Location: Blackwood Medical – Five Days Later
Hartley Sinclair hated hospitals. The beeping. The bland lighting. The smell of sterilized sorrow.
This time, it wasn't her brother Leo in the bed.
It was her.
Five stitches. Two cracked ribs. A new scar.
And a new version of her waking up every morning. Stronger. Colder. Smarter.
Declan Westcott hadn't left her side once.
And that was the problem.
"You know you don't have to babysit me," she muttered, staring at the ceiling.
"I'm not babysitting," he said, pouring her tea.
"Oh? Then what would you call sitting in this chair for five days with the same shirt and hair like a stock-photo widower?"
Declan cracked a rare smile. "Dramatic. Even for you."
Hartley sat up—barely—and hissed.
He rushed forward. "Careful."
She waved him off. "I'm fine. And we need to talk."
Declan froze.
"That's never good," he muttered.
Hartley narrowed her eyes. "Someone tried to kill you. I almost died. And the person behind it isn't hiding anymore. You know who it is."
He nodded slowly. "Camilla."
She didn't flinch. "You said you'd handle her."
"I will."
"When?"
Silence.
"Declan," she pressed, "You can't keep playing this passive-aggressive rich guy chess game while she's out there planning your funeral."
His jaw clenched. "I'm not passive. I'm calculating."
"Good. Then calculate this—if she touches Leo, I will destroy her. You won't have to."
He gave a small nod.
Then—quietly—"She won't."
***********
Elsewhere – LaRue Estate, Hudson Valley
Camilla LaRue was sipping champagne in a silk robe, legs stretched across a velvet chaise.
Across from her sat her new pet project: a lawyer, former Westcott employee, recently fired.
"They underestimated me," she purred.
The man shifted uncomfortably. "You said she wasn't supposed to be there."
Camilla's smile never reached her eyes. "Plans change. She's still alive, yes. But weaker."
The lawyer cleared his throat. "What exactly are you planning, Camilla?"
"Oh, sweetie," she cooed, "You're not being paid to ask questions. You're being paid to help me tear down the Westcotts."
She raised her glass in mock toast.
"To betrayal."
—------
Back at Westcott Penthouse – Two Days Later
Hartley finally left the hospital.
Declan insisted on carrying her up the elevator despite her protests.
"I'm bruised, not broken," she grumbled.
"You saved my life. Let me do something mildly heroic before you stab me with sarcasm."
He set her down gently on the couch. The penthouse was silent. Dim. The city flickered below.
"Why haven't you gone to the press?" she asked.
"Because this isn't a scandal. It's a declaration of war."
"Then start fighting, Declan."
He knelt in front of her, resting his hands on her knees.
"I want you to leave," he said suddenly.
"What?"
"You're not safe with me. Camilla's not done. I've been trying to protect you, but I'm the reason you're bleeding. Again."
Hartley blinked. "You're pushing me away?"
"I'm setting you free."
She stared at him.
Then laughed.
"You're serious."
He stood. "I've sent a team to transfer Leo to a private facility in London. You'll go with him. I've arranged everything."
"You arrogant, emotionally stunted, control-freak billionaire."
Declan raised a brow. "That's a mouthful."
"I didn't almost die for you to ship me off like a shipment of regrets."
He frowned. "It's not safe here."
"It wasn't safe when I met you. You didn't warn me. You didn't protect me. I survived. I saved you. And now you want me gone?"
"I want you alive!"
Her voice dropped. "Then fight with me, not without me."
—------
The Next Day – Westcott International Tower, War Room
Declan stood at the head of the table.
Hartley stood beside him.
On the wall: Camilla LaRue's face, blown up on a surveillance slide.
"She's out of money," Hartley said. "But not influence."
"She's building something off-books," Declan added. "I've traced payments. Shell companies. One's connected to the man who attacked us."
Hartley pointed at the lawyer on the next slide.
"I know him," she said. "He's a snake. We hire him."
Declan turned. "What?"
"We hire him. Let him think he's winning. Let him feed her misinformation. We use her weapon against her."
Declan blinked. "You're actually terrifying."
Hartley smirked. "You made me this way."
*******
That Night, Hartley's Bedroom
Declan stood in the doorway. Watching.
"You still want me to leave?" she asked, brushing her hair.
"No."
"Then what now?"
He crossed to her. Took her hand.
"I know I can't erase the pain I've caused you. I know I've hurt you more than I've helped you. But if I lose you, Hartley… I don't think I'll survive that."
Her eyes softened. "Declan—"
"I don't just want to win this war. I want to build a life with you."
She turned. "We're already married."
"Not really."
He reached into his pocket. Pulled out a velvet box.
Opened it.
A ring. Not for the cameras. Not for the contract. For real.
She stared at it. Then at him.
"You're serious?"
He nodded. "No prenup. No contract. Just us."
Tears welled in her eyes.
Then—
BANG.
Glass shattered.
A bullet.
The window exploded behind Declan.
He pulled her down.
Screaming.
Security flooded the hall.
And from across the street, through the broken window…
A red laser dot vanished from the wall.
Camilla had sent another message.
Louder this time