They fled through back corridors of the warehouse, Ellis half-limping but waving them forward. Adrian gripped Emma's hand so tightly it hurt, but she welcomed the pain—it meant he was still alive.
Gunfire erupted behind them. Emma ducked instinctively, feeling the whiz of a bullet pass far too close. Adrian pushed her ahead, shielding her with his own battered body.
Finally, they burst into the humid night air. One of Adrian's cars screeched around the corner. Ellis swung the rear door open. They piled inside, tires spinning in gravel as they sped off.
Emma couldn't stop shaking. Her hands, her shoulders, her very bones quaked with terror and adrenaline. She kept one hand over her belly, praying the baby was unharmed.
Across from her, Adrian was slumped against the seat, breathing heavily, his shirt dark with blood. In the dim light, she could see his face—hollow, eyes distant.
"Adrian," she whispered. "We're safe now."
He didn't answer. Just stared out the window, jaw tight.
They returned not to the mansion but to a secluded safehouse deep in the woods—an ivy-covered lodge with boarded windows and heavy security. As guards swept the perimeter, Ellis directed medics to tend to Adrian's wounds.
Emma tried to follow, but Adrian raised a hand, stopping her in the hall. His expression was so cold, so unlike the man who had held her in the warehouse and pressed his palm to her belly in stunned wonder.
"I'll be fine. Get some rest."
"But—"
"Emma. Please." His voice cracked on her name, so soft it hurt more than if he'd shouted.
She wrapped her arms around herself as he turned away.
Hours later, she found him alone in the library. The room smelled of old paper and whiskey. Adrian stood by the fireplace, one hand braced against the mantle, his head bowed. Bandages wrapped his torso beneath an open shirt, bruises blooming across his ribs.
"Adrian?" she said gently.
He didn't move. Didn't even seem to breathe.
Emma crossed the room and touched his back. At that, he stiffened. Like he wanted to step away but forced himself to stay.
"Talk to me," she pleaded. "You've been so far away since we left the warehouse."
He exhaled, shoulders slumping. "You shouldn't have come for me."
"How could I not? I love you. And we—" Her hand drifted to her stomach. "We're going to have a child. Doesn't that matter to you?"
He closed his eyes, anguish twisting his handsome features. "That's exactly why I wish you hadn't come."
Emma's heart lurched. "What does that mean?"
"It means," he said slowly, "that every time I look at you, I see a target. And now there's more at stake. I couldn't protect my mother, Emma. I couldn't protect my brother. This world swallowed them, and it's only a matter of time before it takes you too."
Tears burned at the corners of her eyes. "I'm not asking you to be perfect. I'm asking you to let me in. We can face this together."
He shook his head, stepping back. "You don't understand. I'm sick, Emma."
"What?" Her voice cracked. "Sick how?"
Adrian's eyes glittered in the firelight. "There's a reason I've been pushing you away. I didn't want you to learn like this, but… the beatings tonight reopened internal injuries I've been hiding. The doctors say it's getting worse. Some from old wounds, some from this life that's eaten me alive. They give me months at best—maybe weeks."
Emma staggered as though slapped. "No. That can't be true."
"I've been preparing things so that when I'm gone, you and the child will be taken care of. That's why I had the contract revised with the inheritance clauses. Why I've kept my distance. I was trying to make it easier for you."
She choked on a sob. "Easier? Watching you slip away, alone and cold, while I stand here carrying your child—that's supposed to be easier?"
Adrian's jaw clenched. "If you stay close, you'll only get hurt worse. I've seen what this life does to the people I love."
Emma marched forward, grabbing his face in her hands. "Listen to me, Adrian Blackwood. I don't care how much time we have. I'd rather have one day with you than a lifetime wondering what might've been."
He caught her wrists, his grip trembling. For a heartbeat, his mask shattered—raw fear, love, and longing poured out of him.
Then he crushed his mouth to hers.
It wasn't gentle. It was desperate, hungry, as if he needed to memorize her taste before it was too late. Emma melted against him, her tears mixing with the salt of his skin. His hands slid into her hair, down her back, pulling her impossibly closer.
When they finally broke apart, breathless, he pressed his forehead to hers. "God help me, Emma, I love you. I've loved you from the start. That's what makes this so damn hard."
"Then let's not waste another second," she whispered. "Be with me. However long we have."
Adrian didn't answer with words. He scooped her into his arms and carried her to the couch by the fire.
Later, tangled in the blankets, Emma lay with her head on his chest, listening to the fragile beat of his heart. Each thump terrified her—how many more would there be?
"I'll fight for you," she promised quietly. "I'll fight for us. No matter what Cassandra says, no matter what your enemies try. You're not alone anymore."
Adrian's arms tightened around her. "Promise me one thing. If it ever gets too dangerous—if they come for you or the baby—run. Don't look back."
She closed her eyes, pressing her ear to his heartbeat. "I won't promise that. Because I won't leave you."
A long silence. Then Adrian's breath shuddered. "Then I'll have to fight twice as hard to keep you safe."
Emma drifted toward sleep, comforted by his warmth. But deep in her bones, dread curled like smoke. Adrian's body was hot against hers—too hot. Feverish.
She sat up, studying him. His skin was pale beneath bruises, sweat dampening his hair. Even unconscious, his brow was furrowed, mouth tight in pain.
"Adrian?" she whispered, shaking him gently.
He didn't stir. Panic gripped her chest.
"Adrian!"
Still nothing.