Chapter 4
Heather bolted out of that humiliating VIP room like she couldn't stand another second inside.
The door shut behind her, and not even a second later, she heard a crash - glass shattering - followed by Noah's panicked shout, "Kieran! Your hand!"
Her steps faltered for a split second, but she didn't look back. She kept walking, pushing her way through the noisy crowd of the Bluebridge Lounge, finally escaping into the cool night air.
The wind hit her face, and suddenly the itching from the rash all over her body became unbearable. Her breathing got heavier, tighter. She dug into her purse with shaking hands, found her allergy pills, and dry-swallowed one, then leaned against a streetlamp, gasping for air.
The forty-three thousand bucks crammed in her pocket felt like a sack of bricks, making it hard to even straighten up.
But it was Cherry's life on the line. That money - her pride left in tatters - was worth everything.
Inside the room, Kieran stared blankly at his own hand, blood streaming down from where glass shards were embedded deep in the flesh. Wine mixed with blood, dripping onto the plush carpet.
"You didn't need to go that far..." Noah muttered, reaching for some tissues to stop the bleeding.
Kieran slapped his hand away and gave him a sharp glare. "Stay the hell out of it."
Noah sighed. "I just think... it's been years. Let it go already."
"Let it go?" Kieran sneered, his gaze turning ice-cold. "Noah, you should seriously remember your place. This - especially if it's got anything to do with Heather - isn't your damn business."
Before Noah could say more, Kieran stormed out, leaving behind an awkward silence and a room full of stunned people.
Heather stumbled into the shabby apartment complex, soaked and shaking. Her legs trembled with every step.
It was past midnight.
The hallway light was still out - broken for days. She climbed the stairs in pitch-black silence, heart pounding for reasons she couldn't explain.
The moment she opened the door, she heard it.
A faint, ragged whimper.
"Cherry?"
Her voice cracked. Panic surged through her as she rushed into the bedroom.
There, curled into a tight ball under the covers, was her daughter. Cherry's little face was ghost-pale, lips almost blue, and her breathing - fast, shallow, uneven. Her tiny hand clutched her chest with a trembling grip.
"Mommy... it hurts..."
Heather's knees nearly gave out.
No, not now. Not like this.
Cherry had been born with a congenital heart defect. The doctors had warned her - surgery was necessary. But warnings didn't come with money, and Heather didn't have a cent to spare.
"Don't be scared, baby. I'm here. I've got you."
She scooped her up. Cherry was burning with fever. Her head lolled against her shoulder, breath growing fainter by the second.
Heather grabbed her phone, hands shaking so badly she almost dropped it.
"911, what's your emergency?"
"My daughter - she's six - she can't breathe, her heart - "
The dispatcher's voice was calm. Too calm.
"There's been a major traffic pileup nearby. All ambulances are tied up. Closest ETA is forty minutes."
"Forty?!" Heather's voice broke. "She doesn't have forty minutes! She doesn't even have four!"
But the line had already gone cold.
Heather didn't waste another second.
She wrapped Cherry in a blanket, kicked open the door, and ran.
The sky split open.
Rain poured down like fury.
No umbrella, no shoes. Nothing mattered.
She ran through the storm, Cherry cradled against her chest, screaming for help.
"Please! Someone, please help us!"
Cars flew past, horns blaring. Some swerved around her. Others didn't even slow down.
She stood in the middle of the road, drenched and desperate, her child slipping further from her arms with every breath.
"Please! My baby's dying!"
Tears mixed with rain. Her voice was a whisper against the roar of the storm.
And then -
A black Bentley Mulsanne appeared through the curtain of rain, sleek and silent.
Heather didn't think.
She threw herself into its path, arms waving wildly.
The car didn't stop.
It sped past, soaking her in a wave of freezing, muddy water.
Inside, Owen glanced nervously at the rearview mirror. "Mr. Foster... there was a woman. She's got a kid. Looked bad. Really bad."
Kieran didn't open his eyes. "Not our problem."
His tone was flat, final.
He leaned his head back, shutting out the world. The alcohol buzzed in his system, and all he wanted was his bed.
He wasn't a hero. Never had been.
Owen hesitated, but said nothing. The car rolled forward.
Until... about five hundred meters later.
Owen looked again in the mirror.
That woman. Still kneeling in the downpour, clutching the little girl like her life depended on it.
Something in the image wouldn't let him stay quiet.
"Sir... I know it's none of our business, but the kid - she looked like she was barely breathing..."
Kieran's eyes opened.
He turned his head toward the window, catching the silhouette of the woman fading in the rain.
Something twisted in his chest. A strange, tight pull.
"Stop the car."
Owen blinked. "Sir?"
Kieran's voice was cold, but his jaw had tightened. "I don't share a ride with strange women."
He stepped out without another word, grabbing his umbrella.
Owen understood.
With a sharp turn of the wheel, he doubled back.
Heather had collapsed to her knees in a puddle, the cold seeping into her bones.
She clutched Cherry closer, her voice breaking into sobs.
"Please, baby... stay with me. Please don't leave me..."
Another set of headlights cut through the rain.
A car pulled up beside her.
The window rolled down, and the driver leaned out, urgency in his voice. "Ma'am, do you need help?"
Heather looked up, dazed - then nodded frantically. "My daughter - she's having heart failure! Please, I need a hospital. I'll pay, I'll - "
"You don't have to," the driver said, already opening the door. "Get in. Quickly."
She didn't wait.
She climbed in with Cherry, holding her close.
The warmth inside the car hit her like a shock. The leather seats, the clean scent, the soft hum of the engine - it was all too much.
She started to cry.
"Thank you... Thank you so much. I - I'll pay for the ride, I promise - "
"No need," the driver said gently. "If you want to thank someone, thank my boss. He's the one who told me to come back."
Heather froze for a second.
Your boss?
She almost asked his name.
But something stopped her. She didn't want to seem ungrateful.
She just nodded and checked on Cherry - who was still breathing, just barely.
That's when the scent hit her.
Faint. Cool. Woody.
Her breath caught.
This cologne...
It smelled like -
No.
No, it couldn't be.
She shook her head, rainwater dripping from her hair.
Kieran would never help her. Not after everything.
If he knew it was her... he would've let them die on the street.
It was just a coincidence.
Right?
