All Chapters of Married To My Gay Bestfriend : Chapter 111 - Chapter 120

Devin's POV The accident was not an accident. I knew it the moment the tires lost their grip on the ice, and I felt it in the way the black sedan behind us had been matching our speed for the past three miles, staying just close enough to blend into the falling snow yet just far enough away to escape suspicion. The driver was a professional, someone who understood how to tail a vehicle without raising alarms, someone who had waited for the right stretch of road and the right patch of ice and the right moment to act. When our car began its slide, I caught a glimpse of the sedan in the rearview mirror. It did not swerve to avoid us the way an innocent driver would have done. Instead, it accelerated. The motion was brief, barely a heartbeat of increased speed before the driver corrected and veered away as if startled by our sudden loss of control, but I saw it clearly. That tiny burst of forward motion. That cold and calculated adjustment. The person behind that wheel had wanted us

Devin's POVThree days passed without a single lead.Solomon's people scoured every traffic camera within a five-mile radius of the accident and came back with nothing but static images of ordinary cars driven by ordinary people. They traced the stolen sedan to its original owner, a retired schoolteacher in Queens who had reported it missing four days before the crash and who had no connection whatsoever to Marguerite or Croft or anyone else in the tangled web we had been fighting for months. The scrap of paper with Elena Vasquez's name was analyzed for fingerprints, DNA, handwriting, anything that might point us toward the driver, but it came back completely clean. No prints. No trace evidence. No fibers. No mistakes.Whoever had been behind the wheel of that black sedan knew exactly what they were doing. They had left just enough evidence to taunt us, just enough to prove they could reach us whenever they wanted, and not a single shred more. The message was unmistakable. I am still

Devin’s POV I grabbed the syringe from the floor where it had rolled under the edge of the bed, careful not to touch the needle, and set it on the counter where the nurses kept their supplies before I hit the emergency button on the wall. The alarm blared through the ward, a pulsing shriek that brought Henderson crashing through the door with his hand already on his weapon and his eyes sweeping the room for the threat I had already neutralized."A woman in nurse's scrubs just tried to inject something into my wife's IV," I said, my voice low and hard. "She has dark hair, a medium build and looks like she’s in her late twenties. She ran toward the east stairwell not thirty seconds ago. I want her found and I want her held until Solomon's people arrive to take custody of her."Henderson spoke into his radio with the kind of sharp urgency that cut through bureaucracy, and within seconds the corridor filled with the thunder of pounding footsteps as the hospital's security team spread out

Eve's POVThe room felt smaller after Devin left.I lay against the pillows with my hands pressed to the great curve of my belly, listening to the monitors trace their steady green lines across the screen while the babies kicked and rolled beneath my palms in a frantic rhythm that felt nothing like their usual movements. They had been restless all evening, far more restless than they had ever been before, their tiny feet drumming against my ribs as if they were trying to tell me something I could not quite understand. I rubbed slow circles over the spot where a small heel was pressing insistently against my side and tried to breathe through the anxiety that had been coiling in my chest ever since the alarm stopped its terrible wailing.Someone had been standing right beside my bed while I slept. Someone had held a syringe filled with God knows what over the IV line that fed directly into my bloodstream, and if Devin had walked through that door thirty seconds later, I would never hav

Devin's POVThe nurse we captured told us her name is Carla, and she was crumbling under interrogation.I stood against the cold concrete wall with my arms locked across my chest, watching her fall apart piece by piece under the weight of Solomon's interrogation. She was not a professional, and that much had become clear within the first five minutes of questioning. A professional would have lawyered up immediately, stonewalled every question, and known better than to let the terror show so plainly on her face. Carla was simply a woman who had been in the wrong place at the wrong time, desperate enough or frightened enough to accept fifty thousand dollars from a stranger who knew her name, her workplace, and exactly which buttons to push."I already told you everything," she said, her voice cracking on every other word while her cuffed hands twisted together on the metal table in a nervous motion she could not seem to control. "A man approached me outside my apartment three nights a