Chapter 299 - 291. (Real Chapter 291)

Christian had never been afraid of silence before.

He had spent years learning how to use it.

In boardrooms, silence made people nervous enough to reveal things they had intended to keep hidden. In negotiations, it forced men to reconsider their positions. In his own home, it had been the easiest way to remind people that he was not someone they could manipulate.

Silence was useful.

Silence was power.

But there was nothing powerful about the silence surrounding Kylie as she lay in the back of the boat, with blood staining the clothes beneath her.

"Stay with me."

Her eyes had been open a moment ago.

She had looked up at him, her blue eyes dulled by pain but still unmistakably hers. She had touched his face with trembling fingers and told him she loved him.

She had even managed to mention his dimples.

His ridiculous, annoying dimples.

Christian would have given anything to hear her complain about them again.

"Blue." He bent closer. "Look at me, sweetheart."

Her eyelids fluttered.

"That’s it." His voice broke around the words. "Come on. Open your eyes for me."

She tried.

He saw the effort in the slight movement of her brows, and the faint parting of her lips. But her eyes closed again before she could focus on him.

"No."

The word escaped him before he could stop it.

He shook his head, as though she had made a mistake he could correct simply by refusing to accept it.

"No, no, no. Kylie, open your eyes."

A man crouched beside them, his hands moving quickly as he examined the wound.

"Sir, I need you to move your hand slightly."

Christian looked at him. For one terrible second, he didn’t understand the words.

The medic repeated himself.

"Sir. I need to see the wound."

"Then look at it."

"I need room to work."

"Work, then!" The shout tore through the boat.

Everyone went quiet for half a second.

Christian didn’t care.

He didn’t care that he had just shouted at a man trying to save the woman he loved. He didn’t care that his voice sounded unfamiliar, stripped of the calm authority that usually made people listen to him.

He only cared that Kylie was bleeding beneath his hands.

The medic began issuing instructions, and Christian forced himself to move enough to let him work.

Every instinct in his body demanded that he hold her tighter, shield her from every hand that came near her, and keep her close enough that nothing else could happen to her.

But holding her wasn’t enough.

"Sir, we need to keep her as still as possible."

Christian stared at the medic. "She’s not moving."

The words came out flat.

The medic’s expression shifted, just slightly. "She needs to stay that way."

Christian looked down at her.

Kylie’s head rested against his thigh. Her blonde hair was damp, tangled from the water, and stuck to her cheek. A small cut marked her forehead. Her lips had lost some of their colour.

She looked nothing like the woman who had walked into his life with a mouth full of opinions, a wardrobe that could probably bankrupt a small country, and absolutely no respect for his personal space.

She looked nothing like the woman who laughed too loudly at her own jokes, and called him insufferable whenever he did something she liked but didn’t want to admit she liked.

She looked too still.

Christian brushed the wet hair away from her face. "You’re going to be so angry when you wake up," he whispered.

"You’ll probably blame me for the boat. Or the water. Or the fact that I got your hair wet."

His lips trembled.

"I’ll buy you a thousand new outfits. I’ll buy you a boat if you want one. You can have an entire fleet of them, Blue. Just wake up and tell me how ridiculous I am."

The medic glanced at him with a soft glance, but said nothing.

Christian swallowed. "Please."

"Please, sweetheart."

The medic looked up. "How far is the dock?"

"Four minutes," one of his men answered from the front. "The ambulance is waiting."

"Tell them she’s been shot. Tell them the wound is on her side. Tell them she’s losing blood, and I want a trauma team ready before we arrive."

"They already know."

"Tell them again."

"Yes, sir."

Christian barely heard the response.

He leaned closer to Kylie. "Four minutes, Blue. That’s all. Four minutes, and we’re going to get you help."

......

The boat reached the dock in less than four minutes.

Christian knew because he counted every second. One hundred and eighty-seven. One hundred and eighty-eight.

One hundred and eighty-nine.

He counted until the boat struck the dock with a jolt, and men rushed forward to secure it. He counted until the paramedics climbed aboard with a stretcher.

He counted until someone told him to step back.

Then he stopped counting.

"No."

A paramedic was already reaching for Kylie. "Sir, we need to transfer her."

"I’m coming with her."

"We need space to work."

"Then make space."

"Christian."

One of his men said his name carefully.

Christian didn’t look at him.

The paramedic reached for Kylie again, and Christian’s hand closed around hers. He hadn’t even realised he was still holding it.

For a moment, he stared at their joined hands.

His fingers were wet. There was blood beneath his nails. Her hand was cold, and her fingers lay loosely between his.

"Sir."

The paramedic’s voice brought him back.

Christian looked up.

"We need to move her now."

He released her hand. It was one of the hardest things he had ever done.

The paramedics transferred Kylie onto the stretcher, and Christian followed so closely that one of them had to ask him to give them room.

He climbed onto the space beside them.

"Sir, please—"

"I’m not leaving her."

"Nobody is asking you to leave. We need you to let us work."

Christian forced himself back half a step.

The stretcher moved.

He moved with it.

They rushed Kylie toward the ambulance, the wheels rattling over the uneven dock. A paramedic was speaking into a radio. Another kept checking her condition.

Christian heard words he didn’t want to hear.

Blood pressure. Pulse. Trauma.

He didn’t know what her numbers were supposed to be, and he hated that he didn’t know.

He hated that he couldn’t look at her and understand what was happening inside her body.

The ambulance doors opened.

Kylie disappeared inside.

Christian climbed in after her.

"Sir, we need—"

"I’m coming. Please."

This time, nobody argued.

He sat on the narrow bench, his knees touching the stretcher, and watched as the paramedics continued working.

The doors slammed shut.

The siren started.

The ambulance pulled away, and Christian held Kylie’s hand while the world rushed past outside.