Obsession His Runaway Bride (Noelle and Adrian) novel Chapter 120

The helicopter touched down hard on the private clearing just outside the Bartholomew estate. The moment the skids hit the ground, he was already unbuckling, and already moving as his heart nervously pounded in his chest.

But silence greeted him.

The estate loomed in the distance like a mausoleum with lights on but not a soul in sight. No guards. No voices. Just the wind and the heavy, unnatural stillness that made his boots sound too loud on the earth.

Then a figure burst from the trees. One of his men, the one who had called earlier, looked breathless, pale, eyes wide with panic as he ran straight to him.

“She went that way, sir.” the man panted, pointing toward the old bridge that arched out over the river’s bend. “She was bleeding. I tried to follow but-”

Keegan didn’t wait for more. His legs moved before thought could catch up.

He sprinted.

His coat snapped behind him like a flag in the wind as he tore down the narrow, muddy path carved through trees and overgrown brush which led him through the city bridge.

And there he saw them.

The bridge rose before him in pale concrete and steel, stretching out above the river like a death sentence.

Grace was standing at the edge.

Her clothes were torn, blood dark and vivid at her side. Her body was too still, too fragile in the wind that screamed around her. And near her stood Marco. His hands were up, voice lost in the wing, trying to reach her.

But Keegan didn’t hesitate nor wait for another second.

His fingers found the grip of his gun as fury overtook him. He raised his arm, steadied his breath.

And fired.

The shot rang out like thunder.

Marco’s body jerked and collapsed with a cry. A splash of red bloomed against his lower back as he hit the cold, hard ground.

But in that same second, before Keegan could process it, Grace began to sway.

Her eyes fluttered closed, her body folding in on itself as her knees buckled, and she tipped back off the railing, ott the bridge, falling like a feather through the rain.

“Grace”

Keegan fan.

He didn’t think more and leapt straight over the edge.

And the river swallowed them both.

Cold instantly slammed into him like a wall, stealing the breath teen his lungs as he plunged beneath the surface. The current was fast, brutal, pulling at his coat and dragging him downward the forced his eyes open stinging against the grit and darkness and scanned the murky depths.

He couldn’t see her clearly. The world below the surface was dim and blurred, but through the shifting water and the faint silver glint of city light above, he saw her silhouette.

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Chapter 120 His Warrior

Sinking.

Like a ghost descending into the abyss.

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And that was when Keegan prayed not with words, but with instine. A desperate plea born in the marrow of a man who was about to lose something he treasure more than his life.

‘Please… let me reach her in time.‘

His arms cut through the water with violent purpose, pushing against the drag, the weight, and the numbing cold. Each second stretched painfully long as the river tugged at her like it meant to keep her, like it had waited all this time for her to fall.

But he would not let it have her.

Not her.

Not Grace.

And so he reached until his fingers finally brushed the fabric and then her skin that felt too cold to the touch.

He grasped her wrist and pulled her hard into his chest, wrapping an arm around her waist, anchoring her to him.

‘I’ve got you…‘

He kicked upward, straining against the weight of her and the river’s pull. His lungs screamed for air, but he didn’t slow. Couldn’t. Wouldn’t. Not when she was limp in his arms. Not when her head lolled against his shoulder like a fallen flower.

So he gave everything he got.

And when they breached the surface, he gasped violently, dragging in air like it was life itself—and it was, because he wasn’t breathing just for himself anymore.

“Grace,” he choked. “Stay with me. Stay with me, damn it-”

He adjusted his grip, keeping her head above water with one arm while swimming with the other, fighting both the current and the panic clawing inside him.

Every stroke toward the riverbank felt longer than the last. Time warped, drawn out and cruel. His muscles burned, lungs heaving, but he didn’t stop.

As they neared the edge, he spotted shadows of his men rushing, calling, shouting orders—but their voices blurred into white noise. All he saw was her.

His whole world had narrowed to her name, to the fragile body in his arms, to the blood still seeping warm against his chest.

He hoisted her up, barely waiting for the men to assist, collapsing beside her on the muddy ground as they pulled her from his

arms.

Keegan quickly dropped to his knees, fingers still wrapped around her wrist as if letting go meant losing her for good.

“Breathe,” he demanded under his breath. “Breathe, Grace.”

But there was no answer.

Until a stuttering gasp broke the silence, rough and desperate. He hest jerked as she sucked in air like it hurt, like coming back to life was war against her own body.

Keegan let out a shaky breath as relief washed over him in a wave, most knocking him backward.

“You stubborn, impossible woman….” he murmured and pressed is forehead against hers. “You weren’t allowed to leave me,” He whispered it to her, low and breathless, though she remained conscious in his arms while her breathing was shallow but

present.

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Chapter 120 His World

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He lingered there for half a second more, as if grounding himself her warmth, proving to him that she was still here, still his to fight for

Then his head snapped up, eyes sharp again

“Take her to the chopper. We’re heading back.” He ordered in urgency.

The moment the command left his lips, his men surged into action Two of them rushed forward, carefully lifting Grace, mindful of her bleeding wound, and the way her body barely responded as if she was already dead.

Keegan stood as water dripped from his coat in cold rivulets, and followed them without hesitation.

The whir of the helicopter blades in the distance was like thunder announcing war.

And for Keegan Sergeyev who was ready to wage war for his woman, he could only sigh at the fact that she was more of a warrior than he was.

She wasn’t a damsel in distress. She wasn’t the girl in glass slippers or the princess awaiting a prince. Grace Blackwood didn’t wait to be rescued. She bled her way through every battle with defiance and a spine forged in fire. 19

She wasn’t Cinderella. She wasn’t Snow White. She sure as hell wasn’t anyone’s Sleeping Beauty.

She was his Mulan–his soldier. The woman who wore her scars like armor and walked through pain like it was familiar ground. The woman who stood her ground on a bridge between life and death and dared the world to challenge her.

And maybe tonight, she had fallen. But she hadn’t fallen like a fragile woman.

She had fallen like a warrior brought to her knees, and Keegan Sergeyev would move heaven, hell, and every battlefield in between… just to see her rise again.

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