The echo of gunfire still lingered in the hallways, like ghosts that refused to fade. The mansion smelled of gunpowder and rain, every corner a reminder of the chaos they'd narrowly escaped. Ayla's heart pounded against her ribs as she followed Adrian through the dimly lit corridor, her fingers curled tightly around his sleeve.
He moved like a shadow, silent and sharp, his gun raised and steady despite the tension humming in the air. Outside, the distant wail of sirens blended with the steady drum of rain, but in here, there was only their breathing and the occasional creak of the old house settling.
"Stay close," Adrian murmured, his voice low but firm. "And if I tell you to run, you run. Don't look back."
Her throat tightened. She wanted to tell him she wasn't leaving him behind, not now—not after everything—but the weight in his tone told her this wasn't the moment to argue. She nodded, even as her grip on him tightened.
They turned a corner, entering a long gallery lined with glass windows. The lightning outside flashed, casting jagged shadows across the walls. Ayla froze. A figure was moving at the far end, its silhouette blurred by the storm's glow.
Adrian didn't hesitate. He shoved her behind a marble pillar and raised his weapon, firing two sharp shots. Glass shattered as the figure ducked and retreated into the darkness.
"Go!" Adrian hissed, grabbing her hand and pulling her toward the side exit. They sprinted through the gallery, shards of broken glass crunching beneath their shoes. But just as they reached the end of the hall, a shot rang out—loud, sharp, and far too close.
Ayla heard the hiss of breath before she saw it: Adrian staggered, his hand flying to his side. Dark red bloomed across his shirt, stark against the white fabric.
"Adrian!" Her voice cracked as she caught him, her hands slipping against the warmth of his blood. "No, no, stay with me—"
"Keep moving," he growled, his face tightening with pain but his grip on her arm unrelenting. "We can't stop here."
"You're bleeding! You can't—"
"I said move, Ayla!" His voice was a rasp, but his eyes, sharp even through the haze of pain, left no room for argument.
She bit down the panic clawing at her chest and helped him toward the door, practically dragging him as they slipped into the rain-soaked courtyard. The storm had eased to a drizzle, but the air was heavy, electric, every shadow a potential threat.
They stumbled toward a black SUV parked near the side gate. Adrian shoved the keys into her hand, his breath coming in shallow bursts. "Drive."
She hesitated, staring at him. "You can't even—"
"Drive, damn it," he snapped, though his voice wavered as he leaned heavily against the car.
Hands shaking, Ayla slid into the driver's seat and started the engine. The vehicle roared to life, and she gunned it down the slick gravel drive, tires skidding as they burst through the estate gates.
Inside the car, Adrian's breaths were ragged. His hand pressed against the wound, blood seeping through his fingers despite the pressure. The sight of it made Ayla's stomach twist, fear clawing up her throat.
"Stay with me," she murmured, glancing at him as she sped through the rain-slick streets. "You're not allowed to die, Adrian. Not now. Not ever."
A faint, humorless chuckle escaped him. "Didn't… know you cared."
She shot him a glare, even as tears threatened to sting her eyes. "Don't joke right now. You're losing blood."
His gaze softened briefly, a flicker of something vulnerable crossing his features before his eyes slid shut.
"No, no, stay awake!" Panic surged through her as she reached over, shaking his shoulder gently. "Adrian, look at me. Don't you dare close your eyes."
His lashes lifted, heavy and slow. "You're… bossy when you're scared."
"Then stop giving me reasons to be scared!" Her voice cracked as she swerved onto a quieter road, pushing the SUV faster. "You drag me into this nightmare, marry me like it's a business deal, and now you think you can just—just bleed out on me? No. You don't get to do that."
His lips curved faintly, the ghost of his usual smirk, but his voice was barely audible. "Didn't know… you'd fight this hard to keep me."
She bit her lip, the admission clawing at her throat. "I shouldn't care. But I do. And I hate that I do."
His hand, slick with blood, brushed against hers on the steering wheel. "Good… because I need you to care. At least until we get through this."
The vulnerability in his words, raw and unguarded, hit her harder than the storm outside. For the first time, Adrian Blake didn't feel like the untouchable billionaire. He felt human. Mortal. And far too easy to lose.
---
They made it to one of Adrian's safe houses—a nondescript apartment tucked in a quiet corner of the city. Ayla half-carried him inside, her hands trembling as she settled him on the couch. She grabbed the first aid kit from the cabinet, her breath ragged.
"You're going to need stitches," she murmured, tearing open gauze. "And probably a hospital, but I'm guessing you're going to say no."
His eyes fluttered open, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "Hospitals ask questions. I don't like questions."
"Of course you don't." Her voice shook as she pressed the gauze to his wound, earning a sharp hiss from him. "Hold still. You're not allowed to die on my watch."
He reached up, his fingers curling weakly around her wrist. "I'm not dying tonight, Ayla. Not when there's too much unfinished business."
Her chest tightened at his words—not just because of the fear that lingered, but because a part of her believed him. Adrian Blake wasn't the type to let death win easily.
As she worked, the flash drive burned like a phantom in her mind. Was this all because of me? The thought gnawed at her, sharp and relentless. If Adrian ever found out she'd been holding something back, would he still let her stay by his side? Or would she become just another casualty in his dangerous world?
When she finished bandaging him, his hand caught hers before she could pull away. "You're shaking."
"Because you almost died," she whispered, meeting his gaze. "Because I don't know who's trying to kill us—or if they're even here for you."
His eyes narrowed slightly, studying her. "What do you mean by that?"
She froze, realizing too late how close she was to revealing too much. "I mean… maybe they're after something bigger. Someone else."
For a moment, silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating. Then Adrian leaned back, his expression unreadable. "Whoever they're after, Ayla, one thing's certain—this isn't over."
---
Later that night, as Adrian finally drifted into a shallow, restless sleep, Ayla slipped into the small bedroom. She pulled the flash drive from her purse, staring at it as the weight of the evening bore down on her.
When she plugged it into her laptop, a single encrypted file appeared—locked with a password she didn't have. But one line in the metadata made her blood run cold:
Owner: Blake Enterprises.
Last accessed: Adrian Blake.
Her heart stuttered. He already knows.
The realization struck like lightning. Had Adrian known all along? Was this marriage, this deal, just another layer of a game she hadn't realized she was playing?
Behind her, a floorboard creaked. She snapped the laptop shut and spun around—only to see Adrian, leaning weakly against the doorframe, his bandaged side seeping fresh blood.
His eyes were shadowed, unreadable. "What are you doing, Ayla?"