Chapter 8 - Julian’s Fury
The private wing of St. Jude’s Medical Pavilion was guarded like a military fortress.
Julian Blackthorne sat in the dark corner of the intensive care room, his eyes never leaving the hospital bed where Lydia lay. Forty-eight hours had passed since the emergency surgery. The doctors had successfully repaired her fractured clavicle and three cracked ribs, but the internal trauma had induced a severe postoperative fever.
Julian had not changed his clothes. He had not slept. He had refused to leave her side despite the desperate pleas of his corporate board and his doctors.
Owen was sleeping in an adjoining suite under the watchful eye of Arthur. The boy had refused to leave the hospital until Lydia opened her eyes.
The door swung open silently, and Arthur entered, holding a series of red-stamped legal folders.
“Sir,” Arthur whispered.
Julian stood up slowly, every muscle in his tall frame coiled with deadly, exhausting tension. “Give it to me.”
“Helena Shaw was apprehended at the Canadian border trying to board a private jet using a forged passport,” Arthur reported coldly. “The chauffeur confessed. He confirmed that Helena Shaw personally financed the hit to abduct Owen and murder Miss Rowan in retaliation for Valentina’s conviction. The federal prosecutor has upgraded all charges to attempted murder, kidnapping, and domestic terrorism.”
Julian looked down at the documents, his slate eyes dead and hollow. “What is the maximum sentence?”
“Life without the possibility of parole in a federal maximum-security penitentiary,” Arthur answered. “For both Valentina and Helena Shaw. Marcus Vance’s assets have been completely seized by the Department of Justice. His trial begins next month. He will die in prison.”
Julian tossed the folders onto the table. “Make sure the Shaw family’s names are stripped from every foundation, every building, and every public record in this country. I want them erased from history.”
“It is already done, Mr. Blackthorne.”
Arthur quietly exited the room, leaving Julian alone in the rhythmic hum of the heart monitor.
Julian walked back to the edge of the bed. He sat down and gently, with infinite tenderness, took Lydia’s pale, uninjured right hand into his own. He pressed her cool knuckles against his lips, holding them there as a fresh tear escaped his eye.
“I was dead before you came into that dining room, Lydia,” Julian whispered in the quiet room, his voice hoarse and raw. “I was a ghost walking through an empty palace, waiting for time to run out. You gave my son his life back. You gave me my soul back. Wake up, my love. Please… wake up.”
A faint tremor ran through her fingers.
Julian froze, his heart slamming against his ribs.
Lydia’s long, dark lashes fluttered against her pale cheeks. She let out a soft, pained sigh, her lips parting as her eyelids slowly lifted.
Her forest-green eyes, though cloudy from anesthesia, locked directly onto Julian’s face.
“Julian?” she breathed, her voice paper-thin.
Julian surged forward, his hand cupping her cheek, his thumb brushing away the hair from her damp forehead. “I’m here, Lydia. I’m right here. Don't move. You're safe. You're in the hospital.”
“Owen… where is Owen?”
Julian let out a wet, half-strangled laugh, burying his face against her neck for a brief, overwhelmed second. “He’s safe, my brave girl. He’s asleep in the next room. He hasn't left your side for two days. You protected him. You saved him again.”
Lydia felt the warm tears on his cheeks against her neck. She struggled to lift her hand, weakly resting her fingers against the back of his neck, tangling in his dark hair.
“Why are you crying, Julian?” she whispered, a faint, teasing smile touching her pale lips. “Billionaires don't cry.”
Julian lifted his head, looking down into her emerald eyes with a fierce, burning devotion that took her breath away.
“A billionaire has everything to lose, Lydia,” Julian said, his voice trembling with absolute sincerity. “And until you opened your eyes, I had lost the only thing that matters in this entire world.”
He leaned down, bridging the distance between them, and pressed his lips gently, tenderly, against hers.
May you like
The kiss was soft, reverent, and tasted of salt and miracles. Lydia closed her eyes, melting into the warmth of his mouth, feeling the terrifying storm of the past weeks finally dissipate into an ocean of profound, unshakeable peace.
***