Dizziness crashed over Addison like a tidal wave. Her legs buckled, sending her sliding down the glass wall until she hit cold marble. The lobby spun around her as impossible reality shattered everything she thought she knew.

Wyatt was alive. Five years of grief, of rebuilding herself from wreckage, and he was alive. Using her as a weapon against Jaxon while innocent people cowered in terror.

And Jaxon—the man who’d offered stability when her world collapsed, whose child was growing inside her—might be washing blood from his hands with executive charm.

Her mind didn’t want to believe anyone, but her heart believed both men.

The voices across the lobby faded to white noise as footsteps approached with careful precision. A figure in white mask with painted roses knelt before her, hands moving to remove the disguise with deliberate slowness.

Dark hair tumbled free as familiar features emerged—older, harder, but unmistakably the girl who’d once stolen cookies from their kitchen.

“Hello, Addison,” Rose said with quiet gentleness.

“Rose?” Addison’s voice cracked like breaking glass. “Oh my God, you’re alive too.”

“Both of us survived,” Rose confirmed with grim satisfaction. “Surprising, isn’t it?”

“I can’t believe Wyatt dragged you into this,” Addison said, reaching toward Rose’s face with trembling fingers. “You were supposed to be safe.”

“Safe from what?” Rose’s voice carried a bitter edge that cut through marble air. “From poverty? From watching our parents die because of financial warfare?”

“So, is it true…” Horror crashed through Addison’s chest like an avalanche. “What happened to them?”

“A heart attack killed Dad when the bank destroyed everything we’d built,” Rose said with brutal efficiency. “Mom followed six months later—cancer treatment we couldn’t afford after they ruined our credit.”

“Jesus, Rose. I’m so sorry.”

“Sorry don’t resurrect the dead,” Rose replied with deadly calm, though her eyes softened with genuine affection. “But I missed you, Addison. Even through all this hatred, I missed my brother’s girl.”

Rose’s attention focused on Addison’s hands, which had moved instinctively to protect her stomach during the emotional revelation.

“You’re pregnant,” Rose observed with sudden understanding, not asking but recognizing.

Addison’s silence confirmed everything.

“How far along?” Rose asked gently.

“Eight weeks,” Addison whispered.

“His?” Rose’s gaze flicked toward Jaxon with calculating assessment.

Addison nodded, unable to voice the words that felt like betrayal of everything she’d once shared with Wyatt.

“Jesus,” Rose breathed, processing implications with tactical precision. “Does Wyatt know?”

“No.”

“This changes everything,” Rose said with quiet certainty, extending her hand. “Come on. You need to sit somewhere more comfortable.”

“Where?”

“Away from their war,” Rose replied, helping Addison to her feet with careful support. “Let them destroy each other while we figure out what comes next.”

Rose guided her across marble with protective efficiency, their movement drawing attention from across the lobby where territorial battles raged beneath surface calm.

“Where are you taking her?” Nora’s voice cracked like a whip, sharp with protective fury as she approached with aggressive intent.

“Somewhere safer—” Rose began.

“Safer?” Nora’s laugh. “You’re a terrorist! You don’t get to decide what’s safer!”

“You piece of shit!” Wyatt’s fist connected with Viper’s jaw with bone-crushing force, sending the painted psychopath sprawling across marble. “Second floor! Guard duty! NOW!”

Viper skulked toward the stairwell, muttering curses while Wyatt remained frozen across the lobby—close enough to maintain authority, far enough to avoid the woman carrying his enemy’s child.

“Nora!” Addison dropped beside her bleeding friend, hands pressing desperately against spreading crimson. Blood soaked through her fingers, painting her cream dress scarlet. Crimson streaked across her face as she fought to stem the flow.

“You saved my life,” Addison sobbed, tears mixing with blood on her cheeks. “You saved both our lives.”

“That’s what friends do,” Nora whispered weakly, though pain carved lines around her eyes.

Jaxon crashed to his knees beside them, executive composure shattered by the sight of his pregnant fiancée drenched in blood.

“Are you hurt?” he demanded with desperate urgency.

“It’s not my blood,” Addison gasped.

Rose knelt with tactical efficiency, fingers probing the wound with professional precision.

“Deep puncture, missed major arteries,” she announced grimly. “But she needs immediate medical evacuation or bleeds out in twenty minutes.”

Jaxon’s hands moved with executive decisiveness, tearing his expensive shirt into strips with violent efficiency.

“Hold pressure here,” he commanded, wrapping fabric around the wound with makeshift precision. “Tighter.”

“Then get her help!” Addison screamed with fury that echoed off marble walls.

Across the lobby, Wyatt watched like monument to shattered dreams—the woman he’d loved for eight years weeping over spilled blood while his enemy’s child grew in her womb.

Justice had become infinitely more personal.