The hospital waiting room felt cold and endless. Time dragged as Eva sat in a hard plastic chair, Ari asleep in her arms, her small fingers gripping Eva's blouse. Marcus Kane paced the hallway like a caged animal, while Detective Reyes stood quietly nearby, keeping watch and offering silent support.
Eva's burner phone now nearly dead rested beside her. Updates had stopped hours ago. The adrenaline was gone, replaced with a gnawing dread that coiled in her stomach like a nest of snakes.
Finally, the double doors pushed open. Gideon Blackwell, Lucian's ever-composed legal counsel, stepped out. His usually pristine appearance was unkempt, tie loosened, hair mussed, and his eyes betrayed an exhaustion too deep for words.
"He's stable," Gideon said hoarsely, voice cracking under the weight of the night. "The bullet passed clean through. No vital organs hit. He's very lucky."
The collective exhale that followed felt like a dam breaking. Eva's shoulders sagged with relief, and she looked down at Ari, who stirred at the sound of voices.
"Can we see him?" Eva asked, her voice little more than a rasp.
Gideon gave a solemn nod. "Briefly. He's still heavily sedated, but I think he'd want to see you."
Lucian lay pale against white sheets, tubes and machines tracing his vitals in quiet rhythm. His strong frame looked somehow smaller in the clinical light, his usual aura of control traded for fragile vulnerability.
Eva guided Ari to his bedside. The child reached out, slipping her hand into his, small fingers curling into his palm.
Lucian's eyelids fluttered. His gaze found Eva's first, then Ari's. A faint smile ghosted across his lips.
"You were incredible," he whispered. "You saved her."
Eva's eyes stung. She clutched his hand. "We saved her. Together."
Lucian's recovery over the next few days was slow, but steady. And as his strength returned, so did the reckoning.
Detective Reyes moved quickly, buoyed by Eva's testimony, Izzy's digital trail, and Henry Langston's confession. Vivian Thorne was captured at a private airstrip outside the city, a duffel bag of burner phones and offshore ledgers in hand. Her empire once veiled in corporate sophistication was laid bare: shell companies, bribed officials, blackmail. Derek Chad, still nursing the bruises Marcus had gifted him, was arrested at the Presidio estate. Sophia Blake, ever the survivor, flipped quickly, trading information for leniency.
Henry Langston was arraigned within the week. Eva visited him once, behind glass, her heart a battlefield of rage and regret.
"I never wanted to hurt you," Henry whispered. "Vivian… she said she'd ruin you. I thought I was protecting you."
Eva's eyes, hollow with betrayal, searched his face. "You protected yourself. You let them destroy me."
Still, as she walked away, there was a small, bitter sense of closure.
The pharmaceutical scandal exploded into national headlines. Ethan Clarke one of the few journalists who had once believed in Eva covered it with integrity, crediting E.L. Verity for breaking the original trail. Eva was no longer blacklisted. She was reluctantly thrust into the spotlight, her vindication cold but satisfying.
Through it all, Lucian remained at her side. Or rather, she remained at his. Their relationship, once strained and transactional, had softened. With no cameras, no boardrooms, and no pretenses, they began to talk. About their past. About the pain. About Ari.
Lucian apologized first quietly, sincerely.
"I should've believed you. About the whistle-blower. About Margaret. About everything."
Eva took his hand. "And I should've trusted that beneath all the walls you built… you still cared."
Day by day, they rebuilt slowly, delicately, like setting the foundation for something new.
One quiet afternoon, Lucian sat up in bed, strength returning. Ari, her hair in messy curls, crawled beside him and nestled in the space between them.
"Are we a real family now?" she asked, eyes big and unsure.
Lucian looked at Eva. His gaze held no hesitation this time.
"Yes, Ari," he said, cupping her small face in his hand. "We are."
Eva rested her head on his shoulder, a tentative peace settling over them. The storm had passed. Or so they thought.
A week later, Eva found herself combing through boxes of evidence from Vivian Thorne's estate, cataloging them for Reyes and the prosecution. Among the financial records and encrypted devices was a worn, velvet-bound diary, its spine cracked with age.
Inside a hollowed compartment at the back, nestled in silence, was a small, antique locket.
Eva almost missed it. It was delicate, the kind a mother might keep. When she pried it open, it revealed two faded photographs. One was unmistakably of a young Vivian Thorne, her eyes cold even as a girl.
The second was of a baby. On the back, written in elegant, looping script: Evelyn.
Eva's breath caught in her throat.
She turned the locket over in her hand, as her mind raced. Evelyn Cross. The poised, calculating woman who had been introduced as Lucian's politically advantageous fiancee. The woman who had treated Eva with disdain from their very first meeting. The woman who had always seemed… too invested.
A terrible, electric clarity snapped into place.
Evelyn Cross wasn't just Lucian's ex-fiancée. She was Vivian Thorne's daughter.
And their engagement hadn't been about image. It had been Vivian's ultimate move to marry her daughter into the Thorne legacy and seize power from within.
Eva felt the blood drain from her face. Her hand trembled as she closed the locket.
The conspiracy wasn't over. Vivian might be in custody, but her final card had already been played.
There was a second storm coming. And its name was Evelyn.