Chapter 129

Chapter 129
NAYA'S POV
The car doors slammed shut, and before I could even catch my breath, the engine roared to life. The tires screeched against the driveway as Arthur barked at the driver to hurry, his voice sharp, panicked, nothing like the calm authority I was used to from him. I was shoved into the backseat beside him, my hands trembling as my gaze landed on Jordan, sprawled across Arthur’s lap.

The sight made my stomach twist. His shirt was soaked through, the deep red spreading in sticky layers against the fabric, seeping between Arthur’s fingers as he pressed down hard to stop the bleeding. Jordan’s face was pale, his eyes half-closed, lips parted as if he was fighting to draw in every breath. The rise and fall of his chest was so shallow it terrified me.

I reached out without thinking, my hand brushing against his arm. It was clammy, lifeless, the warmth draining from him too quickly. “Stay with us,” I whispered, though my voice cracked so much it sounded more like a plea than a command. I didn’t even know if he could hear me.

Arthur’s jaw was clenched so tight I thought his teeth might shatter. His entire body was rigid, his free hand gripping Jordan’s shoulder as though by sheer force he could anchor him to life. Blood smeared across his shirt, down his wrist, dripping onto the car’s leather seats. The smell of it filled the air—metallic, sharp, suffocating.

My heart pounded so loudly in my ears it drowned out the sounds of the world outside. All I could feel was the speed of the car as it jolted and swerved down the road, Arthur’s voice cutting through every few seconds—low, urgent commands to the driver, desperate curses under his breath.

I couldn’t stop staring at the wound. It wasn’t just a cut. It was deep, ragged, as though the blade had been driven in with hatred, not just intent. Every time Jordan’s chest moved, a fresh well of crimson seeped out. I pressed my palm over Arthur’s hand, trying to help hold the pressure, though I knew my shaking grip wasn’t doing much.

Stella was in the front passenger seat, twisted around in her seat, her eyes wide and streaming with tears. She kept calling Jordan’s name, her voice breaking, begging him to fight, to hold on. Her hands clawed at the seat, as if she wanted to tear through it and reach him. I didn’t know how she was still breathing through the sobs—each sound cut straight through me.

Inside me, panic and numbness fought for dominance. My mind was racing, yet blank at the same time. One thought circled endlessly: What if he doesn’t make it? What if we’re too late?

The memory of the highway flashed back—Victor Caine standing there with that cold, merciless stare, guns pointed at me, demanding a document. My hands gripped my knees as the realization sank in—this wasn’t just about Stella, or some twisted family feud. This was bigger, messier, bleeding into all of our lives in ways I hadn’t wanted to admit until now.

“Don’t you dare die on me, Jordan,” Arthur muttered suddenly, his voice hoarse, breaking in a way that startled me. His hand shook against the wound, but his eyes—sharp, burning—never wavered from Jordan’s face. It wasn’t just loyalty in his gaze. It was fear. Raw, unfiltered fear.

Jordan stirred faintly, his lips moving without sound. I leaned closer, straining, catching a whisper so faint it was almost lost in the rumble of the car: “Don’t… let them… win.”

I froze. The words barely formed, and then his head lolled again.

Arthur gave a low growl of frustration, adjusting his grip, pressing harder on the wound. “Faster!” he barked at the driver, who swerved dangerously as the speedometer climbed. The hospital lights still felt like an eternity away.

My throat tightened painfully. I wanted to scream, to cry, to do something—anything—to make this different. But all I could do was keep my hand pressed over Arthur’s, keep whispering Jordan’s name, praying he could hear us through the haze of pain pulling him under.

The car was moving too fast and yet not fast enough. Every second stretched like an eternity. And in the back of my mind, one terrifying thought looped endlessly—if Jordan slipped away right here, right now, I didn’t think any of us would come out the same.

It was early afternoon, but the world outside the car looked nothing like it. The sky was heavy, clouds blotting out the sun so completely that the road ahead seemed swallowed in a kind of dim, gray haze. The car sped along that stretch of road, the tires groaning against the asphalt, as though even they could sense the urgency strangling the air inside with us.

Jordan groaned, a sound that cut through me, guttural and weak, and his head tilted to the side. My breath caught. Arthur’s hand pressed down harder, his voice finally cracking as he muttered, "Stay with me. Hold on. Just hold on."

Stella sobbed louder, reaching back to grip Jordan’s hand, her forehead pressed against his arm as if her closeness alone could keep him tethered here. Her voice broke with every word as she begged him not to close his eyes, not to give up.

I couldn’t just sit there. My body moved before my mind caught up, and I leaned forward, my hands hovering uselessly above him before I forced them down, clutching at his other arm. His skin was warm—too warm—and slick with blood. My stomach twisted, bile rising in my throat, but I held on anyway. The words slipped from me before I even realized I was speaking them. I was begging him too—begging him to keep breathing, begging him to fight.

The car swerved sharply around corners, the city blurring past in streaks of gray and white. The ride felt endless, like time had stretched itself cruelly just to torture us. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from Jordan’s chest, the fragile rise and fall of it. I counted every single breath like it might be his last, terrified that if I looked away, the rhythm would stop altogether. Each breath felt like a miracle, too fragile, too fleeting.

Arthur’s shirt was ruined, soaked through, his hands slick and trembling even though he tried to hide it. He looked like a man being crushed under a mountain and refusing to collapse. Stella whispered promises through her sobs—that everything would be okay, that Jordan would laugh again tomorrow, that he’d see the sunrise. Her voice cracked, but she kept going, as if saying it enough times could make it true.

And me—I couldn’t say anything. My throat burned, raw from the silence and the fear coiled inside it. All I could do was think the same thing over and over: 'Not like this. Please, not like this.'

When the hospital finally appeared ahead of us, glowing faintly against the dim sky, my body sagged back against the seat. Relief hit me like a wave, but it was laced with panic so sharp it made it impossible to breathe properly. The car screeched into the emergency bay, the sound of tires slicing the air like a scream.

Before we had even fully stopped, Arthur was shouting for help, his voice booming with desperation and authority all at once. And for a moment, I sat frozen, staring at the blood on my hands, at Jordan’s face, still too pale, and all I could think was that this day—this moment—was going to change everything.

The doors to the emergency unit swung shut behind the nurses, leaving us stranded in that cold, sterile hallway with nothing but our own panic to hold onto. My chest felt heavy, as though each breath I dragged in didn’t quite make it to my lungs. Arthur’s hand moved roughly over his face, dragging downward until his shoulders slumped. His composure—the one thing that usually made me feel like the ground beneath my feet was steady—was cracking right in front of me.

When his gaze turned toward me, for a split second I thought he might finally speak to me, let me into whatever storm was going on in his head. But then his eyes slid past me and landed on Stella. She looked so small standing there, arms clutched tightly against her chest, mascara smudged beneath her eyes. I followed Arthur’s line of sight and waited.

His question cut through the silence. “Are you Victor Cain’s niece?”

I felt my body jolt at the sound of that name. Victor Cain. Even without all the details, I knew enough to sense danger thickening in the air. Stella bit her lip so hard I thought she’d break the skin, but she nodded, confirming what I was already dreading. My stomach dropped.

Her voice cracked when she explained to Arthur about her uncle, about how she’d mentioned him last night. Arthur raked his fingers through his hair like he was trying to tear the frustration straight out of his skull. Then his words came—low, rough, soaked in a history I wasn’t sure I wanted to know. He told Stella that Victor, her uncle, was his rival... that they go way back. Then he looked at me and said that Victor was the one Becky had betrayed him for, by handing over a passcode meant for him on the assignment he went on—the same one he was compelled to prove his worth to his father several years ago.

I couldn’t stop the shock from spreading across my face. My lips parted as though words might stumble out, but none came. All I could do was stare at Arthur, every piece of me torn between hurt and confusion.

Meanwhile, Stella broke apart completely. Her sobs filled the hallway like a flood, and I couldn’t just stand there and watch. I pulled her into my arms, holding her even though my own body was trembling. She kept saying her uncle was dangerous, that maybe he had found out about her and Jordan, that maybe this was his doing in attempt to hurt her.

Arthur’s voice cut through her sobbing, calm but firm, insisting the accident seemed like just that—an accident. Yet he didn’t rule out the possibility, and that thin sliver of doubt was enough to gnaw at me.

I whispered to Stella, trying to soothe her, but the words tasted bitter on my tongue. “It’s not just you he’s after. He’s after us too.”

Her body jerked against mine, her face twisting in guilt. “Then I probably made it easier for my uncle to attack you guys. I am the bait.” Her words cracked apart, and she dissolved into tears all over again.

I tightened my arms around her, even as my mind spun in circles. The thought that she might be right sat like a stone in my stomach. Arthur’s hand went through his hair again and again, his body restless, like he was a lion pacing inside a cage. I could see him thinking, calculating, but for once he didn’t have a quick solution. That scared me more than anything else.

And then the nurses returned. Their faces were unreadable, their voices firm but impersonal as they told us Jordan was being treated and that we had to wait in the lobby. Just like that, they herded us away from the only door that mattered.

The weight of helplessness slammed into me. My legs felt heavy as I followed them toward the waiting area, still clutching Stella’s trembling hand. Every step echoed in my head: we can’t do anything. We just have to wait.

I hated it. I hated the sterile lights, the buzzing silence, the hollow smell of antiseptic. I hated that Jordan’s life was behind that door, out of my reach. I hated that Stella’s tears wouldn’t stop, that Arthur’s fury was barely contained, and that Victor Cain’s name had suddenly become the shadow looming over us all.

And most of all, I hated how powerless I felt standing there, trying to hold everyone together when inside I was barely holding myself.