Married to my bodyguard のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 41 - チャプター 50

The door didn’t open all the way at first—just enough for a shadow to stretch across the tiles. For one terrifying second, I thought it might be another masked attacker, one of the men from the files, someone here to finish what the bullet couldn’t. But then the door swung fully open, and I froze for a completely different reason. My father walked in. Not the calm, polished CEO the world worshipped. Not the philanthropist who posed with smiling children and cut red ribbons. This version of him was flushed, jaw tight, eyes blazing like he hadn’t slept in days. “Ariana.” My breath stalled. He never used that tone unless he was about to ruin someone’s life. Cole moved first. Even half-bandaged, half-drugged, and definitely not supposed to be standing, he pushed himself out of the bed. Instinctive. Protective. My heart lurched at the sight. My father’s gaze snapped to him. “You,” he said, pure venom leaking from that one word. Cole didn’t answer. Didn’t flinch. He just

Cole didn’t get far. I don’t know how I knew that, but something in my chest tugged the moment the door slammed behind him. The hospital hallway suddenly felt colder, emptier, wrong. And that message… That stupid, chilling message blinking on my phone screen: “He won’t make it.” My stomach twisted. They weren’t talking about my father. They weren’t talking about me. They meant Cole. Because they always go for the person protecting me. I didn’t think. I didn’t analyze. I just ran. “Cole!” I shouted, ignoring the nurse who tried to stop me. “Cole, stop!” I practically threw myself into the hallway just as the elevator doors started to close. A hand shot out and blocked them. His hand. Cole stared at me with tired eyes, bandaged side rising and falling unevenly. “Ariana, don’t.” Too late. My pulse was already sprinting. I stepped into the elevator with him, breath shaking. “You can’t do this.” “Ariana—” His jaw tightened. “You shouldn’t be running around. You get yourself in

I’ve been awake for less than three minutes and the air already feels wrong. The safe house sits buried behind coastal cliffs and pine trees—isolated, quiet, impossible to stumble across unless you’re meant to find it. Cole insists no one can track us here, but my skin prickles every time I walk past a window. Like someone’s eyes follow me, and the rooftop intruder who vanished before we could see their face. I try to shake it off, padding into the kitchen wearing one of Cole’s shirts that practically swallows me. It still smells like him—clean soap, cedar, something darker underneath that makes my stomach flutter in embarrassing ways. He’s leaning against the counter, arms crossed, eyes dragging slowly over me like he’s trying not to look but failing miserably. “You’re up early,” he says quietly. “You’re staring early.” He exhales through his nose—one of those half-amused, half-exasperated breaths. “Can you blame me?” His voice drops, low enough to skim over my skin.

Cole doesn’t open the door at first. He just stands there, staring at the screen as if willing it to glitch. As if wishing the figure on the porch camera feed would blur into someone else. But there’s no mistaking him. My father. He looks the same and not the same; a little thinner, a little more tired, wearing the expensive suit that never matches the blood on his hands—metaphorical, literal, I still don’t know where one ends and the other begins. I swallow, throat tight. “Why… why is he here?” Cole steps between me and the door like he thinks my father might somehow reach through it. “I don’t like this. He should have called. Or sent a message. Not show up in person after being off-grid for days.” He pockets the tablet, jaw flexing. “Stay behind me.” “I’m not a child, Cole.” “Then don’t make me treat you like one,” he snaps quietly. “Your father plays dirtier than anyone in this mess—and he chose the worst time to show up.” He opens the door. My father stands wit

The first gunshot shatters the night. Everything happened in a blink, Marcus tried to shot us, but cole pushed him and we runway, now we don't know where we going. I don’t even realize I’m screaming until Cole’s hand clamps over my mouth and he yanks me backward, hard, into his chest. “Move,” he growls against my ear. We run. The safe house explodes into chaos behind us—shouts, boots pounding, glass shattering. The smell of gunpowder mixes with the salt-heavy air from the docks below. Cold wind slaps my face as we burst through the back exit and down the narrow metal stairs that rattle under our feet. “Cole—my father—” “He knows how to disappear,” Cole snaps. “You focus on staying alive.” Another shot rings out. Metal sparks explode inches from my head. I stumble, and Cole catches me instantly, hauling me up without slowing down. His grip is like iron, his body a shield as we sprint toward the dark maze of shipping containers ahead. The docks are a nightmare at nig