Chapter 57 SECOND CRISIS
POV: Selena
The machine beside my mother lets out a soft, steady beep, like it is reminding me she is still here.
I sit in the chair pulled too close to her bed, my elbows on my knees, my hands wrapped around a paper cup of coffee that went cold an hour ago. I don’t drink it. I don’t trust myself not to spill it on her blanket.
Rosa looks smaller like this. Tubes, wires, a thin hospital gown. Her hair is brushed back, and there is a faint crease between her brows, even in sleep, like her body hasn’t fully relaxed yet.
The doctor said stable. He also said fragile.
Those two words circle my head and refuse to leave.
“You shouldn’t be blaming yourself,” Adrian says quietly behind me.
I don’t turn around. “I put her in danger.”
“You didn’t force her,” he says.
I finally look at him. He hasn’t slept. I can tell by the way his jaw is tight, by how carefully he moves, like he’s holding himself together out of habit instead of rest.
“She wouldn’t have done it if not for me,” I say. “If I wasn’t in your world. If I didn’t drag her into this mess.”
Adrian steps closer. He doesn’t touch me yet. He waits, like he knows I might flinch.
“Rosa made her own choice,” he says. “The same way you do. That’s not weakness. That’s strength.”
I shake my head. “She’s lying in a hospital bed.”
“And she’s alive,” he replies. “Because she’s tougher than the man who tried to scare her.”
I look back at my mother. Her chest rises and falls in a slow rhythm. I match my breathing to it without meaning to.
“I was supposed to protect her,” I whisper.
Adrian rests his hand on my shoulder then. The contact is grounding. Real. “She’s been protecting you your whole life,” he says. “Sometimes that means taking risks you don’t like.”
I lean back against him. Just a little. Enough to feel solid again.
“I hate this,” I say. “I hate that he keeps reaching for the people I love.”
“I know,” Adrian says. His voice lowers. “And he’s running out of moves.”
I want to believe that.
A nurse steps into the room quietly, glancing at the chart at the foot of the bed. “She’s doing well,” she says. “Blood pressure is holding steady.”
“Thank you,” I reply.
The nurse smiles politely, then pauses. “There were flowers delivered.”
She gestures to a small arrangement on the side table. White lilies. Fresh. Too fresh.
“I didn’t send those,” Adrian says.
“I didn’t either,” I reply.
The nurse hands me a small envelope. “They asked that you make sure she gets the card.”
My fingers hesitate before taking it. Something about the weight feels wrong.
“Thank you,” I say again.
The nurse leaves.
The room feels different now. Tighter. Quieter.
Adrian watches me. “What is it?”
“I don’t know,” I say, and that’s the worst part.
I open the card.
The handwriting is neat. Controlled.
Get well soon, Rosa. It would be a shame if anything else happened to you.
A Friend.
The paper trembles slightly between my fingers.
Adrian reads over my shoulder. I feel him go still.
“He knows,” I say.
“Yes,” Adrian replies. “He does.”
I look at the flowers again. At how harmless they look. How polite.
“This isn’t a warning,” I say. “It’s a promise.”
Adrian exhales slowly. “We need to move her.”
“She can’t be moved,” I say. “Not right now.”
“Then we lock this place down,” he says. “Private security. No unscreened visitors.”
I nod, but my mind is already racing ahead.
“He found out what she took,” I say. “Which means someone talked. Or someone watched.”
“We’ll trace it,” Adrian says. “Every angle.”
I fold the card carefully and slip it into my bag. Evidence. Everything is evidence now.
I sit back down and take my mother’s hand. Her skin is warm. Alive.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper to her, even though she can’t hear me. “I didn’t mean for this.”
Her fingers twitch slightly, like she’s responding anyway.
Hours pass in fragments. Doctors come and go. Adrian takes calls outside the room, his voice low and sharp. I don’t ask what he’s doing. I trust him.
When Rosa wakes, it’s brief. Her eyes flutter open, confused, then soften when she sees me.
“You look tired,” she murmurs.
I laugh quietly. “You scared me.”
She squeezes my hand, weak but intentional. “Good. Keeps you humble.”
I swallow. “You shouldn’t have gone back there.”
“I would do it again,” she says without hesitation.
“Don’t say that.”
She studies my face. “You think love is safe?” she asks. “It never is. That doesn’t make it wrong.”
Her eyes drift closed again before I can answer.
Adrian comes back in. “Security is set,” he says. “They’ll monitor every entry point.”
“And Thornton?” I ask.
“He’s silent,” Adrian replies. “Which means he’s waiting.”
I nod. “So are we.”
Adrian looks at my mother, then back at me. “You don’t have to stay here alone.”
“I’m not alone,” I say.
He hesitates. “I can stay.”
“I know,” I reply. “But go handle what you need to handle. I’ll call if anything changes.”
He searches my face. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
He leans down and presses his forehead lightly against mine. Not a kiss. Something steadier.
“I love you,” he says quietly.
I close my eyes for a moment. “I know.”
He leaves.
Night settles over the hospital slowly. The lights dim. The halls grow quieter.
I don’t sleep. I watch the monitor. I watch the door. I replay the words on the card again and again.
At some point, a shadow moves outside the glass wall of the room. I look up, alert.
It’s just a doctor passing by.
Still, my hand tightens around my phone.
I think of Thornton sitting somewhere comfortable, writing notes, planning his next threat like it’s another meeting on his calendar.
I think of Thomas. Of files. Of plans labeled like solutions to problems that breathe and bleed.
I lean closer to my mother and lower my voice.
“He thinks this will scare me,” I whisper. “He’s wrong.”
Rosa doesn’t stir, but her breathing stays steady.
I straighten in my chair.
Thornton wanted to remind me he’s watching.
Now I know exactly where he’s standing.