Susan shot to her feet before the words fully left Chris's mouth. "I have to go…."
"No." Chris's voice was iron, cutting off her panic before it took root. He stood in her path, unmovable. "You will stay here. With Leah."
"Chris, Michael..."
"Michael would kill me himself if I let you walk into Derek's hands." His grip tightened on her shoulders, his eyes burning with a fierceness that made her chest ache. "You trust me, hmm? You trust me to end this?"
Her breath hitched, heart hammering. Slowly, reluctantly, she nodded.
But deep down, Susan knew. Derek wasn't going to stop until he got to her.
The storm outside had passed, but inside the resort the air was heavier than ever. Guards lined the halls, radios crackling with clipped updates. Susan couldn't sit still. She clutched Leah so tightly the baby squirmed in protest.
Chris's phone buzzed. He answered, listened, and his jaw locked.
"They've confirmed it. Derek still has Michael. He's bleeding out. If we don't move"
Susan's breath hitched.
"Then let me go. He wants me. That's the only way"
"No." Chris's voice cracked like a whip. The word echoed, sharp, final.
Her chest constricted. "You can't stop me if it means saving Michael"
Chris closed the distance in two strides. His hands cupped her face, forcing her to meet his blazing eyes. "You think I'll let him touch you again? After everything he's done to you? To us? Over my dead body, Susan."
Her lips trembled. "Chris…."
"Listen to me." He pressed his forehead to hers, his voice low, raw, every word trembling with fear. "I will bring Michael back. I will end this. But you are not walking into his hands. I'd rather die than risk you or Leah ever again."
Susan swallowed, torn between terror and the iron conviction in his voice. For the first time, she didn't argue. She just nodded, tears spilling onto his thumbs.
Chris kissed her forehead, lingered there for a heartbeat, then pulled away. He placed Leah carefully back into her arms. "Lock the door. Don't open it for anyone but me."
Before she could break, he was gone.
The city office was eerily quiet when Chris and the cops stormed it. The stench of blood and gunpowder clung to the air.
Michael was slumped in a chair, pale and bleeding, a gun pressed hard against his temple.
And Derek wild-eyed, hair matted, his obsession painted across every jagged movement.
"Where's Blake?" he hissed, jamming the barrel harder against Michael's head.
"Derek…."
"Don't talk to me!" he roared, cutting the cop off. His eyes flicked desperately around the room.
"I want Blake. I want her right now!"
Chris stepped forward, steady, voice hard. "Susan…."
"Blake!" Derek snapped, spittle flying. His whole body trembled. "Her name is Blake."
Chris's voice was steel. "Blake didn't make it the last time you took her. She died."
For a second, Derek faltered. Confusion cracked through the madness. "No. No, the news said she survived. She survived, and I didn't kill her. You… you took her!" His eyes snapped to Chris, rabid with accusation. "What did you do to her?"
"I didn't do anything. You…."
"Stop lying!" Derek screamed, ripping the gun toward Chris.
The shot split the air.
Chris staggered, then crumpled to the floor.
Derek didn't have time to register his mistake before the cops' bullet tore through him, dropping him instantly.
Chris's blood spread across the cold floor. His vision blurred. His last thought before the darkness swallowed him was of Susan and Leah. Not again. Not leaving them again.
Back at the resort, Susan froze as a guard relayed the news. Her heart stopped, her arms tightening around Leah until the baby wailed in protest.
Leah's cries echoed like a mirror of her own. Susan couldn't comfort her. Couldn't even move. She was frozen, her whole body shaking with a fear she'd prayed never to feel again.
The hospital smelled of antiseptic and fear. Susan paced outside the surgical wing, Leah strapped to her chest, her small body rising and falling against Susan's frantic breaths.
Hours bled together. Hours blurred. Each update was worse than the last, the bullet barely missed his heart… he may not survive the night… the surgery is taking longer than expected.
She begged the nurses. She begged the guards. She begged God.
But no one let her through.
Reporters circled like vultures, snapping photos of her tear-streaked face, calling her the mistress, the curse, the reason Lopez was dying. Their questions were cruel, twisting her grief into scandal.
And then the shove. Hands in her hair. Nails scraping her scalp.