Obsession His Runaway Bride (Noelle and Adrian) novel Chapter 119

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Chapter 119: Storm

A Disclaimer A:

This is a work of fiction and some real–life facts have been adapted or altered for narrative purposes.

APlease do not use this story to diagnose yourself, survive an emergency, or impress your therapist especially not all three at once. If you find yourself muttering “That’s not how that works.” ke a deep breath, you’ve officially become part of the plot, you sexy clever thing. *winks*

AThis book is not endorsed by the FDA, NASA, or your group chat will not float, heal, or explain your ex’s behavior. It may, however, pair nicely with snacks and unresolved emotional baggage.

If symptoms persist, welcome to the club. We cry, we swoon, we make questionable choices – like me placing this disclaimer on chapter 119.]

Chapter 119: Storm

Keegan Sergeyev moved down the corridor of the underground laboratory when the geneticist, just returning from a smoke break, spotted him and quickly straightened.

“Товариш Серreeв!” [Comrade Sergeyev!] the man called out, respectful and alert.

Keegan didn’t slow but gave a slight nod. “HOBOсти?” [Any news? he asked.

“Yes, sir. Please come with me,” the man politely answered and led Keegan inside the laboratory, where another doctor was busy inspecting a slide under his microscope.

The geneticist who had been with Keegan suddenly turned, walking swiftly to his desk. He grabbed a document marked Confidential, then returned to Keegan’s side, and handed it to him without a word.

Keegan took the document with a swift motion, his eyes never leaving the man’s face. The room fell silent as he unfolded the paper and began reading. His sharp gaze quickly moved over the lines, taking in the details.

As he read, his stern expression slowly softened. The paper confirmed what he’d hoped for–Grace wasn’t Bartholomew’s daughter. A sense of relief washed over him, though he kept it hidden. His face quickly returned to its usual controlled state.

For a little while, a weight seemed to lift from his shoulders, something he hadn’t realized had been there until it was gone, and thought he could think clearly again.

But just as he was about to let the moment settle, the geneticist’s voice broke the silence.

“The results came out in your favor, sir,” he said in a cautious tone. “But…, there’s something else I’ve been meaning to tell you.”

Keegan’s eyes flicked up sharply. “What is it?” His tone cut clean through the still air, though a faint thread of impatience rode beneath it.

The geneticist hesitated, clearly struggling to find the right entry point. “It’s regarding the hair sample you gave us. During the DNA extraction and sequencing, our lab ran a full genetic panel, Standard protocol for background verification.” He paused before he swallowed. “We… uncovered something…”

Keegan’s gaze narrowed, but he said nothing to let the man contine.

“It’s a chromosomal translocation between chromosomes 9 and 2. We call it the Philadelphia chromosome. It’s a signature mutation. Almost always points to chronic myeloid leukemia.”

Keegan’s eyes sharpened. He didn’t speak.

The geneticist continued, carefully. “We wouldn’t have seen it, except that the sequencing was deep and precise. She may have already entered the early phase of the disease. Given the nature of the mutation… the odds are high.” He said before a long

pause.

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“In this stage, I assume she has already been bruising,” the mand, more gently now

Keegan was shocked at what he was hearing. He did not know everthing about Grace after all and the thought made him feel deeply frustrated.

The geneticist sighed at his silence before he spoke again. “The bruising starts subtly Easy to blame on a fall, a knock, even low iron. But combined with what we found, it’s not random. It’s early arrow suppression. Her platelets are dropping, Her immune system won’t be far behind.”

Keegan’s face hardened as the earlier relief from reading the paternity test and realizing Grace’s clean break from Bartholomew… all of it had evaporated into something brittle and suffocating. He looked at the paper again and felt how it suddenly became meaningless.

“How long… does she have?” He asked hesitantly.

“There’s no fixed clock,” the man said. “But this mutation isn’t passive. Once it begins, the pace is unpredictable. Weeks, mayhe days, until the chronic phase tips into something more dangerous

Keegan hummed and clenched the paper in hand. “Very well. He paused and sternly looked at the man.

“Make sure you bring the best in, quietly. I want treatment plans on my desk by morning. Whatever it costs.”

The geneticist nodded without hesitation, and Keegan barely spared him a glance before turning to leave.

Grace wasn’t Bartholomew’s, but that knowledge felt hollow now, like a distant echo. The victory of it meant nothing, not when she was slipping away with each passing hour. His grip tightened at the thought. He still had so many plans for her…. with her. How could he have been so blind, so late in realizing it? No. He couldn’t be too late. He can still do a lot for her.

But when he thought everything was still in his control, Xy, came running toward him the moment he left the laboratory.

“Sir!” Xy called out to him.

Keegan turned with a cold expression plastered on his face. “What is it?”

Xy barely paused to catch his breath as his face clearly showed there is something urgent he needed to know. “It’s Grace Blackwood.”

Keegan instantly froze at the mention of her in fear that something might have happened and everything was too late. about her?”

Xy didn’t hesitate. He shoved his phone into Keegan’s hand. “You need to hear this for yourself.”

What

Keegan pressed the phone to his ear feeling uneasy. But he voice on the other end was breathless and grave which added to the

tension.

“Sir–Grace just attacked Bartholomew’s estate. She’s alone. I repeat, she’s alone—”

The blood drained from Keegan’s face. The color vanished in a single breath as fear and dread struck like a blade to the gut, sudden and merciless.

“Protect her! Make sure she is unharmed!” he barked out of panic and desperation.

“TOTOвLTE нерroner!” [Ready the helicopter! | he shouted, already pushing past Ny without a glance.

Rain had already started to fall outside like needles pricking his senses awake. But Keegan didn’t feel it. He barely registered the shouts of his men scrambling to obey, the thunder of boots behind him, or the screech of metal as the hangar doors were flung open in haste.

His mind was locked on her.

When he thought about it, Grace had always been like rain to him.

Unpredictable. Inevitable. Sometimes soft enough to lull his world into silence, sometimes violent enough to drown it. She fell

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without warning straight into his thoughts, into his life, never asking permission, never waiting to be noticed. Just there sudden and all–consuming, soaking through every layer of his armor.

She was the kind of rain he didn’t see coming until he was already soaked. Until his hands were trembling from the cold she left behind, or the warmth he didn’t realize he needed.

And now she was slipping through his fingers like water he couldn’t hold. And he knew… God, he knew… that whatever this was, whatever name he had refused to give it for so long, it had already aken root in him, grown too deep to ever be torn out. He had fallen for her the very moment he saw her. Completely, irreversibly, and so far past the point of return that even death felt like a battle he’d willingly wage if it meant reaching her in time.

He would fight it. All of it. Fate, time, and death itself–anything that dared to take her from him.

Because Grace was no longer just the rain.

She… was his storm. His beautiful storm…