Chapter 147: The Hospital

Cecilia

Daniel was in worse shape than I'd realized, his face a mess of bruises and crude stitches, his body moving with the careful stiffness that suggested multiple injuries.

Two more security members helped him to his feet, supporting his weight between them as they started toward the helicopter.

Arthur guided me toward the aircraft, his arm around my waist supporting most of my weight as my legs threatened to give out.

The adrenaline crash was hitting hard now, leaving me shaky and nauseous, and if it weren't for Arthur holding me up I probably would have collapsed right there on the pavement.

"I've got you," he murmured against my hair, his voice rough with emotion. "Just a little further, baby. Then you can rest."

We reached the helicopter, and Arthur lifted me up into the cabin with a strength that should have surprised me but didn't.

He climbed in after me, settling onto one of the bench seats and pulling me into his lap, his body curving around mine protectively, one hand splayed across my back while the other cradled my head against his chest.

Carter appeared at the door with Sophia cradled in his arms, moving with careful precision as he climbed into the cabin and laid her down on one of the stretchers that had been set up along the wall.

The medic followed immediately, already pulling out equipment to monitor Sophia's vitals.

Daniel was loaded in next, helped by the security team members who settled him onto a second stretcher.

Another medic appeared to check his injuries, her hands gentle despite the urgency of the situation.

Harold climbed in last, his arm held carefully against his ribs in a way that suggested they were broken or at least badly bruised.

But he waved off medical attention, instead positioning himself near the door with his good hand resting on the weapon at his hip, still on guard even now.

The helicopter lifted off with a stomach-dropping lurch, and I felt Arthur's arms tighten around me reflexively.

Through the open door, I could see the crash site falling away below us—the overturned sedan, the scattered SUVs, the security team still rounding up the Grey family's people who'd tried to capture us.

"It's over," Arthur said quietly, his lips against my temple. "You're safe now. I'm here, and nothing's going to touch you. Not ever again."

I wanted to believe him, wanted to let myself relax into that promise of safety.

Across from us, Carter sat on the floor beside Sophia's stretcher, his fingers laced through hers with white-knuckled intensity.

The medic had cleaned and bandaged the gash on Sophia's temple, and her breathing had evened out into something more natural, but she still hadn't regained consciousness.

"She's stable," the medic said to Carter, her voice gentle. "Concussion, definitely, and she's lost some blood. But her vitals are good. She's going to be okay."

Carter nodded but didn't loosen his grip, didn't take his eyes off her face.

Watching him—seeing the way his usual confidence had been stripped away, leaving nothing but raw fear and something that looked an awful lot like regret.

I understood with sudden clarity that whatever had broken between him and Sophia, it wasn't as finished as either of them had pretended.

The hospital room smelled like antiseptic. What I did notice was Arthur sitting in the chair beside my bed, his posture perfect despite the exhaustion written across his features, his fingers threaded through mine like we were the only solid things left in the world.

"You're awake," he said, and the relief in his voice was so raw it made my chest ache.

I tried to sit up. Arthur was immediately there, adjusting pillows behind me with gentle efficiency, his hands careful on my shoulders.

"Easy," he murmured. "You've got bruised ribs, a mild concussion, and about a dozen other injuries the doctors want to monitor."

"How long have I been out?" My voice came out rough.

"Eighteen hours." His jaw clenched.

I squeezed his hand, trying to offer comfort despite feeling like I'd been hit by a truck—which, technically, I had been. "I'm okay. We're okay. Daniel, Sophia, Harold—"

"All alive," Arthur interrupted, seeming to understand what I needed to hear first. "Daniel came through surgery about six hours ago. Multiple fractures, internal bleeding, but the doctors got everything stabilized. He's still sedated, but they say the prognosis is good."

"Sophia woke up around midnight—Carter was keeping her company. Harold refused treatment until everyone else was taken care of, stubborn bastard, but they finally got him to let them wrap his ribs."

The tension in my chest eased slightly, knowing everyone had made it through the worst of it.

"And the Grey family?" I asked, though part of me didn't want to know, didn't want to think about them at all after what I'd witnessed in that nightmare manor.

Arthur's expression hardened. "Under pressure from Winston Corporation, local police arrested most of the family—Lord Rhys, Lady Helena, several associates. The evidence we provided, combined with what they found at the manor, should be enough to keep them locked up for a very long time."

Should be. Not will be.

"But?" I prompted, hearing the unspoken caveat in his tone.

"But the Grey family has deep roots in this area. Money, connections, judges on their payroll. They'll make bail, probably within days. And once they're out—"

"They'll come after us," I finished quietly.

Arthur didn't deny it, which was somehow worse than if he'd tried to reassure me with false promises. "We're not staying in England. The moment the doctors clear you to travel, we're going home. Back to the States where I can actually protect you properly."

I wanted to argue, wanted to say something about not running, about standing our ground. But the truth was I wanted to go home too—wanted to be back at Black Peak Estate where the walls were familiar and the staff knew us and Arthur's security team could actually do their jobs without worrying about international jurisdiction.

"If only we could make all his crimes public," I said, thinking out loud. "Everything we saw at that auction, everything the Grey family has been doing for generations—if people knew, if there was undeniable proof—"

"When the police raided the manor, they found the security room completely stripped," Arthur said, his voice tight with frustration. "Every computer, every backup drive, every piece of digital evidence—gone. We think Ronan Grey took them before he disappeared."

Ronan. The son. The one who'd gotten away while his father and the rest of the family were being arrested.