The scent of jasmine and freshly pressed linen filled the boutique as I carefully slid the custom gown into its garment cover. The quiet satisfaction of completing the design at last ebbed away as I hung the dress on the rack and exhaled.

I enjoyed the serenity the night brought at this hour. It was my escape from the chaotic world I left behind. My mother's calls were a constant reminder of the fact that I was still bound to that part of my life. That someday, I would have to return. I was supposed to go back home this weekend. That was in three days.

My heart raced even thinking about it. I was thinking of skipping it. The guilt wasn't letting me pick up Mom's calls. But sooner or later, I would explain.

She would understand, she always did.

It's only a matter of time before I'm dragged away from my new world. The world that seemed to be crumbling down now.

It had been two days. Two days since Jaqueline revealed how Skye had separated her from Conrad, that too, at the cost of her career. My heart pounded in my chest, threatening to tear me open even thinking about it. I liked him, but was it enough to put my career on the line? The very thing I fought for and left home?

The hurt was constant in the last forty-eight hours. Maybe I was a teensy bit jealous too. They even had nicknames! He gave her the attention he wasn't giving me. I couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. Why had he been so cold and distant towards me?

I wrecked my brain to think of what must've gone wrong but come short. Whatever it was, it wasn't my concern now.

A thought kept nagging me in the back of my head; if we were to continue our relationship, would I turn out to be another Jaqueline? Would my relationship with Conrad be the downfall of my career?

My fingers smoothed over the soft fabric as I hung it neatly on the rack. Just as I stepped back, a sharp noise behind me broke the silence — the kind of sound that didn't belong at this hour. A chill raced down my spine.

I whipped my head toward the entrance. My heart lurched into my throat.

A bloody handprint smeared against the glass door.

Crouched behind it was a man in a white dress shirt, the pristine fabric torn and soaked with dark red. His hand trembled as it pressed against the glass, leaving a streak of crimson as he sagged against it. My scream tore through the air, but it died in my throat as I recognized the face beneath the blood.

"Conrad," I whispered, my voice cracking as I stumbled forward.

"Lock it." He groaned.

I fumbled with the lock, my hands shaking uncontrollably. Tears blurred my vision as I yanked the door open. He all but collapsed into my arms, the weight of him nearly dragging me down with him. My eyes darted wildly around the street beyond as tires screeched and distant shouts echoed. Shadows moved between the buildings. Someone was still after him.

"Get inside!" I tugged him through the doorway, my heart hammering as I shoved the door shut and twisted the lock back into place. Blood dripped from his side, painting a dark trail on the polished floor as I half-carried, half-dragged him to my office.

He staggered forward, gripping the desk to keep himself upright. His gun clattered to the carpet as he collapsed to one knee, panting. The shard of glass embedded in his side gleamed under the pale light.

"Conrad, we need to get you to a hospi—"

"No time," he grunted, waving me off as he clutched his side. "Lights. Now."

I rushed to switch off every lamp and display. The boutique plunged into shadow as my heart hammered in my chest. When I returned, he was leaning heavily against the desk, eyes narrowed with pain. His hand clamped over the wound in his side.

"Get behind the desk," he rasped. "No matter what happens, stay hidden." His bloody palm cupped my face, his eyes fierce and full of secrets. "Promise me."

I don't get time to answer. Glass shattered in the main room.

Conrad snatched up his gun, forcing himself to his feet as shadows darkened the doorway. I crouched low, biting my lip as my instincts burned to react.

Three men stormed in.

The first lunged with a blade. Conrad twisted aside, slamming his arm down on the attacker's wrist. The knife clattered to the floor. A second man came at him from behind, but Conrad whirled, landing a brutal elbow strike to his jaw. A kick drove the third man back into the wall, but the glass in his side made his movements falter.

The second attacker rammed into his chest. Conrad grunted, stumbling to the ground.

My blood went cold.

I rose without hesitation, crossing the room in two quick strides. Conrad's gun lay between us, the magazine almost empty. I snatched it up. In a swift motion, I ejected the spent cartridge, pulled a fresh one from his belt, and snapped it into place.

His eyes widened as he looked up.

I stepped past him.

"Stay down," I whispered.

The first man surged forward. My arm swung up, the gun an extension of my body. Two shots — one to the chest, one to the temple. He crumpled before he could take another step.

A second moved in fast. I didn't hesitate. My body moved with fluid precision, muscle memory guiding every strike. I dropped low, kicked his legs out from under him, and fired a round into his chest before he hit the floor.

Conrad watched, stunned, as I tied my long hair into a tight knot at the nape of my neck, my breathing calm, my eyes sharp.

The third man roared, charging with fists raised.

I sidestepped, grabbed his arm, and twisted it behind his back. His shout of pain echoed as I drove my knee into his spine, flipped him over, and punched him hard across the jaw.

He hit the ground, dazed.

Another pair of shadows crept closer. I pressed my back to the wall, firing two quick rounds into the dark. The figures collapsed just as another pair walked in. Conrad's figure leaped forward, strangling one between his hands and the other between his legs. Reacting quickly, the bullets left the gun in my hand and embedded straight into both of their heads.

I fired shots at all the cameras in the office, then the computer followed by the ones in the main room.

When the final man lunged, I dropped the gun and met him head-on. My fist connected with his ribcage, a sharp crack beneath my knuckles. He swung wildly. I ducked, drove an uppercut into his jaw, and spun behind him, locking my arm around his neck until his struggles ceased.

The room was silent but for the sound of my breath and Conrad's ragged panting under the two bodies.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, not meeting his eyes as I retrieved the gun and stepped over the bodies.

"What... the fuck... was that?" His voice was hoarse with disbelief.

I didn't answer.

The rumble of engines outside signaled the arrival of reinforcements. Headlights flooded the boutique, casting stark shadows across the carnage.

They had come.

"It's not the time." I didn't have an answer to give. Not now. Not when he was in this state.

"Boss!"

The shout came from the doorway. Armed men flooded in, their weapons drawn, eyes scanning the boutique with razor-sharp focus. I recognized some of them from the anniversary party. They moved quickly, two of them reaching Conrad's side and lifting him between their shoulders. Blood dripped from his temple as his breathing slowed.

I stepped back, giving them space to work.

But his eyes never left mine.

The betrayal simmering in his gaze burned through me like fire, igniting guilt I had kept buried for too long. My stomach twisted as I turned away, retreating into the wreckage of my office. Tears blurred my vision, but I forced myself to stay composed as I grabbed my bag and phone. The weight of my hidden past pressed heavy on my shoulders, but I had no time to feel its full burden now.

I walked to the front, standing by the shattered door. The cool night air stung my skin as I watched Conrad's men carry him forward. His white shirt was soaked with red, torn in places where the fight had left its marks. Yet his presence remained commanding. Even bleeding and bruised, he was the predator, eyes sharp and dangerous.

"Our safe houses are compromised," he growled. His voice, tight with pain and seething with fury, cut through the air like a blade.

I swallowed, my throat dry.

"You can stay at my place until you sort it out," I said, my voice steady despite the storm raging within me.

He spat blood to the ground, his gaze locked on mine, unrelenting.

"And I can trust you because?"

A beat of silence.

I met his stare, holding it with every ounce of truth I had.

"You're still alive."

The tension between us crackled like electricity. His jaw clenched, and his eyes searched mine, the storm behind them raging with questions — and the answers he was afraid to believe.

His men moved, guiding him out the door, but the weight of my unspoken truths lingered in the air, heavier than the night itself.

END OF CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT: A GUN TO FIRE
1616 words

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