The sound of the monitor tore through the warehouse like a scream.
High. Shrill. Unforgiving.
Isabella barely understood what it meant at first—only that it was wrong. Horribly wrong.
"Nolan?" she whispered, gripping his face, her hands slick with his blood. "Nolan, look at me. Please—"
He didn't respond.
His head lolled slightly to the side, lashes fluttering, lips pale.
The medics surged forward, pulling her back gently but firmly.
"Ma'am, we need space."
"No," she sobbed, clinging to him. "Don't touch him—don't—"
Nathan grabbed her shoulders, holding her upright.
"Isabella," he said sharply, forcing her to look at him. "They need to work."
Her chest felt like it was collapsing.
She nodded weakly and let herself be pulled back, though every part of her screamed to stay.
The medics moved with terrifying speed.
Defibrillator.
Oxygen.
Commands snapped back and forth.
Nolan's body jerked as they shocked him.
Once.
Twice.
Nothing.
Isabella's vision blurred completely.
"This can't be happening," she whispered.
Nathan stood rigid beside her, jaw clenched so tightly it looked like it might crack.
"Come on, Nolan," he muttered. "You don't get to die now."
The third shock came.
The monitor paused.
A single blip.
Then—
A rhythm.
Not strong.
Not stable.
But there.
"He's back," one of the medics said.
Isabella collapsed to her knees.
"Oh God," she sobbed.
They rushed him out on a stretcher, oxygen mask covering his face, blood still streaked across his skin.
She ran beside them, ignoring the burning in her lungs, the chaos around her.
"Stay with me," she whispered over and over.
The hospital doors slammed open.
They rushed him inside.
Isabella was left standing in the corridor, shaking so violently she could barely stay upright.
Nathan caught her before she fell.
"He's alive," he said. "That's not nothing."
Her voice broke. "It's not enough."
Nathan didn't argue.
They sat in silence, the smell of antiseptic filling the air.
Minutes passed.
Then hours.
Every sound made Isabella flinch.
Finally, a doctor approached.
"Family of Nolan Sinclair?"
Isabella stood instantly. "Me."
Nathan straightened.
The doctor's expression was careful. Too careful.
"He's alive," the doctor said. "But he's in critical condition. He suffered internal bleeding, multiple fractures, and cardiac arrest from trauma."
Isabella's heart clenched.
"He's stable—for now," the doctor continued. "We're taking him into surgery."
She nodded, tears streaming. "Can I see him?"
The doctor hesitated.
"Please," she whispered.
He nodded once.
Nolan looked impossibly small in the hospital bed.
Machines surrounded him. Tubes everywhere.
Isabella stepped closer, hands shaking.
She touched his fingers.
They were cold.
"I'm here," she whispered. "You didn't die. You're not allowed to."
Her throat burned.
"You said I'd survive without you," she continued. "But I don't want to."
Her tears dropped onto the sheets.
"I chose you," she whispered. "So don't you dare leave me now."
His chest rose and fell weakly.
She bent and pressed her forehead against his hand.
"Come back," she whispered.
Nathan stood in the hallway, phone pressed to his ear.
"Yes," he said. "All of them."
A pause.
"No," he replied. "Not arrested. Exposed."
Another pause.
"Burn it down."
He ended the call.
His hands were shaking.
Not with fear.
With rage.
He leaned back against the wall, staring at the ceiling.
"For him," he murmured.
Surgery lasted five hours.
Five hours of Isabella sitting in the same chair, unmoving.
She didn't cry anymore.
She couldn't.
Her mind kept replaying his voice.
I love you.
I never stopped.
I'd die for you.
"You idiot," she whispered. "I didn't ask you to."
Finally, the doors opened.
The surgeon stepped out.
Isabella shot to her feet.
"He made it," the surgeon said.
Her knees gave out.
Nathan caught her.
"He survived the surgery," the doctor continued. "But he's in a medically induced coma. His body needs time."
"Can he wake up?" she whispered.
"Yes," the doctor said. "But when—depends on him."
Isabella nodded shakily.
"Can I see him?"
"Yes."
She sat beside him for hours.
Talking.
Begging.
Confessing.
"I was angry at you," she whispered. "But I never stopped loving you either."
Her hand trembled in his.
"I was just afraid."
Silence.
"I still am," she whispered.
She leaned down and pressed her lips gently to his knuckles.
"Come back to me," she murmured. "Not as the man you were. As the one you're becoming."
Outside, news broke.
Not about the kidnapping.
Not about the warehouse.
Not about the torture.
Nolan Sinclair's resignation went live.
Public.
Final.
Isabella saw it on a TV in the waiting room.
SINCLAIR CEO STEPS DOWN: "MY SON COMES FIRST."
Her chest tightened painfully.
He'd kept his promise.
Even unconscious.
That night, Nathan sat alone in the cafeteria.
He stared at the floor.
A nurse approached quietly.
"Your niece is awake," she said.
Nathan froze.
"What?"
She smiled. "Your niece. The little girl you brought in earlier for testing."
Nathan's breath caught.
"Can I see her?"
The nurse nodded.
He stood slowly.
And for the first time in years, hope brushed against him too.
Isabella was asleep in a chair beside Nolan when she felt it.
Pressure.
Warmth.
Her fingers were being squeezed.
Her eyes flew open.
"Nolan?" she whispered.
His lashes fluttered.
His lips parted slightly.
A faint sound escaped him.
Her heart stopped.
"Nolan?" she whispered again.
His fingers tightened weakly around hers.
A tear slid down her cheek.
"You're here," she whispered. "You're really here."
His eyes cracked open—just a sliver.
He looked at her.
And even through pain, even through medication, he knew her.
"Don't… leave," he rasped.
She sobbed.
"I'm not going anywhere," she whispered.
A tear slipped down his temple.
He closed his eyes again.
But this time—
He didn't flatline.
Outside, Nathan stood at the window, watching rain streak down the glass.
A message buzzed on his phone.
They're finished. All of them.
He exhaled slowly.
But deep inside, he knew—
This war wasn't over.
It had just changed shape.
And as Isabella rested her head on Nolan's chest, listening to his weak but steady heartbeat, one thought burned through her mind:
They had tried to break her.
They had tried to take him.
They had failed.
But someone out there was already planning their next move.