IRIS' POV
The hospital lights went out.
Red emergency lighting kicked in, making everything look like a horror movie.
Adrian tried to sit up in bed. His face went white with pain.
"Don't move," I said, pushing him back down gently. "You'll tear your stitches again."
"My father is here. In this building. We need to—"
"We need to stay calm." I was already moving toward the door. "James, how many exits are there?"
"Three main ones. But in a blackout, the elevators won't work. We'd have to take the stairs." James pulled out his gun. "And we're on the eighth floor."
"Can Adrian walk eight flights of stairs?"
We both looked at Adrian. He was trying to swing his legs over the side of the bed, breathing hard, clearly in agony.
"I can do it," he said through gritted teeth.
"You can't," I said flatly. "You've been shot twice in six hours. You can barely stand."
"Then leave me. Take Iris and—"
"I'm not leaving you." I grabbed his hand. "We're in this together, remember? Contract or no contract."
A sound in the hallway made us all freeze.
Footsteps. Slow. Deliberate. Coming closer.
James moved to the door, gun raised.
The footsteps stopped right outside.
A piece of paper slid under the door.
James picked it up, read it, and his face went pale.
"What does it say?" Adrian demanded.
James handed it to me.
The note was written in neat handwriting: I have the entire eighth floor surrounded. Twelve men. All armed. You have two choices: surrender peacefully and I'll make your deaths quick. Or fight, and I'll make you watch each other die slowly. You have five minutes to decide. —Father
Five minutes to choose how we died.
"This is insane," I whispered. "He's insane."
"He's been planning this for years." Adrian's voice was cold. "Ever since I started investigating my mother's death. He knew eventually I'd figure out the truth."
"What truth?"
Adrian looked at me. Really looked at me.
"That he didn't just kill my mother. He killed yours too. They were working together to expose his criminal empire. So he poisoned them both and made it look like natural causes."
My world tilted sideways.
"My mother knew your mother?"
"They were friends. Best friends. That's why your father and mine became partners—their wives introduced them." Adrian's hands clenched into fists. "And when our mothers discovered what they were doing—the money laundering, the bribes, the murders—they decided to go to the police together."
"But they never made it," I finished.
"No. They died within weeks of each other. Both from 'cancer' that came out of nowhere."
Tears burned my eyes. "All this time, I thought—"
"You thought your mother just got sick. That it was bad luck." Adrian's voice was gentle. "I know. That's what I thought about mine for twenty years."
The footsteps started again. Closer now.
"Four minutes," a voice called from the hallway. My father-in-law's voice. Adrian's father. "I'm a patient man, but not that patient."
James was on his phone, typing frantically. "FBI is ten minutes out. We just need to stall."
"Ten minutes is too long," Adrian said. "He'll storm this room in five."
"Then we fight." I grabbed a metal pole from the IV stand. It wasn't much, but it was something. "We fight until the FBI gets here."
"Iris, you're not trained for this—"
"Neither are you right now. You're half-dead." I positioned myself between Adrian and the door. "But I'm not letting him hurt you. Not again."
Something shifted in Adrian's expression. Pride, maybe. Or love.
Probably both.
"You're incredible," he said softly.
"Tell me that if we survive."
The door handle turned.
We all tensed.
But the door didn't open.
Instead, smoke started seeping under it. Thick. Black. Toxic.
"Gas!" James shouted. "They're gassing us out!"
He grabbed towels from the bathroom, soaked them in water, shoved them against the door gap.
But the smoke kept coming.
My eyes started burning. My throat closed up.
Adrian was coughing, each cough making him grab his chest in pain.
We were trapped.
"Window," I gasped. "We need to—"
I ran to the window and tried to open it.
Locked.
Of course it was locked. Hospital windows didn't open. Suicide prevention.
I grabbed a chair and smashed it against the glass.
Nothing. The glass was reinforced.
The smoke was getting thicker. I could barely see James across the room.
"We're going to die in here," I said. Not panicking. Just stating a fact.
"No." Adrian was on his feet somehow, stumbling toward me. "No, we're not."
He grabbed the IV pole from my hands and slammed it into the window. Once. Twice.
On the third hit, the glass cracked.
On the fourth, it shattered.
Cold air rushed in. Beautiful, clean, smoke-free air.
But we were eight floors up with no fire escape.
"Now what?" I asked.
Adrian looked out the window. Then he smiled.
"Now we jump."
"WHAT?"
"There's a roof. Six feet down. We can make it."
I looked out. He was right—there was a lower roof section directly below us.
But six feet was a long drop for someone who'd been shot twice.
"You'll never survive that fall," I said. "Your wounds—"
"I'll survive." He grabbed my hand. "But you need to go first. I'll lower you down, then James will lower me."
"Adrian—"
"Please, Iris. Trust me. One more time."
The smoke was filling the room now. We were out of time.
I climbed onto the window ledge.
Adrian held my hands, lowering me as far as he could.
"Let go," he said. "I've got you."
I let go.
The fall was short. I landed hard on the roof below, rolling to absorb the impact.
Nothing broken. Nothing torn.
"I'm okay!" I shouted up. "Your turn!"
But Adrian was already falling.
No—not falling.
Being pushed.
Someone had shoved him out the window.
"ADRIAN!"
He hit the roof hard. Too hard.
Didn't move.
I scrambled to him. "Adrian! Adrian, wake up!"
Blood was spreading across his shirt again. His eyes were closed.
Above us, I heard gunshots. James shouting. Then silence.
A figure appeared at the broken window.
Adrian's father. Smiling down at us.
"How poetic," he called. "My son dying on a rooftop. Just like his mother died in a stairwell. The sins of the father, visited upon the children."
He raised a gun.
Aimed at me.
"Say goodbye, Mrs. Thorne."
But before he could fire, something slammed into him from behind.
James. Alive. Fighting.
They struggled at the window. The gun went off—the bullet went wild, hitting nothing.
Then they both fell through the window.
Onto the roof.
Right beside us.
They landed hard. The gun skittered away.
I dove for it.
So did Adrian's father.
We reached it at the same time.
Our hands closed around it together.
"Let go," he snarled.
"No."
We wrestled for control. The gun was slippery with blood.
His finger found the trigger.
Mine did too.
We were both going to fire.
Someone was going to die.
The gun went off.
The shot echoed across the rooftop.
For a moment, nobody moved.
Then Adrian's father stumbled backward, clutching his stomach.
"You shot me," he said, sounding surprised. "My own daughter-in-law shot me."
"You killed my mother," I said. My voice was steady now. Cold. "You killed Adrian's mother. You tried to kill both of us."
"And I'd do it again." He fell to his knees. "Everything I built. Everything I achieved. You're going to destroy it all."
"Yes," I said simply. "We are."
He collapsed.
Behind me, Adrian groaned.
I dropped the gun and ran to him.
"I'm okay," he muttered. "Just... fell wrong. Everything hurts."
"Everything always hurts with you." I helped him sit up. "You need to stop getting shot."
"I'll try." He looked at his father's body. "Is he—"
"He's breathing. Barely. The FBI can deal with him."
Sirens were getting closer. Help was coming.
James was unconscious but alive. I could see his chest moving.
We'd survived.
Against all odds, we'd actually survived.
Adrian pulled me close, pressing his face against my neck.
"I changed the contract," he whispered. "Made you my wife forever. Are you angry?"
I thought about it. About everything that had happened in the past three days.
About losing everything and gaining something better.
About revenge and love and survival.
"No," I said. "I'm not angry."
"Good. Because I'm not changing it back."
I laughed. It came out shaky and relieved and a little bit crazy.
"You're lucky I love you."
"I know."
The FBI burst onto the roof. Agents everywhere. Shouting orders. Checking bodies.
Catherine appeared, looking frantic.
"Adrian! Thank God you're—" She stopped. Stared at the blood. "How many times have you been shot tonight?"
"Lost count," he admitted.
"You're insane. Both of you." But she was smiling. "The board is going to have a field day with this."
"Let them." Adrian tried to stand. Failed. Gave up. "I'm taking a vacation."
"A vacation? You?"
"Yes. Somewhere tropical. With my wife. For a month. Maybe two."
"You can't just abandon the company for two months!"
"Watch me."
Paramedics loaded Adrian onto a stretcher. His father onto another one.
I started to follow, but an FBI agent stopped me.
"Mrs. Thorne, we need your statement. About the shooting. About everything."
"Later," Adrian called from his stretcher. "She's coming with me."
"Sir, protocol requires—"
"I don't care about protocol. My wife stays with me."
The agent looked at me. "Is that what you want?"
I looked at Adrian. Bloody, broken, stubborn, perfect Adrian.
"Yes," I said. "That's what I want."
They let me ride in the ambulance with him.
As we pulled away, I saw police cars surrounding the hospital. News helicopters overhead. Reporters setting up cameras.
Tomorrow's headlines would be insane.
But right now, I didn't care.
Right now, I just held my husband's hand and watched him breathe.
My phone buzzed.
Unknown number. Again.
I almost didn't open it.
But something made me look.
The message had one line: Congratulations on surviving round one. Round two starts tomorrow when you find out what your mothers were really investigating. The criminal empire they discovered goes deeper than you think. Much deeper. And now that you're asking questions, the real power behind everything is going to make sure you stop. Permanently. Sleep well, Mr. and Mrs. Thorne. Tomorrow, you meet the real enemy. —A Friend
I showed Adrian the message.
He read it. Then he smiled.
"Good," he said. "I was getting bored anyway."
"You're insane."
"You married me. What does that make you?"
I thought about it.
"Mrs. Thorne," I said finally. "It makes me Mrs. Thorne."
And despite everything—the danger, the threats, the unknown enemy waiting in the shadows—I couldn't help but smile.
Because for the first time in my life, I wasn't running from a fight.
I was running toward it.
And I had Adrian beside me.
Whatever came next, we'd face it together.
The ambulance turned a corner, heading toward the hospital.
Toward whatever came next.
Toward our future.
Whatever that might be.