EMILY'S POVI can’t stop shaking. My whole body feels like it’s trembling beneath Carlos’s arms, and no matter how tight he holds me, it doesn’t go away.I clutch onto him like a lifeline. My face is buried in his chest, breathing in the scent of him. My tears have soaked his shirt. My voice comes out broken, breathless. “I—Carlos—I can’t… I can’t stop shaking…”“I’ve got you,” he whispers fiercely, kissing the top of my head. “I’ve got you, baby. You and our little girl… no one’s going to hurt you. I promise. I swear it.”His words soothe me a bit but they can’t stop the images flashing through my mind—the bloodied stuffed bear, the knife, the name in red ink: From Lina. The firework, the panic, the drone whirring above us. It’s all too much.Around us, the atmosphere is thick. The guests are murmuring in shock and confusion. Their happy faces from earlier are now pale, anxious. Some are helping to calm others. Carlos’s parents are on their feet. His father barks orders to security.
EMILY’S POVI always imagined what my baby shower will be like… but I never imagine this.It is beyond perfect.The entire backyard has been transformed into what can only be described as a fairytale dream. I’ve never seen so much pink, white, and gold in one place in my entire life. Shimmering fairy lights are on top. There are pink and blue balloons everywhere. Tables are covered in blue or pink cloths, topped with glass vases full of wildflowers and rose petals. Sweet jazz music plays softly through the speakersEvery corner of the backyard looked like it had been kissed by a Pinterest fairy.Carlos had gone insane with the planning—and I loved every second of it.Everywhere I turned, people were smiling, hugging, toasting, and doting on me like I was royalty. Maybe it was the glow. Maybe it was the baby bump. Maybe it was the food. But this was one of the happiest moments of my life.I float from table to table in my flowing ivory maternity dress, greeting guests, accepting hugs a
EMILY’S POVI wipe the sweat from Carlos’s brow for what must be the fifth time today. He’s been healing well, stronger by the day, but the stubborn man still pushes himself too hard when no one’s looking. He hates feeling helpless. Hates staying in bed, being doted on. He’ll never admit it, but I can tell.“Emily.” He says.I glance down. He’s propped himself up on one elbow. His blue eyes catch the sunlight that slips through the open window. The sight of him like this makes my heart skip a beat.God, he’s gorgeous.Still, I can’t deny the mischievous glint in his eyes—the same one that got us into trouble more times than I can count.“I want to go for a walk,” he says.My hands pause mid-fold, a soft towel half-rolled in my lap. “Carlos…”“Please.”“You’re not strong enough yet,” I counter gently, smoothing the towel and setting it down. “You’ve barely recovered, remember? The doctor says you need to be on bed rest”He chuckles “You make it sound dramatic.”“Carlos, you almost died
THIRD PERSON'S POVThe camera is steady. Its lens are trained tightly on Marcelo’s face. The background is neutral, plain, and polished—crafted to look professional. What the public can’t see, however, is the truth just beyond the frame.A gloved hand holds a gun firmly to the back of Marcelo’s head, and Daniel stands just out of sight. His eyes are filled with hatred. His posture says it all – one wrong move and you’re dead.Marcelo takes a shaky breath. His hands tremble in his lap, but his voice—practiced, rehearsed—sounds clear.“To the public, to the press, to all those I’ve misled… I want to apologize,” he says. “Over the past week, I have shared false and damaging information about the Carter family—particularly Henry Carter. I claimed that he was involved in the death of a whistleblower. I claimed that he orchestrated things behind the scenes, that he was corrupt. But none of that… none of it is true.”He swallows hard. His eyes move to the barrel behind him that no one can se
EMILYS POVThe private villa is quiet.Carlos was moved here, to his private villa, to recover. It’s Carlos’s place to heal and mine too, though I don’t know it at first.Carlos is unconscious for the first day and delirious for the next two. But I stay. I stay through the fevers, the nightmares, the clenched fists and incoherent murmurs. I stay through the silence.And now… he’s finally getting better.His chest rises steadily and the colour is slowly returning to his skin. His cheeks no longer look so hollow. His breathing is no longer ragged. Each time his eyes open and stay open just a little longer, I feel like I can finally exhale.I barely leave his side. I don’t want to.I bring him warm broth in the mornings, gently spooning it to his lips when he’s too weak to hold the bowl. His hand brushes mine—intentionally or not—and my heart flips every time.I wipe his brow when the fever comes back in the early hours, pressing a cool cloth to his skin, whispering soft reassurances eve
EMILY’S POVThe steady beeping of the monitor is the only sound that keeps me tethered to reality. I’ve been sitting beside Carlos for what feels like an eternity, even though it’s only been a night.His face is pale. Too pale.Wires and tubes connect him to machines keeping track of every breath, every heartbeat, every fluctuation of his vitals. His lips are dry, chapped. His skin is pale.. He doesn’t look like Carlos. He looks like a shell… and I’m terrified.I reach over and gently brush my fingers across the back of his hand, careful not to disturb the IV line.“I’m still here, you know,” I whisper. I glance down at my slightly rounded belly, resting my hand there with a sigh. “And so is she.”I don’t realize how tightly I’m holding back tears until one slips from the corner of my eye.“She’s stubborn. Just like you. Kicks like she’s been training in the womb for a world war,” I say softly, half-laughing through the ache in my chest. “She’s waiting for her daddy to wake up and tel