POV: Cassian
I've faced down armed men without flinching. I've destroyed million-dollar deals with a single phone call. I've built an empire on the bones of people who underestimated me.
But nothing has ever terrified me like watching those emergency room doors swing shut with Zara on the other side.
I stand in the waiting room, my hands clenched so tight my knuckles have gone white. The fluorescent lights buzz overhead, harsh and clinical. A clock on the wall ticks away the seconds. Each one feels like an eternity.
*The baby's viability.*
Those words keep echoing in my head. I've never wanted anything the way I wanted revenge against my father, against Jason, against everyone who wronged me. But now, standing here, I realize I want this child. Not as a weapon against Jason. Not as proof of my conquest. I want this baby because it's part of Zara, and somehow, in the span of a few short weeks, she's managed to do the impossible.
She's made me care about something beyond destruction. I start pacing, unable to stand still. An elderly woman sitting in the corner watches me nervously. I probably look deranged. I feel deranged. The rational part of my brain knows that panicking won't help anything, but rationality has never been my strong suit.
My phone buzzes. I ignore it. It buzzes again. And again.
Finally, I yank it out and see a dozen messages from my assistant, two from my lawyer, and one from an unknown number. I delete them all without reading. Nothing matters except what's happening behind those doors.
I think about the conversation we had before this nightmare started. About genetic disorders and violence and whether monsters are born or made. I'd been honest with her, maybe for the first time in my life. I told her about the things I'd done, the people I'd hurt. I saw the fear in her eyes.
But I also saw something else. Understanding, maybe. Or at least the willingness to try. And now she might lose the baby. Our baby.
The thought makes my chest tighten in a way I've never experienced before. Is this what normal people feel? This crushing weight of caring about someone other than yourself?
I hate it. But I also never want it to stop.
"Mr. Hartley?"
I spin around. Dr. Morrison stands there, still wearing her scrubs. Her face is calm, professional. I can't read anything from her expression, and it's driving me insane.
"How is she?" The words come out rougher than I intended. "How's the baby?"
"Let's sit down."
"I don't want to sit down. I want you to tell me if they're okay."
Dr. Morrison doesn't flinch at my tone. She must deal with terrified family members all the time. "Ms. Hartley had what we call a subchorionic hemorrhage. It's a collection of blood between the uterine wall and the gestational sac."
My stomach drops. "What does that mean?"
"It means she's at high risk for miscarriage," the doctor says gently. "However, the ultrasound shows the baby still has a strong heartbeat. The hemorrhage isn't large, and if Zara follows strict protocols, there's a good chance the pregnancy can continue."
"What kind of protocols?"
"Complete bed rest for at least two weeks. No stress, no physical activity. She'll need monitoring, regular ultrasounds to make sure the hemorrhage is resolved. And even with all that, there are no guarantees."
I process this information, my mind already working through logistics. "She'll need someone with her constantly."
"Yes. She shouldn't be alone." Dr. Morrison studies my face. "Mr. Hartley, I need you to understand how serious this is. Any additional stress or trauma could cause her to lose the baby. She needs peace, stability, and rest."
"She'll have it." The words come out like a vow. "Whatever she needs, I'll make sure she gets it."
"Good." The doctor's expression softens slightly. "You can see her now. She's been asking for you."
The relief that floods through me is almost painful. I follow Dr. Morrison through the emergency room, past curtained areas where other people are dealing with their own crises. Nothing exists except the need to get to Zara.
She's in a private room at the end of the hall. When I step inside, my breath catches. Zara looks so small in the hospital bed, her skin pale against the white sheets. Dark circles shadow her eyes. An IV runs into her arm, and monitors beep softly beside her. She turns her head when she hears me enter, and I see tear tracks on her cheeks.
"Cassian." Her voice is barely a whisper.
I'm at her bedside in three strides. I want to pull her into my arms, but I'm afraid I'll hurt her. Instead, I take her hand carefully, like she's made of glass.
"I'm here," I say. "I'm not going anywhere."
"The baby." Fresh tears spill down her face. "Dr. Morrison said there's still a heartbeat, but I'm so scared. What if I lose it? What if all of this is for nothing?"
"You won't." I say it with absolute certainty, even though I have no right to be certain about anything. "You're going to rest, follow every instruction, and our baby is going to be fine."
"You can't know that."
"I know that I won't let anything happen to either of you." I brush a strand of hair back from her face. "I've never failed at anything I've set my mind to, Zara. I'm not starting now."
She almost smiles. "That's incredibly arrogant."
"It's honest." I sit in the chair beside her bed, still holding her hand. "The doctor said you need bed rest. Complete bed rest for two weeks."
"I can't afford to stay in a hospital for two weeks."
"You're not staying here. You're coming home with me. I'll hire private nurses, get whatever medical equipment you need. You'll have everything."
"Cassian, I can't ask you to do that."
"You're not asking. I'm telling you." I soften my tone when I see her flinch. "Please, Zara. Let me take care of this. Let me take care of you."
She looks at me for a long moment, and I wonder what she sees. The monster who admitted to putting people in hospitals? The man who's capable of terrible things? Or something else entirely?
"Okay," she finally whispers. "But only because I don't have any other choice."
"You always have a choice." I lean forward, my voice low and serious. "If you want to leave, go somewhere else, I'll arrange it. I'll pay for whatever you need. But I'm asking you to stay with me. Not because you're trapped, but because I want to keep you safe."
"Safe from everyone except you?"
The question hits harder than any physical blow. "Yes," I say honestly. "Safe from everyone except me. But Zara, I swear on my mother's grave, I will never hurt you. Whatever violence is in my blood, I will never turn it on you or our child."
Before she can respond, there's a commotion outside the room. Raised voices. Someone arguing with the nurses. I recognize that voice.
My entire body goes rigid. I stand up, moving between Zara and the door on instinct.
"What's wrong?" Zara asks, fear creeping into her voice.
"Jason." The name tastes like poison. "He's here."
The door to Zara's room bangs open. A security guard stumbles through, looking apologetic. "I'm sorry, sir. He insisted.."
Jason shoves past him, his face flushed with anger. He's wearing an expensive suit, perfectly tailored, his hair styled like he's about to attend a business meeting. Behind him, I see Tessa hovering in the hallway.
"Get out," I say, my voice deadly calm.
"This is my wife," Jason snaps. "I have every right to be here."
"Your soon-to-be ex-wife," I correct. "Who you don't give a damn about except as a possession."
"At least I married her." Jason's eyes are wild, manic. "At least I gave her my name, my home, my life. What have you given her except problems?"
Zara tries to sit up, but I hold out a hand. "Don't move. The doctor said bed rest."
"How touching." Jason's laugh is harsh. "The bastard playing house with my wife."
"Jason, please," Zara says weakly. "Just leave."
"I'm not going anywhere." He pulls a folded document from his jacket pocket. "In fact, I'm here to take you home. Where you belong."
"She's not going anywhere with you," I say, taking a step toward him.
"Actually, she is." Jason unfolds the paper with a triumphant smile. "This is a court order. It states that until paternity is proven, the baby Zara is carrying is legally presumed to be mine. We're still married, after all. And as her husband, I have the right to make medical decisions for her."
My blood runs cold. "That's not possible."
"My lawyers work fast." Jason's smile widens. "So here's what's going to happen, brother. Zara is coming home with me tonight. She'll rest in her own bed, in her own house. And when the baby is born, we'll do a paternity test. If it's yours, fine. We'll deal with custody. But until then, she's mine."
"No." The word comes from Zara. She's sitting up now, her face pale but her eyes blazing. "I'm not going anywhere with you."
"You don't have a choice, sweetheart." Jason moves toward the bed.
I block his path. "Touch her and I'll break every bone in your hand."
"Try it," Jason challenges. "Assault me in front of witnesses and you'll be in jail. Then where will your precious Zara be?"
He's right, and he knows it. I can see it in his smug expression. One wrong move and I give him exactly what he wants.
"That baby is legally mine until paternity is proven," Jason says, his voice loud enough for everyone in the hallway to hear. "And I'm taking Zara home. Tonight."....