Chapter 25
Jack stood by the door, his phone in one hand and the ominous note in the other. His jaw was tight, his expression unreadable as he scanned the threatening message one last time. The dim hospital lighting cast long shadows on his face, making the anger simmering beneath his calm exterior even more palpable.
“I need to go,” he said abruptly, tucking the note into his pocket and straightening his jacket. His voice carried the clipped efficiency of someone already mapping out his next move.
Emma, still seated on the edge of her hospital bed, looked up at him, her face pale. “Where are you going?”
“To do what I do best,” Jack replied. “Digging. Tracing every shadow, Luka’s tech team has their fingerprints all over the servers and if I can connect them to the tabloids, we’ll have the proof we need to expose them.”
“Do you need backup?” Thomas crossed his arms, his stance protective as he watched Jack.
He shook his head. “This isn’t the kind of thing that benefits from muscle. What I need is discretion, and I need to move fast. The longer we let them control the narrative, the harder it’ll be to shift it.”
Emma’s voice broke the tension. “Please, be careful, Jackie.”
“Don’t worry about me, sis.” He paused at the door, his stern expression softening slightly as he met her gaze. “Worry about keeping yourself safe. And Thomas?”
“I’ve got her,” Thomas said firmly.
Jack nodded once, then disappeared into the hallway, his determined footsteps echoing down the sterile corridor.
The silence that followed his departure was thick, broken only by the faint hum of hospital monitors. Emma stared at the door, her thoughts racing with everything that had happened—the hidden camera, the ultrasound photo, the vicious threats. It felt like her world was unraveling, piece by piece.
Thomas’s voice pulled her back to the present. “Emma.”
She turned to find him standing closer now, his expression softened by concern. His presence felt like an anchor in the chaos, steady and unwavering.
“You don’t have to hold it all together,” he said quietly, sitting in the chair beside her bed. “Not right now.”
Emma swallowed hard, her hands clenching the edge of the blanket draped over her lap.
“If I don’t hold it together, who will? They’re watching me, twisting everything I do, waiting for me to crack.”
“They can wait whatever the hell they want,” Thomas said, his tone firm but gentle. “I am here, with you. And you don’t have to keep your shields around me. I’ll keep you safe. You all.”
Her lips trembled as a shaky breath escaped, the dam of her carefully constructed defenses beginning to crack. The weight of his words pressed against her chest, unearthing emotions she’d tried desperately to bury—fear, exhaustion and an aching vulnerability. She felt exposed yet oddly comforted, teetering between collapse and relief.
“I feel like I’m drowning,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.
Thomas reached out, his hand covering hers. The warmth of his touch sent a wave of comfort through her, steadying the chaos inside her.
“You don’t have to deal with this alone,” he said. “You have me on your side, Jack, Marcus. We’re not going anywhere.”
Emma looked down at their hands, her grip tightening slightly as tears welled in her eyes. A wave of gratitude surged through her, warming the cold, hollow spaces left by fear and doubt. His unwavering support felt like a lifeline, steadying her. Emma’s chest tightened, not with pain but with the profound realization that someone truly believed in her, even now.
“I saw the interview,” she said after a moment, her voice thick with emotion. “You didn’t have to do that for me.”
“Yes, I did,” Thomas said firmly. “Someone needed to remind the world who you really are. And I wasn’t about to let them tear you apart without a fight.”
She blinked rapidly, a tear escaping despite her effort to keep it together.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “For believing in me when no one else does.”
“It’s easy to believe in you, Emma.” Thomas’s gaze softened further. “You’ve been fighting so hard for everyone else—for your family, for Barrett Industries, for the twins. Let us fight for you now.”
The sincerity in his voice broke through her walls. Emma wiped at her tears, a small, fragile smile breaking through the cracks of her resolve. “You make it sound so simple.”
“It’s not,” Thomas admitted, his own lips curving into a faint smile. “But nothing worth fighting for ever is.”
The intensity in his gaze, the warmth in his touch, and the steadiness of his presence all wrapped around Emma like a shield. For the first time in days, she felt a flicker of hope, fragile but real.
“Thank you,” she said again, her voice stronger now.
Thomas didn’t respond with words. He didn’t need to. The quiet resolve in his eyes said everything.
* * *
The flowers were beautiful, a cascade of soft whites and pale yellows arranged in an ornate crystal vase. At first glance, they looked like any other bouquet sent to a patient recovering from a traumatic accident.
Or perhaps this one is from Thomas again, Emma thought with some satisfaction. He sends them to the ward almost every day.
But when the nurse handed them to Emma with a small envelope tucked among the petals, a chill ran down her spine. It bore no name, just a faint floral pattern embossed on its creamy surface.
It is not Thomas’s.
Emma hesitated, her hand a bit trembling as she slid her finger under the seal. Thomas, who had just walked into the room, froze mid-step, his sharp eyes narrowing as he took in her reaction.
“What is it?” he asked, his voice low but urgent.
“I don’t know,” Emma murmured, carefully unfolding the note inside.
Her breath caught as she read the message, the words scrawled in an elegant but sinister script:
One mother’s joy is another’s revenge.
Pinned beneath the note was a printout of her most recent ultrasound image, the tiny forms of her unborn twins unmistakable. The edges of the photo were smudged with faint fingerprints, a detail that made her stomach churn.
Thomas was at her side in an instant, plucking the note from her hands as if it might burn her. His face darkened as he read it, his jaw clenching so tightly she could see the muscles flex.
“This is a threat,” he said, his voice cold and even.
Emma’s hands instinctively went to her abdomen, her protective instincts surging.
“How did they even get this?” she whispered. “That image—it’s from my private medical records.”
Thomas turned toward the door. “Marcus needs to see this. Now.”
Marcus and Jack arrived within twenty minutes, their expression as grim as Thomas’s. Marcus examined the note carefully, using gloves to avoid contaminating any potential evidence.
“Who delivered the flowers?” he asked the nurse who stood nervously at the edge of the room.
“They were dropped off at the front desk,” she replied, wringing her hands. “No one signed for them. We just assumed—”
“You assumed wrong,” Jack snapped, though his tone softened when he saw the nurse’s face pale. “I’ll need the security footage from the front desk. Whoever delivered this, we’re going to find them.”
Emma sat silently, her hands still resting protectively on her belly. Her mind raced with questions and fears, each one louder than the last.
The next few hours were a flurry of activity. Thomas made calls to tighten security around the hospital, demanding additional guards at every entrance and around Emma’s room. Marcus worked with the hospital’s IT team to pull up surveillance footage.
Emma, meanwhile, sat in a haze of anxiety, her eyes darting to the note and ultrasound photo now sealed in an evidence bag.
“What do they want from me?” she finally asked, her voice trembling. “Haven’t they done enough?”
Thomas turned to her, his expression softening. “They want control, Emma. And they’ll do whatever it takes to get it. But we’re not going to let that happen.”
His words were reassuring, but the knot in Emma’s chest refused to loosen.
By evening, Jack had results from the footage. The person who delivered the flowers wore a baseball cap and sunglasses, their face obscured from the camera. The footage was grainy, but one detail stood out: a faint tattoo on the inside of the courier’s wrist—a symbol Marcus recognized immediately.
“It’s one of Luka’s guys,” Marcus said, his tone hard. “A runner he’s used before. This proves the Diaz family is behind the threat.”
Thomas paced the room, his frustration barely contained. “But proving it won’t stop them. We need to hit back—harder than before.”
Emma looked up from her bed, her eyes filled with determination despite the fear still simmering beneath the surface.
“How? Every time we try to fight, they escalate. They’re already threatening my babies, Thomas.”
Marcus knelt beside her, his expression serious. “This isn’t just about fighting back anymore, Emma. It’s about survival. If Luka and Elliana think they can push you out of the picture, they’ll stop at nothing to make it happen. We need to outsmart them before they take this any further.”
* * *
The next day, Emma received another delivery: a small, unmarked package containing a USB drive. This time, Thomas and Marcus insisted on examining it before letting her see its contents.
When Marcus plugged it into his laptop, a single video file appeared on the screen. The footage was grainy but clear enough to show a figure standing in what looked like a dimly lit warehouse. The person’s face was obscured by shadows, but their voice was unmistakable—Elliana Diaz.
“Emma Barrett thinks she’s untouchable,” Elliana’s voice said, cold and sharp. “But she’s wrong. Everyone has a weakness, and hers is coming soon.”
Thomas’s fist slammed against the wall. “They’re taunting her. Trying to break her down.”
Emma clenched her fists, her fear transforming into something sharper—anger. “They think I’m weak,” she said, her voice trembling but fierce. “But they’re wrong.”
Marcus worked late into the night, tracking the origins of the USB drive and its contents. The metadata led to one of Luka’s shell companies, the same network he’d used to fund the fabricated stories about Emma’s past.
“It’s all connected,” Marcus said, his eyes scanning lines of code on his laptop. “The stories, the cameras, the threats—it’s a coordinated effort to completely destroy you, Emma. They want you to disappear, one way or another.”
As Marcus wrapped up his explanation, his phone buzzed with a notification. He glanced at the screen, his jaw tightening.
“What is it?” Emma asked, her chest tightening.
“They’ve leaked something else,” Marcus replied, his voice tense. He turned the screen toward her, revealing a headline that made her blood run cold.”
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