Semua Bab wounded Heart : Bab 21 - Bab 30

The words blur before my eyes as footsteps thunder up the stairs. Alex moves faster than I thought possible, snatching up the letter while pulling me toward the window. The night air whips through my hair, carrying the wail of more approaching sirens. His proximity makes my heart race, just like those moments in his office when we’d come so close to crossing the line between employer and employee. Three stories below, the alley disappears into shadows, somewhere down there the USB drive lies waiting with its own cache of secrets. “Don’t be stupid,” James calls out, but there’s something different in his voice now. Fear, maybe. Or regret. The bitterness that’s haunted him since their father’s will was read edges every word. The years of mentorship, of family dinners and holiday celebrations, echo in those three words. How long has he been carrying these secrets? Dupont merely watches, that same cold smile playing at his lips. His expensive suit gleams in the emergency lights flooding

Time stops in the echo of the gunshot. I’m moving before I can think, my body colliding with Alex’s as we both hit the floor. The crack of my knees against hardwood barely registers through the adrenaline. His arms wrap around me automatically, protective even now, and for a fraction of a second, I feel his heart hammering against my chest. The familiar scent of his cologne mingles with gunpowder, making my head spin. “Stay down!” Officer Chen yells. More gunshots—two, three—the sound deafening in the enclosed space. Glass shatters somewhere to our left, raining crystal shards across the mahogany floors of the Foster mansion’s study. Through the chaos, I hear James swear. “You weren’t supposed to—” “Shut up!” Dupont’s voice has lost its smooth edge. “Get the phone. Get it now!” Alex’s grip on me tightens. His phone—the live feed of my mother. I try to lift my head, but his hand cups the back of my neck, keeping me pressed against him. The gesture is tender despite its urgency, a

The elevator seems to drop faster than usual, my stomach lurching with each passing floor. I grip the handrail, watching the numbers tick down: 45, 44, 43… Alex’s hand remains steady at my back, but I feel the tension coiling through him, like a predator preparing to strike. The morning sun filtering through the glass walls casts strange shadows across our faces, making Eliana appear more ghostly than usual. Security cameras track our descent in every corner—standard protocol Alex implemented after the second assassination attempt last month. The memory of that night flashes through my mind: the screech of tires, the spray of broken glass, the way Alex shielded me with his body as bullets peppered his armored car. Now I wonder if they’re less protection and more surveillance, recording our every move for someone with darker motives. The leather of my heels squeaked against the polished elevator floors as I shift my weight, trying to ease the tension knotting between my shoulders. La

Five seconds. The weight of three lives balanced against one decision. Time crystallizes in the murky water as I gaze at Alex’s unconscious form. Even in this desperate moment, my heart betrays me with a familiar flutter. The stubborn determination remains etched on his features—the same expression he wore in the boardroom last month when he refused to sell Rodriguez Enterprises despite the hostile takeover attempts. Watching him then, commanding a room full of executives, I’d forced myself to remember the vast gulf between us: he, the ruthless tech billionaire whose name dominated headlines, and I, a research department head who’d worked my way up from nothing. Four seconds. My lungs scream for air as memories flash through my mind. That rainy Tuesday when he first walked into my office, his Tom Ford suit impossibly pristine. Everyone else had scurried to attention, but I’d been too absorbed in my calculations to notice him. I’d nearly dropped my tablet when I turned to find Alexan

The drugs keep me under for what feels like days, but my training kicks in. Between waves of artificial sleep, I count the nurse rotations, track the changing shadows on the wall, and piece together a timeline. Sixteen hours have passed since Geneva’s visit. I’m more valuable to them conscious than sedated, which means they’ll ease up soon. Sure enough, when I next open my eyes, my head is clearer. The restraints remain, but the IV has been removed. Through the window, lights glitter against the Mediterranean like scattered diamonds. A soft knock precedes Marcus’s entrance. His arm is in a sling, face pale but determined. “Sonia.” He glances at the camera in the corner, then busies himself checking my vitals. When he leans close, his whisper is barely audible. “Alex’s offshore protocol is active. Eliana’s handling the digital side.” Hope flares in my chest. The Monaco accounts aren’t just money—they’re leverage. Alex had shown me the complex web of shell companies and proxy votes