Chapter 4

"Andre!" Elvira shouted, chasing after him.

Just as Lance was about to lower the landing gear, a figure suddenly darted onto the runway.

He yanked back on the control stick, and the landing gear scraped past the edge of the runway.

The fighter jet went off balance and slammed into the guardrail beside the runway, sending sparks flying.

Lance slammed into the instrument panel, spitting out mouthfuls of blood. The last thing he saw before losing consciousness was Elvira cradling Andre, who had collapsed limply on the ground, protectively in her arms.

She didn't even spare a glance in Lance's direction.

At the hospital, Lance had no idea how long he'd been unconscious.

But the moment he opened his eyes, Elvira grabbed him, her expression grim, and dragged him into another hospital room.

"Lance." Elvira looked at him and said in a voice that brooked no argument, "Apologize to Andre. Your reckless landing frightened him so badly that he sprained his ankle and can no longer walk. Hurry up and apologize."

"What?" Lance rasped.

He suspected that he had broken his ribs and possibly had internal injuries.

Meanwhile, Andre had done nothing more than sprain his ankle, yet Lance was being dragged out of his hospital bed to apologize to him?

Lance stood there with his body ice-cold and his fists clenched.

"And what if I refuse to apologize?" he asked through gritted teeth.

Elvira's expression darkened. She stepped closer and rose slightly onto her toes.

Then, in a voice so low that only the two of them could hear, she whispered, "Lance, you flew longer than scheduled and ran low on fuel, then disobeyed my orders.

"No matter how you look at it, you were in the wrong. Or would you rather have your maternal grandmother, Kathleen Burke, moved to a regular hospital ward tomorrow?"

Lance's head snapped down as he stared at her.

Kathleen was his only remaining family member. Three years ago, she had escaped the hostage takers' retaliation only because she had been staying at a convalescent home.

"I'm sorry." Lance heard his own voice, dry and hoarse. "Please forgive me."

Andre flashed a triumphant smile.

Lance clenched his jaw and turned to leave, but then he noticed a dark liquid trickling down Elvira's trousers.

It was blood.

"Supreme Commander Skye, you're bleeding!" a nurse cried out in alarm.

Lance suddenly remembered that Elvira's period was more than a month late.

…

In another hospital room, only Jerome was speaking.

"Unfortunately, Supreme Commander Skye, the pregnancy was about six weeks along, and you've miscarried because of the intensity of your recent sexual activity. We did everything we could."

Elvira frowned slightly, while Lance closed his eyes.

For the past year, he had been grounded and sidelined. Every day, he threw himself into gathering evidence while struggling to preserve what little dignity he had left in front of Elvira.

As a result, he and Elvira had been intimate only once, and the timing matched perfectly.

It had happened just over a month ago, when Elvira—reeking of alcohol—had come to see him around midnight.

She had wrapped her arms around him and buried her face against his chest. All the while, she kept repeating, "I love you, Lance. You're the first person I've ever cared about this much."

Lance had believed that she had finally fallen in love with him.

Now, looking back, he realized that wasn't what she had meant at all.

And now their baby was gone too—all because of the intense sex Elvira and Andre had just had.