Chapter 173

Chapter 173
Hannah's POV

Finn stepped into the room with calculated precision, his eyes razor-sharp as they assessed the scene before him. Despite the blood staining his clothes, there was nothing weak about his presence. Every movement radiated lethal control as he surveyed Richard and me.

Without a word, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a silver lighter. The flame danced as he lit a cigar with deliberate slowness, never taking his eyes off Richard.

"Having a good time, Richard?" His voice was deceptively calm, like the stillness before a hurricane.

Richard straightened his posture, trying to appear unfazed. "Brother, this isn't what—"

The burning cigar sailed across the room with stunning accuracy, hitting Richard squarely in the chest. Before Richard could react, Finn closed the distance between them in three swift strides. He grabbed Richard by the throat and yanked him off the bed with such force that Richard's feet barely touched the ground.

I gasped as Finn slammed Richard's head against the wall repeatedly. The sound of skull meeting drywall echoed through the room, each impact more vicious than the last. Richard's hands clawed desperately at Finn's grip, but Finn was relentless.

"Finn!" I cried out, but my voice seemed miles away from the violence unfolding before me.

Finn drove his knee into Richard's stomach with brutal efficiency. Richard doubled over, coughing up blood onto the pristine hospital floor. He stumbled, reaching for a chair to steady himself, then swung it toward Finn's head.

Finn ducked with casual grace, as if avoiding a pesky fly rather than a makeshift weapon. In one fluid motion, he grabbed Richard's right arm and twisted it at an unnatural angle. The sickening crack of bone breaking filled the room, followed immediately by a second snap as Finn did the same to Richard's left arm.

Richard howled in pain, collapsing to his knees.

Amy burst through the door, her eyes widening at the bloody scene. She rushed to my side, helping me up from the bed.

"Don't look, Hannah," she whispered urgently, trying to shield me from the violence.

But I couldn't tear my eyes away. Finn bent down and picked up the fruit knife that Richard had taken from me earlier. He examined it with almost scientific curiosity before pressing the blade against Richard's shoulder, slowly increasing pressure until it broke skin.

"My woman," Finn said, his voice dangerously low. "You thought you could touch what belongs to Finn Sterling?"

Blood bloomed through Richard's designer shirt as the knife sank deeper. His face contorted in agony, but Finn's expression remained eerily serene.

"I'm William Sterling's son!" Richard gasped through gritted teeth, desperation bleeding into his voice.

Finn's laugh was cold and hollow. "And let's see what William Sterling can do about this." He twisted the knife slightly, drawing another pained groan from Richard.

Richard's eyes, wild with pain and fear, found mine across the room. "Hannah," he pleaded, voice breaking. "Do you really want me dead?"

I met his gaze steadily, feeling nothing but cold resolve. "Yes."

The word left my lips with a certainty that surprised even me. But in that moment, I felt no compassion for the man who had orchestrated so much suffering.

According to his own boasting, he had ordered the deaths of countless people tonight—Finn's people, men and women who had families, who had been loyal. People who had died protecting me and my child. Blood for blood.

Richard had played a deadly game with real lives, and now he couldn't bear the consequences. The Richard I had once known as a polite, privileged boy from a good family was gone, replaced by this monster who thought nothing of wholesale slaughter to get what he wanted.

If he died for his crimes, it would only be justice.

The door burst open again, this time revealing William Sterling flanked by security personnel. His face drained of color as he took in the scene—his eldest son calmly torturing his younger one.

"Finn! Enough!" William rushed forward, grabbing Finn's left arm and yanking him away from Richard.

Finn allowed himself to be pulled back, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth as William gathered the bleeding Richard into his arms.

"Get a medical team in here now!" William barked at the security team. "My private doctors—call them immediately!"

As the guards helped Richard out, William turned to Finn, fury etched into every line of his face. "This isn't over."

"No," Finn agreed pleasantly. "It isn't. I wonder how long you can protect him, William."

William's jaw clenched. "Is that a threat?"

"It's a promise," Finn replied, his voice soft but carrying the weight of absolute certainty. "He won't live long."

After William stormed out, the room fell into silence. I stepped toward Finn, my legs shaky from exhaustion and the aftermath of childbirth. His face was still hard, eyes cold, but when they landed on me, something shifted.

"Richard said there was a bloodbath at Sterling Estate," I whispered, searching his face. "He said many people died tonight. Is that true?"

Finn's eyes darkened, a shadow passing across his features. "It's not as bad as he made it sound."

But I could read the truth in his expression, in the tight line of his jaw and the barely concealed grief behind his cold demeanor. People had died tonight—people who had been protecting me and our baby. The weight of that knowledge settled heavily on my shoulders, another burden to carry alongside the exhaustion of childbirth.

"But why were you there?" I asked, my voice barely audible. "You knew I wasn't at Sterling Estate. You knew I'd be here instead."

Finn's gaze met mine, something hard yet protective in his eyes. "They needed to believe you were there. They needed to see me there, guarding the place like my life depended on it." He paused, his jaw working. "Only way they'd take the bait and leave you and the baby alone."

I realized then that he had deliberately placed himself in harm's way, knowing an attack was coming, all to ensure that our decoy plan would work. He had used himself as bait while I delivered safely in this hidden wing of the hospital.

"Are you okay?" I asked, reaching up to touch his face. My fingers trembled against his skin.

His mouth curved into a mocking smile. "Still alive. Don't worry, not a ghost."

I noticed how he held his left arm stiffly at his side. Since entering the room, he'd only used his right hand—to light the cigar, to attack Richard, to hold the knife. When William pushed him, a flash of pain had crossed his face.

"Your hand," I said. "What happened to it?"