pressed against the wall, both arms locked around her belly, face pale and wet. One of the nurses tried to steer her farther back. She shook the woman off without looking.Ethan crossed the room in four long strides.“What happened?” His voice was rough.“He started seizing,” Marceline said. The words came out thin. “One minute the monitors were steady. The next...” She broke off as another small convulsion rippled through Adrian’s frame. A doctor barked an order. Someone adjusted the IV.Ethan watched for a few seconds, jaw tight, then turned fully to her. His eyes dropped to the heavy







