Her mouth was taped. Her hands, tied cruelly behind her back.
Vivian.
Stuffed inside the trunk like discarded cargo.
Ethan's eyes froze on her.
His breath hitched—not in shock, but in rage.
His blood turned to ice. His knuckles clenched white at the edges of the trunk. A slow fury crawled up his spine, transforming the cold into a storm. His entire body trembled, lips curling into a silent snarl.
Behind him, Lena took a step forward.
"Who is it?" she whispered, hearing the sharp shift in his breathing.
He didn't answer.
He couldn't.
His jaw was locked, eyes burning crimson beneath furrowed brows.
"Ethan?" Lena said again, concern slipping into fear. "What… who is it?"
Christian's voice cut through the night like a gunshot. "We don't have time! Move!"
But Lena didn't budge.
She moved closer, tugging Ethan's arm. "Who. Is. It?"
Still no response.
Ethan simply slammed the trunk closed.
Hard.
He turned and walked toward the car in silence, every step heavier than the last.
Lena froze, eyes wide. "Ethan—!"
Christian, having caught sight of the face in the trunk as he approached, swore under his breath.
"Vivian."
He jogged back, just as the unconscious guard nearby began to stir.
Without another word, Christian popped open the trunk again, gritted his teeth, and lifted Vivian into his arms.
She was light—starved, weakened, shivering.
He set her in the back beside Lena.
Ethan already had the engine rumbling. Christian jumped into the passenger seat just as the guard behind them groaned awake.
"Go!" Christian snapped.
Tires spun. Gravel spat out behind them as the car tore down the dark road.
---
The ride was dead silent.
Ethan stared straight ahead, fingers clenched around the wheel, jaw twitching.
Vivian shifted uncomfortably in the backseat, her wrists red from the restraints. She glanced at Ethan in the rearview mirror, but his gaze never flickered—not once.
He was focused.
On Lena.
On vengeance.
On everything except her.
"Did they hurt you?" Ethan asked, voice low and sharp.
Vivian's heart fluttered in hope—until she realized he wasn't speaking to her.
"No… I'm okay," Lena replied softly.
"Did you see anyone's face?"
"I—I think they drugged me," she murmured, her head still foggy. "Everything went blurry after I saw Vivian. It was… shadows, voices… and then darkness."
Ethan gripped the wheel tighter.
The silence returned, thicker than before.
Vivian inhaled shakily. She couldn't take it anymore.
"You know, Ethan," she said, voice trembling, "I'm sorry. I truly am. I didn't expect any of this to happen. I had no idea they were planning—"
"Vivian, shut up." His voice was low. Deadly.
"I just— I know you're angry and everything looks bad, but—"
"I said I don't want to hear it," Ethan snapped, eyes still forward, fire practically glowing beneath his lashes. "Not. A. Word."
Vivian's lips trembled, but she went silent.
Her gaze dropped.
Beside her, Lena's face twisted in discomfort. Her hand clutched her abdomen.
"Guys…" Lena's voice was strained. "Guys—something's wrong."
Ethan's fury evaporated in an instant.
He glanced into the mirror. "Lena?"
Vivian moved toward her. "Lena, are you okay?"
"Don't. Touch. Her." Ethan barked, swerving hard as he changed direction.
"Hospital. Now."
Vivian held her hands up, backing off quickly.
Lena winced again, curling forward slightly. "It hurts…"
Ethan's heart slammed against his chest. "Hold on, baby. Just hold on."
---
Thirty minutes later
The hospital lights beamed like salvation as Ethan slammed the brakes in front of the emergency entrance.
He leapt out of the driver's seat and tore open the back door.
"Lena—are you still with me?" he asked, voice cracking.
She nodded weakly, hand pressed tightly against her lower stomach.
Two nurses rushed out with a gurney.
Ethan helped them lift her onto it, hovering by her side. "You're going to be okay. I'm right here."
She reached for his hand briefly—just long enough to squeeze it—before the nurses wheeled her inside.
He tried to follow.
"Sir, please wait here," one of them said firmly.
Ethan stopped, watching as the woman he'd nearly lost disappeared behind swinging double doors.
The silence returned.
This time, it hurt.
Christian stood beside him, arms crossed tightly. Behind them, Vivian lingered quietly near the wall, her presence like a ghost in the dim corridor.
Ethan didn't speak.
He couldn't.
He was listening.
For anything.
A voice.
A cry.
A miracle.
Ethan couldn't sit.
Not for a second.
He paced the cold, sterile hallway like a caged animal, his fists clenched at his sides, his eyes darting to the emergency doors every time they swung open—only to close again without Lena.
Christian sat on a plastic chair nearby, arms folded tightly, trying to stay composed.
"Ethan," he said gently, "you need to breathe. You won't help her by collapsing."
"I am breathing," Ethan snapped, then ran both hands through his hair, stopping in his tracks. "That's the damn problem—I'm still breathing, and she's in there."
Christian didn't respond.
There wasn't a right answer to this kind of pain.
Vivian sat in the farthest corner of the waiting room. Unacknowledged. Unspoken to. Unforgiven.
No one looked at her.
No one asked if she was okay.
And frankly, she knew better than to try and talk again. The weight of guilt on her chest was heavier than the silence they surrounded her with. Minutes crawled into an hour. The clock ticked like a bomb in her ears.
Finally, unable to bear the invisible wall anymore, she stood quietly and walked out of the hospital. No goodbyes. No glances back.
Just the sound of her fading heels down the hallway.
---
An hour later, the doors to the emergency room swung open again.
A nurse stepped out, clipboard in hand.
"Please, who's the relative of Lena Marks?" she asked aloud.
Ethan's body went rigid.
Then he shot up from the chair. "I am."
The nurse looked up at him, mildly startled by the speed of his response. She stepped closer.
"Your name, sir?"
"Ethan."
"And your relationship to the patient?"
For a split second, the question caught in his throat. Not because he didn't know the answer—but because it mattered now more than ever.
"I'm her husband," he said, his voice clear.
"Ethan who?" the nurse asked.
Ethan exhaled sharply, rubbing his temple. "O'Martin. Ethan O'Martin."
The nurse's brows lifted slightly. "O'Martin? As in Ethan O'Martin?"
His expression didn't waver. "Yes. I'm her husband."
She nodded quickly. "Alright, sir. The patient is stable and conscious. The doctor will meet with you shortly to go over details, but for now, you can see her."
Ethan didn't wait for another word.
He was already walking toward the door.