Chapter 231 231

Chapter 231 231


Alexander’s expression hardened into ice.

“What else?”

“We recovered the spent shell casing and confirmed the sightlines,” the guard said, keeping his voice low. He flashed a quick, uneasy glance toward Blair before leaning closer to Alexander. “The shot was aimed directly at her.”

Blair caught the tail end of his words. She turned around slowly, her face drained of color.

“What?”

The guard hesitated, looking over at his boss.

Alexander’s eyes never left the guard’s face. “Tell me everything.”

“The shooter wasn’t aiming for Mr. Brooks,” the guard admitted quietly. “The angle from the upper balcony makes it indisputable. Mr. Brooks physically threw himself into the line of fire.”

Blair stared at the guard, her mind stalling.

Suddenly, the last few minutes replayed in her head with terrifying clarity.

Lucas shouting her name from across the room. The absolute desperation in his voice. The way he had sprinted straight for her. The first shot. The second. The violent impact as his weight slammed into her, twisting his body to take the hit before they crashed onto the marble floor.

He hadn’t stumbled into the commotion. He hadn't accidentally caught a stray bullet.

He had intentionally put himself between her and a loaded gun.

Blair’s lips parted, her breath catching in her throat. “He…” Her voice was barely a whisper. “He knew.”

Fresh tears welled up, spilling over her lashes. “He saw the gun.”

Alexander remained silent, his jaw tightly set as he took in the weight of the revelation.

Blair looked back down at Lucas, his face ghostly pale against the white sheet of the stretcher. He had known she was the target. And without a single second of hesitation, without giving a damn about his own life—

He had taken the bullet for her.

A jagged, suffocating sob caught in the back of her throat. “Why would you do that?” she choked out.

“We’re moving him out! Path clear!” the lead paramedic shouted, locking the gurney into place.

“Let’s move!”

Blair immediately scrambled to her feet, her silk dress heavy with his blood as she fell into stride beside them.

“Lucas…” Her voice broke, small and terrified against the backdrop of screaming sirens beginning to echo outside the venue. “Please. Please wake up.”

She couldn't tear her eyes off his still face as they rushed him through the grand doors.

\~~~~~~~
The television in the Brooks mansion was still playing softly in the background.

Patricia had barely been paying attention to it.

She sat rigidly on the sofa, her fingers moving restlessly over the armrest as she waited for someone to tell her what had happened at the gala.

Then the music abruptly cut off.

A breaking-news banner appeared across the bottom of the screen.

BREAKING NEWS: SHOOTING AT HIGH-PROFILE GALA IN MANHATTAN

Patricia’s head snapped toward the television.

The news anchor’s expression was unusually serious.

“We are receiving breaking reports of a shooting tonight at a private gala hosted by billionaire businessman Alexander Burke. Sources at the scene say one individual has been critically injured.”

Patricia slowly rose from the sofa.

Her heart began pounding.

“Police and emergency responders are currently at the venue. Witnesses report that the victim appears to be a  co billionaire who was attending the event with his wife—”

A photograph suddenly appeared on the screen.

Patricia froze.

The glass in her hand slipped.

It hit the carpet and rolled harmlessly beneath the coffee table.

“No…”

Her face drained of color.

The photograph on the screen was unmistakable.

Lucas.

“My son…”

Patricia shot to her feet.

“What the hell?”

A servant nearby immediately turned toward her.

“Ma’am—”

“That’s my son!” Patricia’s voice cracked through the room. “That’s Lucas!”

She rushed toward the television, staring at the screen as though getting closer could somehow change what she was seeing.

The anchor continued.

“According to preliminary reports, the victim, identified as Lucas Brooks, was shot while attempting to protect another guest—”

Patricia’s hand flew over her mouth.

“Shot?”

Her knees nearly buckled.

She grabbed the back of the sofa to steady herself.

“No, no, no…”

The servant hurried toward her.

“Mrs. Brooks, please sit down.”

“Where is he?” Patricia demanded, turning on him. “Where did they take him?”

The servant stammered, pulling out his phone with trembling hands. “I—I’ll call Mr. Brooks’s personal security detail right now, ma’am—”

“Call them!” she shrieked, her entire body shaking violently as she paced in front of the blaring television screen.

On the broadcast, live footage from outside the grand venue flashed to life. Red and blue emergency lights flashed blindingly against the rain-slicked pavement. The news reporter was standing near the police barricade, shouting over the roar of a waiting ambulance siren.

“We are getting confirmation now that Lucas Brooks is being rushed under police escort to Manhattan General Hospital,” the reporter announced, pressing an earpiece against her ear. “Sources inside the ballroom indicate he suffered a direct gunshot wound to the chest and remains in critical condition—”

Patricia didn't wait to hear another word.

“Get the car!” she screamed toward the hallway, her voice echoing off the high ceilings of the empty mansion. “Get the driver around front right now!”

The servant nodded frantically, scrambling toward the main foyer as he pressed his phone to his ear.

Patricia grabbed her purse from the side table, her hands trembling so badly she could barely hold onto the strap. Tears of pure terror welled up in her eyes, blurring the sight of the television screen where live cameras were currently filming the ambulance speeding away from the gala.

“Hold on, Lucas,” she whispered into the empty, quiet living room, her breath stopping in a terrified sob. “Please, God... just hold on.”

She turned on her heel and bolted toward the front entrance, running out into the driveway before the car had even fully come to a stop.

The harsh lights overhead slowly bled through Lucas’s closed eyelids.

For a long, disorienting moment, he couldn’t figure out where he was. 

Everything felt heavy, as if his body were trapped underwater. Every shallow breath pulled a sharp, burning pain right through the center of his chest, radiating out in dull, agonizing waves.

He tried to shift his weight. Nothing moved.
His fingers twitched against the coarse hospital sheets, and a weak, gravelly sound scraped out of his throat.

“Blair…”
It was barely a whisper.
But Blair caught it instantly.

She had been sitting slumped in the plastic chair beside his bed, her eyes red and swollen. The second his breath caught , her head snapped up.
“Lucas?”
His dark lashes fluttered, struggling against the heavy weight of the medication.

Blair leaned over the railing, her breath catching in her throat. “Lucas, can you hear me? I’m right here.”

His eyes slowly opened, unfocused and cloudy at first, until they finally found her face.

Fresh tears spilled over Blair’s lashes, tracking down her cheeks. “Oh, God…”

She carefully wrapped both of her hands around his, keeping her touch light, terrified of hurting him. “You’re awake.”

Lucas tried to swallow, his throat dry as bone. His lips parted, forcing out her name one more time. “Blair…”

“I’m here,” she choked out, squeezing his hand just enough so he could feel her. “I’m right here. Don’t try to talk, just… please, don't leave me.