Chapter 185 Bad luck
June
I call his name before I even realize I’m doing it.
“Hermes.”
My voice comes out thin, shaking, nothing like me. My fingers are trembling against the edge of the table, my chest tight, my lungs barely working. I don’t know why I look at him first—but I do.
And that’s all it takes.
Hermes moves.
Ted reacts instantly, grabbing his arm. “Hermes—don’t. Calm down. Think—”
But it’s too late.
I see it in Hermes’s eyes—the moment logic disappears. The moment something raw and feral takes over. He shrugs Ted off like he weighs nothing and steps forward.
The room seems to inhale.
One of the robbers snaps toward him, shocked. “Hey! Get back to your table!” The gun lifts, aimed straight at Hermes’s chest.
My heart slams so hard I think it might tear me apart.
Hermes doesn’t stop.
He steps in front of me.
Fully. Completely.
His back blocks my view of the gun, his body shielding mine like it’s instinct, like it’s muscle memory, like he’s done this before even if he doesn’t remember it.
“Hermes—” I whisper, panic clawing up my throat. My hands grip his shirt from behind. “Please… please cooperate. Please.”
He doesn’t turn.
“Breathe, June,” he says calmly, impossibly calm. “Just breathe.”
My knees feel weak.
The robbers start shouting now, voices overlapping, guns waving. One of them swears. Another laughs nervously.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” one barks. “You want to die for her?”
Hermes doesn’t answer.
The air is thick, vibrating—then—
Sirens.
Loud. Close. Real.
Everything breaks at once.
“Shit—police!”
Panic erupts. Chairs scrape. Someone screams. And before I can react, rough arms yank me backward.
I scream.
“Hermes!”
I feel the cold press of a body behind me, an arm locking around my chest. I’m dragged back, my feet stumbling, terror exploding in my veins.
Hermes turns.
And then—
A gunshot.
The sound is deafening.
Hermes jerks.
His eyes widen in shock, like he doesn’t understand what just happened. His lips part, and I see my name there—silent, just breath.
“June…”
Then his body collapses.
“No—NO—!”
I don’t think. I move.
I slam my elbow hard into the robber’s stomach. He grunts, loosens, and I tear free, running—falling—scrambling to Hermes’s side as he hits the floor.
I cradle his head in my arms, blood on my hands, my vision blurring.
“Hermes, wake up. Please. Please—look at me. You can’t—don’t do this—”
Police flood the restaurant. Guns are kicked away. Men are shouting. Someone is restrained. None of it matters.
Ted is suddenly there, dropping to his knees, hands shaking as he tries to lift Hermes.
“Hermes—stay with me—”
But Hermes’s hand—
His hand is still gripping my clothes.
Even unconscious, his fingers curl tighter, refusing to let go.
I sob.
“They’re taking you to the hospital,” I whisper desperately, pressing my forehead to his. “You hear me? You’re going to be fine. You have to be.”
As they lift him, his hand slips from mine—then moves.
Slow. Weak.
It slides to my stomach.
My breath catches.
For one second—just one—his palm rests there.
Then it goes limp.
His hand falls.
And I scream his name as they rush him out.
\------
The hospital smells like fear, and frustration, and sadness, and anxiety.
I grab Ted the moment the double doors to the operating room slam shut, my fingers clutching his jacket like it’s the only thing keeping me upright.
“Is he going to be okay?” I sob, the words tearing out of me. “Ted—please—please tell me he’s going to be okay.”
My knees threaten to give out. My chest burns. I can’t breathe.
Ted steadies me, his hands firm but gentle on my shoulders. “June—listen to me,” he says urgently. “The surgeons are in there. They’re doing everything they can. The bullet didn’t hit his vitals. That’s good. That’s really good.”
I nod, but my hands won’t stop shaking.
Nothing feels good.
Nothing makes sense.
Why is this happening to me?
Why does loving him feel like a curse? First the accident. The memory loss. The threats. And now—now he’s lying on an operating table because of me. Because I called his name. Because I couldn’t keep quiet. Because I needed him.
Ted guides me to a bench and pulls me into his arms. The moment I sit, I break completely. My cries echo down the hallway, raw and ugly and unstoppable.
“I shouldn’t have called him,” I choke, gripping his shirt. “I shouldn’t have said his name. If I didn’t—if I didn’t—he wouldn’t have moved. He wouldn’t be in there.”
Ted pulls back just enough to look at me, shaking his head hard. He takes my face in his hands, forcing me to meet his eyes.
“No,” he says firmly. “No, June. Do not do that to yourself.”
Tears blur my vision, but I keep shaking my head, refusing to believe him.
“It’s my fault,” I whisper brokenly. “Everything keeps happening because of me.”
“June,” Ted insists, his voice steady, grounding. “Look at me. This is not your fault. I brought us to that restaurant. The man who pulled that trigger—that’s who’s at fault. And he will pay.”
My lips tremble.
“Right now,” he continues softly, pressing his forehead to mine, “we wait. And we hope. Hermes is a fighter. He’s survived worse than this. He will survive again.”
He pauses, then adds quietly,
“For your sake.”
I close my eyes, pressing my hands over my stomach without realizing it.
My eyes opens, and I barely have time to breathe before I see him.
Lucien Grande storms down the hallway like a force of nature, flanked by a wall of bodyguards. His presence alone seems to drain the air from the corridor. His jaw is clenched, eyes burning—controlled fury barely contained.
“What is going on here?” he growls.
Ted immediately releases me and stands. “Mr. Grande—the—”
Lucien doesn’t let him finish.
“My son is undergoing another surgery because of you,” he snaps, his gaze slicing straight to me, “and you’re here making out with his friend?”
My heart drops so hard it feels like it shatters.
“What?” I whisper. “No—no, it’s not like that—”
“I know what I saw,” Lucien cuts in coldly.
He turns to his guards without hesitation. “Take her away.”
The words hit harder than any slap.
“No—no, you can’t do that,” I gasp, panic crashing through me. “Please—I need to see Hermes when he wakes up. You can’t—please—”
I drop to my knees before I can stop myself, clutching the fabric of his trousers like a lifeline.
Ted steps forward desperately. “Mr. Grande, please—you’re misunderstanding everything. It was my fault. June is innocent.”
Lucien snarls.
He jerks his leg back and shoves me away with his foot.
I fall hard to the floor, my palms scraping against the tiles. My whole body trembles.
“Now you want to defend your girlfriend?” Lucien sneers. “If you interfere any further, you’ll be sent away too, Teddy. I’m letting you off only because you’re my son’s friend.”
He steps closer to me, towering, merciless.
“Get out of my son’s life,” he says icily. “You’re bad luck to him. Every time you’re near him, he ends up dying or sick. You are poison, June Alexander.”
The words sink deep.
Too deep.
I stay frozen on the floor, my mind replaying everything—every accident, every hospital visit, every near-death moment.
Was he right?
Hermes hasn’t known peace since me.
I don’t even realize the guards have lifted me until my feet are dragging across the ground, my body too weak to fight back. His words echo in my head, hollowing me out.
Outside the hospital, one of the bodyguards shoves a suitcase into my hands.
“Take this,” he says flatly. “For the child. Mr. Grande doesn’t want you coming back.”
He leans closer, voice sharp with warning. “If you do, there will be consequences.”
My shoulders sag.
I clutch the handle of the suitcase, my grip tight as tears finally spill freely. My other hand presses instinctively against my stomach.
Was this it?
Was this the price of loving Hermes Grande?
I tilt my head back, staring at the hospital doors that now feel impossibly far away.
And for the first time since I met him—
I walk away.