All Chapters of The Heirmaker's Bride: Chapter 21 - Chapter 30

The surgeon hesitated, choosing his words with care. “We stopped the bleeding. His vitals are being maintained. Technically, the surgery was a success.”“Then why does he look like a corpse?” Damian’s mother snapped.The surgeon swallowed.“One of the bullets caused a rare, catastrophic neurological disruption,” he explained. “It grazed a region that governs autonomic response and consciousness. He’s not in a coma in the traditional sense. He’s… suspended.”Her eyes narrowed. “Speak plainly.”“He’s alive,” the surgeon said. “But he’s not waking. And none of our methods can reach the damage.”Silence crashed down.“So what are you saying?” Damian’s father asked slowly.The surgeon exhaled. “There is one surgical approach that might work. It’s experimental. Highly specialized. There is only one surgeon in the world with the experience to attempt it.”Damian’s mother felt the room tilt.“Name,” she said.The surgeon hesitated again. “Dr. Sera Voss.”The name hit like a gunshot.Damian’s

Five years of running. Five years of telling herself she hated him. Five years of stitching herself into something strong and unbreakable.And now the world was telling her he was gone.Regardless of what he had done to her.Regardless of how cold he had been.Regardless of the nights she had spent hating him just to survive...Damian Blackwell was still the father of her child.And worse than that...He was the first man she had ever loved.The realization cracked something open in her chest.She pressed a hand over her mouth as a sob threatened to escape, shoulders trembling as grief rushed in uninvited and unwelcome.“I hate you,” she whispered into the quiet room. “I hate that you still do this to me.”Her gaze drifted back to the medical files on her desk.Thirty bullets.Italy.Utmost secrecy.A patient pronounced dead by the media but not, apparently, by the surgeons.Her heart began to race.Slowly, painfully, a thought took shape.What if the world thinks he’s dead… but medic

“Sera?”The apartment was quiet but not empty. He heard movement from the bedroom. A drawer closing. Footsteps.She appeared in the hallway a moment later, hair damp, dressed in dark clothes, passport and phone in her hand.“You’re back early,” she said.“So are you,” he replied, eyes narrowing slightly. “You weren’t planning on telling me about Italy?”She hesitated just long enough to be noticed.“It’s work,” she said evenly.“It’s always work,” Adrik replied. “But Italy isn’t always just work.”She moved past him toward the kitchen. He followed.“What’s going on?” he asked, keeping his voice low but insistent. “Nikolai says you’re leaving. Emergency surgery. No details. No name.”She set the passport down carefully. Too carefully.“The patient’s family wants secrecy,” she said. “That happens.”“Not like this,” Adrik said. “And not with you.”She finally turned to face him.“I haven’t accepted yet,” she said. “I’m reviewing.”“You already packed.”Her jaw tightened. “Because if I go

They moved fast.No lingering. No ceremony.The moment Sera stepped through the hospital doors, she was ushered down a private corridor, badges flashing, doors unlocking before she reached them. A nurse pressed scrubs into her hands, another guided her toward a changing room.“Five minutes,” someone said. “The ICU is prepped.”She nodded, already moving.The door shut behind her, and for the first time since landing, she was alone.The sterile room smelled of antiseptic and something colder. She stripped out of her travel clothes mechanically, hands steady out of habit even as her chest felt anything but. Scrubs on. Hair tied back. Mask hanging loose around her neck.She stared at her reflection for a moment.Dr. Sera Voss looked back at her. Calm. Composed. Untouchable.Seraphina Vale stayed buried.She stepped out.The walk to the ICU felt longer than it should have. Each step echoed too loudly, her pulse syncing with the sound of her shoes against the floor. Glass walls slid past,

“Come on,” she whispered under her breath, not sure who she was speaking to. Her hands moved with fierce precision, correcting, repairing, rerouting what had been destroyed by violence.The monitors screamed suddenly.A flat, piercing alarm cut through the room.“Cardiac arrhythmia!” a voice shouted.Time fractured.“Stabilize him,” Sera ordered sharply. “Now.”Drugs were pushed. Machines adjusted. The room buzzed with urgency, controlled panic threading through every movement.Her heart pounded so hard she could feel it in her throat.Everything she did made it worse.Every correction triggered another collapse. Every attempt to restore balance sent his system spiraling in a different direction.It was like his body was fighting her.Like it didn’t want to stay.“Stay with me,” she muttered fiercely, fingers slick with blood. “You don’t get to quit.”The beeping staggered.Slowed.Then spiked again.Her hands paused for half a second.Too long.She sucked in a breath, forcing herself