Following the excitement in New York, the rest of the week is comparably boring. The security team is still having trouble identifying whoever drugged Anastasia's drink—twice. They've reviewed hotel security cameras along with footage from the bar, but they've come up empty. The only thing they have determined is that Jack Hyde wasn't at the bar the same night as Ana and therefore couldn't have spiked her drink himself. Taylor took a photo of Hyde around the club, showing it to staff, management, and security, and no one remembered seeing him that night. True, that doesn't necessarily rule him out as a suspect, but further investigation of the surveillance footage didn't show him anywhere on it. So we're back to square one and I'm even more clueless than before. The closest I've come to a viable theory is that Hyde hired someone to spike Ana's drinks.

Nothing pisses me off more than a lack of results and since those results are integral to keeping Ana safe, I've skipped pissed and jumped straight to fucking furious.

It doesn't help matters that Ana prefers spending a few nights a week in her and Kate's apartment instead of Escala where I know she's safe, but I don't want to risk yet another argument with her on the subject. In some ways, I think it might have been easier for us to continue on as just friends, but that wasn't an option. I've waited too long for her to come back to me and I'm not giving her up. She says she wants to take things slowly, which I think is fucking ridiculous when every time we're together, we're ripping off each other's clothes. Why not make it easier on the both of us by eliminating the commute from her place to mine every day and have her move in with me?

I suppose in a way it makes sense. We're both still growing accustomed to one another and adjusting from friends to more and we're both worried about fucking things up again so she wants to take things slowly whenever possible. That hasn't stopped me from spending every free moment I have with her. For now, I can accept our living arrangements, but I doubt it will be long before I'm trying to convince her to live with me full time. And in the meantime, I've completely ignored her token protests about security arrangements from upgrading the security system on her building and her apartment itself to assigning someone to drive her wherever she needs to go when I can't be with her.

The last couple of days have been hell. Between my longer than normal work hours and hers as she tries to prove her worth as an editor, we've barely had time for anything more than a couple of phone calls, text messages, and our typical e-mail bantering throughout the day. Not seeing her has put me into a really shit mood and I've very nearly fired half a dozen people merely for being irritating. The only thing keeping me from killing everyone around me is the knowledge that it's Friday and Ana and I made plans to take The Grace out for the weekend, just the two of us.

I grin, remembering the first time I brought her to my boat. Mia had arranged for the entire family to get together for the day. This particular day was merely a week after Ana agreed on a platonic relationship between us and I was more than eager to show off my sailing skills to her. She loved it and hardly blinked when I directed her to stand in front of me at the wheel, using that as an excuse to be so close to her. My arms had caged her in place, my hands wrapped around hers as she steered us into open water. After lunch, Mia demanded swim time in the water and I recall the painful erection caused when Ana returned from below deck wearing her tiny bikini that was so far over the line of decent that I nearly took my shirt off and covered her with it. It didn't matter that the only other men on the boat that day were Elliot and my father; I hated the idea of anyone seeing her like that. By the end of the day, she looked exhausted but exhilarated from the day's activities and I fell a little more in love with her when she so shyly thanked me for a wonderful day. She lingered a little longer than necessary as though there was something else she wanted to say, but in the end, she just smiled and caught up with Kate and Elliot. Probably smart of her; if she'd stood with me any longer, I would have thrown her over my shoulder and taken her below deck, friendship be damned.

This weekend, nothing will stand in the way of doing exactly what I wanted to do then and this time, I know it won't run the risk driving her away.

But before I get to that, I need to get through the rest of this day that just seems to get worse and worse. Project deadlines are being ignored. Every person I come across has some fucking lame excuse for why they're slacking at their jobs and making stupid fucking mistakes. And then there is the phone call from Elena. I've managed to duck her attempts to contact me since Ana and I got back together, and I know she's getting suspicious. As a change of pace, I don't give a shit about explaining myself to her. Or listening as she once more tries to tell me I need to forget Ana and move on and how she's got several potential submissives waiting in the wings eager for my attention. It gives me a headache whenever I have to explain to Elena I don't fucking care about submissives; Ana is the only woman for me and my interest in my previous sexual lifestyle has waned considerably. I don't need that shit the way I did before Ana and now that I know we have a chance at making our relationship work, the pull towards the playroom is nearly nonexistent. That's not to say if somewhere down the line Ana decided she might like to give the playroom another go I wouldn't reconsider. Ana can't handle the really heavy shit, but I know for a fact there are aspects she really loves.

The call with Elena is pretty fucking pointless. She wants us to meet up this weekend to discuss an expansion for the Esclava salons. When I tell her I have plans for the weekend, I can feel her excitement through the phone line as she assumes my plans involve tying up some little brunette in my playroom. I don't bother correcting her; I'm not in the mood for another one of her lectures about how it is impossible to give up our lifestyle for long and the longer I try to subdue that side of me the worse off I'll be in the long run. And really, what business is it of hers what Ana and I do together?

By the time I manage to wrap up my workday, it's nearly seven o'clock. I sigh, knowing Ana is in her apartment waiting to hear from me because she wants to cook dinner for me. On my way out the door, I text her to let her know I'm on my way, finding it odd when she doesn't respond immediately. I know she's had a long, exhausting week of her own so maybe she fell asleep waiting for me. Grinning, I'm already working on ways to best wake her up and those thoughts keep me occupied on the drive to her apartment. Since it's so late, I tell Taylor to hang around, that I plan to take Ana out for dinner if she hasn't started cooking yet.

It's almost embarrassing how eager I am to reach her, my mood immediately improving on the walk to her door. The huge stupid grin on my face slips a bit when I find her door isn't fully closed and locked. Ana and I have had enough arguments over the months about her disregard for her own safety and she finally gave in and promised to keep her door locked when she is alone in the apartment. I stare at the door for a minute; maybe she spotted us pulling up outside the building and left the door open so I wouldn't have to use the key she gave me months back. Looking back now, all the signs about how she felt about me were there and I was just too afraid to see them.

As I push open the door, my confidence takes a nosedive. The apartment is dark and empty as I step inside. She's here; her jacket and purse are tossed haphazardly on the couch.

"Ana?" I call, slowly walking through the rooms in search of her. Maybe she's in the shower? The grin is back; I really wouldn't mind pinning her against a shower wall again. But I don't hear water running and she doesn't answer me. That's when I notice a broken cup on the kitchen floor. It looks as though Ana made herself a cup of tea then dropped it and didn't bother to clean it up. That's not at all like her and a sense of foreboding drops into my stomach. Now I'm noticing other little things. A rug in the living room is bunched together. The vase containing flowers I sent her the other day to apologize for having to cancel our plans again is knocked on the floor, the table it was sitting on turned over.

"Ana!" I call out again, panic filling my veins, my heart pounding in my ears as I rush to her bedroom. The hallway suddenly seems much longer than normal, keeping me from her. It feels like one of my nightmares, but as much as I try, I can't make myself wake up.

In her bedroom, a lamp has been pulled off the top of her dresser and now lies on the floor, lighting the area immediately around it. On the other side of her bed, I spot one of Ana's sneakers and I slowly make my way to investigate further. When I do, my entire world shatters into nothingness. Ana is lying on the floor, facedown, in a pool of blood.

"No," I breathe, dropping to the floor beside her. "Ana, no, please." I look her over frantically, checking for obvious injuries but I see nothing. Just as I reach out to roll her onto her back, I hear the apartment door slam open and Taylor urgently calling for me. "In here!" I shout back. "Get an ambulance!"

I can't think straight, not when she's so pale, so cold. I want to check if she has a pulse, but my hands are shaking too much; I can't feel anything.

"Christ," Taylor breathes, joining me on the floor. "What happened?"

I shake my head. "Don't know," I answer, staring helplessly at her lifeless body. I want to lift her into my arms and hold her against me, hoping that might bring her around. "I just found her. I don't know if she's breathing." My voice cracks as I speak the words, but it can't be helped. If Ana is dead, my life might as well be over, too.

Taylor confidently presses two fingers against the pulse point on her neck, leaning down with his ear near her mouth and nose. He leans back up. "She has a pulse," he assures me. "It's faint, but it's there."

"Oh thank God," I practically sob.

"Sir, help me roll her over. Very carefully; try not to jostle her too much. We need to see what's injured her."

I nod and help him. We both suck in a sharp gasp when we find the source of the blood beneath her body—if I didn't know any better, I'd say it's a gunshot wound to her upper chest. "Fuck," I breathe, holding her in my arms and bending over her to press my lips to her forehead while my hands press against the wound to help stem the bleeding. "Ana, my Ana." I'm begging her to wake up, to be okay, for me to wake up from what surely must be a nightmare. None of it works.

At some point, Taylor leaves me to meet the EMTs at the door and long before I'm ready, two men are trying to take her from me and Taylor is helping me to my feet. "Mr. Grey," Taylor says, his voice uncharacteristically gentle, "they need to get her to the hospital."

"I want to go with her," I murmur, watching helplessly as Ana is loaded onto a stretcher, her neck locked in a brace to help keep her spine straight. An oxygen mask is placed over her nose and mouth.

"There won't be room, sir," Taylor says firmly. "They need to be able to treat her on the way to the hospital. You'll only be in the way. Let's get to the car and we'll be right on their heels."

A part of me wants to fight, to demand that wherever Ana goes, I go, but as the EMTs rush her out of the apartment and Taylor guides me out behind them, I find I'm completely lost. This isn't something I've ever considered happening to her and I have absolutely no control over the situation. On the way to the hospital, I hear Taylor making several phone calls, but I'm too far gone in my head to even try listening to what he's saying. Ana, my sweet, innocent Ana... Someone has done this to her, broke into her home where she should always be safe, and attacked her. They fucking shot her and left her for dead. How long had she been lying on that floor before I found her? Did I find her in time to save her life or has she lost too much blood?

A life not yet lived passes before my eyes. Days and nights spent with Ana wrapped up only in each other. A ring—my ring—on her finger. Ana walking towards me looking like something out of a fairytale and when she reaches me, I can see her love for me shining in her gorgeous blue eyes as we vow to love each other forever. Hundreds of little moments between the two of us—everything I've ever wanted to show her and do with her. And at the tail end, me leaning over a bed where Ana rests, holding a tiny bundle of blankets. It could all be nothing more than a dream now.

Suddenly, I'm pissed—absolutely fucking furious—and since Taylor is the only person in the vicinity, it's all directed at him. "Why wasn't that apartment secured?" I growl through gritted teeth, turning to glare at him. "And where the fuck was Sawyer?"

Taylor doesn't even flinch at my tone; he had to have been expecting this. "It seems Miss Steele dismissed Sawyer for the evening," he says evenly. "Sawyer saw her to the apartment, did a security sweep, all was clear, so he made sure she set the alarm and headed out since they knew you would be there this evening."

"When was that?" I ask.

"About half an hour before your arrival," Taylor answers reluctantly. "Sir, this has been the routine for weeks now. Sawyer had no reason to believe tonight would be any different."

"And yet," I grit out.

Taylor sighs. "Yes, sir," he responds, expertly slipping through traffic like the roads are empty. It doesn't hurt that we are, as Taylor assured me we would be, right behind the ambulance carrying Ana.

"How did you know?" I ask him quietly, trying to get some semblance of control of things. It's doing no good...

"Sir?"

"How did you know to come into the apartment?"

He hesitates again. "I caught sight of something in the rearview mirror shortly after you got out of the car, probably about the time you entered Miss Steele's apartment. I looked around and it looked to be a person dropping from the fire escape ladder below Miss Steele's bedroom. By the time I was out of the car, the person was gone, and I thought maybe it was a figment of my imagination. Just to be safe, I rushed in to check everything was okay. Obviously it wasn't."

So whoever did this was still in the apartment when I opened the door? Not exactly comforting, but if the timing is accurate Ana must have been shot shortly before Taylor and I arrived at her building. That has to be good news; much longer and blood loss could have killed her. Now, however, there is the added fear of how much damage that bullet may have done her. I only had a brief look at the wound; how far was it from her heart, her lungs?

Upon our arrival outside the ER, I jump out of the car as the back of the ambulance is opened and Ana is brought out. She's paler than ever, but her eyes are slightly open. They find me almost immediately, stopping me in my tracks because they're so dull, so lifeless, like someone has turned out the lights on her. The hospital staff doesn't allow me close to her as they rush her inside, disappearing through a large door. I start to follow them even though I know they'll never allow me into the emergency room with her, but my mother appears in front of me, stopping me.

"Christian," she says soothingly, reaching up to cup my cheeks to urge me to look at her. There is pain in her eyes as she turns me away from where Ana disappeared and leads me down the hall to a private waiting room. I don't remember sitting or Grace kneeling in front of me, taking my hands in her own. "Sweetheart, what happened?"

I shake my head desolately. "Someone hurt her, Mom," I whisper brokenly. "I wasn't there and they hurt her."

Before I know it, my head is against my mother's shoulder, her fingers in my hair to help soothe me and I realize that for the first time in my life, I'm crying. Really crying with heaving sobs as I hold Grace tightly. She's shushing me, rocking me back and forth like I'm a little kid again. Not that I could have let her do this when I was a little kid. "We're going to take very good care of her, Christian," she whispers. "I promise you that."

Nodding, I pull away, scrubbing my hands up my face and into my hair. "She can't die, Mom."

Grace blinks rapidly against her own tears. "It'll be okay, son," she promises. Even in the state I'm in I notice she doesn't tell me Ana will be fine or even that she'll live through this. Once she believes I'm calm enough, she stands. "I'll go check for an update. Your father, Mia, and Elliot are on their way. Let them help you if you need it, Christian." I'm nodding despite not really knowing what I'm agreeing to. "I'll be back soon."

I curl in on myself, elbows resting on my knees, hands pressed against my eyes. How did things get this out of control? Why the fuck didn't I try harder to get Ana to Escala where I could keep her safe? Why didn't I tell work to fuck off at five-thirty when I was scheduled to pick up Ana at SIP to begin our weekend?

Then it hits me. This is my fault. I put work ahead of her and because of that, she's fighting for her life down the hall and there isn't anything in the world I can do to help her. Of all the threats I've faced over the years, all the people who have tried to hurt me, this one came out of nowhere. Or did it? I won't know for sure until Taylor and Sawyer come up with an update for me. Is this related to the drugging or is it something all-new?

I jump to my feet when the door opens, hoping desperately it's my mother with an update on Ana's condition. It's Taylor wearing a grim expression, Sawyer not far behind him. I fix the second man with a glare that could melt glaciers and he halts in the doorframe, uncertain whether he should enter or not right now. Taylor throws him a look and Sawyer steps in, closing the door behind him, leaning against it. "Well?" I demand in Taylor's direction, my gaze still frozen on Sawyer. "What do we know?"

"CCTV feeds are being pulled as we speak, sir," Taylor says briskly. "As well as the feeds inside Miss Steele's apartment building. From what we can tell, after Luke left, someone knocked on the door. Miss Steele probably assumed it was one of us or you, Mr. Grey, and didn't double-check through the peephole that it was safe to open the door. From there, the attacker pushed their way inside and there was a struggle of some sort given the appearance of the apartment. Miss Steele must have run back to her bedroom and tried to close the door on the attacker, but was unable to do so—there is a doorknob-shaped hole in the plaster behind her bedroom door. Miss Steele's cell phone was located beneath her bed. She'd dialed 9-1-1, but I believe she was hit before she could make the call."

My anger is returning, directed at both Sawyer and Anastasia this time. She fucking knows better than to open her door without confirming who is outside. It's safety rule number one; even a fucking child knows that. So why the fuck did she ignore that rule? More importantly, though...

"How did they get into the building in the first place?" I demand.

Sawyer glances at Taylor who nods at him. "Another tenant unlocked the door to the building and the perp caught it before it closed. There was a patch of duct tape over the door catch to keep it from locking. Best guess, it was done to gain access at a more opportune moment."

"And you didn't notice something was wrong?" I ask, my voice climbing in volume. "It's a fucking rookie mistake and it could cost Anastasia her life! What the fuck were you thinking?"

The waiting room door opens again and I realize I'm shouting. Grace enters, her eyes wide as she registers the tension she's just walked into. "How is she?" I ask desperately, anger temporarily forgotten.

"Well, there is good news," Grace says grimly, closing the door and addressing all of us. "The bullet didn't hit any vital organs which would have caused fatal internal bleeding. Having said that, it did some pretty severe damage to her collarbone and the muscles in that part of her body. She lost a significant amount of blood, but we are replenishing it and assuming we haven't missed anything, that aspect of things should go smoothly."

I immediately lock on to a string of words. "How far from her heart and lungs did the bullet hit?" I ask.

Grace sighs apologetically. "If it had hit an inch down and to the right, it would have been a direct hit to her heart. Currently, the main concern, of course, is to remove the bullet. Ana is being prepped for surgery right now. Unfortunately, in her condition, surgery holds its own risks for her. Generally speaking, it's better to keep a gunshot victim conscious if at all possible, but the pain would be too much for her and if she attempted to move while we are removing the bullet, the bullet could easily shift and lodge itself where we can't safely reach it."

"Fuck," I breathe, fisting my hair and pacing the room, my gaze fixed upward as I move. "The chances of a full recovery?" I stop in front of Grace, imploring her to be honest with me no matter how horrible the answer might be.

"Without the surgery and bullet removal, her chances are slim. The bullet itself splintered when it hit bone and if the tiny pieces get caught in her bloodstream, they could be on a direct path to her heart, lungs, and brain. Once the bullet is completely removed, assuming she responds well to treatment, she should make a full recovery. But it's going to be a long road, Christian, and a painful one at that for her."

"I don't care," I say stubbornly. "I'll be with her every step of the way."

Grace gives me a small smile, cupping my cheek. "I know you will." She glances down at my shirt, frowning. "I asked Elliot to bring you a change of clothes..."

I'm not entirely sure why until I look down and realize my clothes are covered in blood—Ana's blood—as are my hands. The realization forces me backwards until I manage to fall into a chair. Grace orders Taylor and Sawyer to take care of me and slips out of the room again. For the next several minutes, Taylor helps me scrub the blood off my skin with baby wipes like I'm some helpless child. And really, at this point, I might as well be for how useful I am. By the time the door opens again, my hands and arms are clean. Elliot stops in the doorway, eyeing me worriedly as he takes in my appearance. He glances over his shoulder and says something to whoever is there, then enters on his own, closing the door again.

"Here," he says, helping me to my feet and removing my suit jacket. "I would have stopped at your place, but we were in a bit of a hurry. These probably aren't your style, but they'll be comfortable enough for now until we can get something of yours here."

I register the gentleness in his voice as my shaky fingers undo the buttons of my shirt. Elliot doesn't try to help, thankfully; all things considered, I'd have one of my haphephobia attacks and knock him on his ass with a concussion. I blindly take something from Elliot, slipping it over my head. It's his college hooded sweatshirt and it's about two sizes too big. Next, I toe off my shoes and switch my suit pants with a pair of jeans. Elliot hands me my belt and I wordlessly tighten it around my waist. "Thank you," I say hoarsely, sitting down again.

"You got it," Elliot says quietly. "Do you need anything? Dad, Mia, and Kate are all outside waiting; I could send them to get you a coffee or food or something."

Only now do I realize Sawyer and Taylor have left us alone. "Yes. I need Ana."

He flinches. "Yeah, I know. Mom's got her, though; Ana is in the best hands possible."

I nod my agreement, rolling my eyes when someone softly taps on the door. A second later, the rest of the family is piling in the room, all eyeing me warily as though they're expecting me to have a complete breakdown. As a matter of fact, I'm waiting for that, too; it will happen and it will not be pretty. Mia and Kate are demanding to know what's wrong with Ana, where she is, what happened while Elliot and my dad calm them down when they see I'm not handling their questions well. With a stilted voice, I explain what little I know so far and watch my sister's eyes widen and fill with tears while Kate has to sit down to handle the horror of the situation.

Nearly two hours have passed since Ana was taken into the operating room and there has yet to be an update. I'm impatient and scared, and the next person to ask if I need anything is getting their ass kicked. I try to ignore all the whispers going on around me about my state of mind and which one of them is going to get me to stop pacing the room like a caged lion. So far, I've thrown my BlackBerry against the wall, putting a hole in it and shattering the phone into tiny pieces because one of my department heads called to ask if he could courier over some paperwork for me to sign to finalize a deal. Not long after that, I bit Mia's head off because she just happened to walk in front of me during my pacing. I'll deal with the guilt and apologies for making her cry once I know Ana is alive.

Finally, at long fucking last, Grace enters the room along with another doctor I assume to be the surgeon. The pair of them eyes the full room and gesture for me to step outside with them. I think Kate is about protest being kept out of the loop, but I couldn't give less of a shit about her right now.

"How is she?" I demand the moment we're alone.

Grace gives me a small smile. "Ana did very well during the surgery," she assures me. I stumble backwards to lean against the wall in relief. "The bullet fragments have been completely removed with no further damage caused."

"Oh thank God," I breathe, scrubbing my face with my hands. "Can I see her?"

The surgeon takes over. "Miss Steele is currently in the ICU so we can keep an eye on her for any complications and visitors aren't allowed during that timeframe." I stand up straight, fully prepared to go successful, rich-beyond-your-wildest-dreams CEO on him, but my mother intervenes.

"Once she is stable enough, she'll be moved into a private suite," she interjects. "You can see her then and stay with her as long as you like."

Rather than getting myself kicked out of the hospital, I grudgingly agree. "What damage did the bullet do to her?" I ask instead.

"It tore through quite a bit of muscle," the surgeon says, "and shattered a portion of her collarbone. She will need physical therapy to help heal, but her recovery should be guaranteed."

I narrow my eyes on him. "Should be?" I repeat with a growl.

"Christian," my mother says warningly. "Ana is going to be fine. Let's concentrate on that for the moment before we start worrying about any more complications, shall we?"

I nod, keeping my mouth shut against the swear-filled response I'm currently still forming for the surgeon. "I'd like my security personnel to have access to the bullet. I realize the police have already been informed, but I am far more comfortable with taking care of some things myself."

The surgeon looks like he wants to argue, but nods his agreement. A few minutes later, I'm reentering the waiting room to update my family, all of whom sag in relief. Vaguely I wonder if that relief is all for Ana or because none of them could figure out how to handle me if she didn't make it through surgery. Kate slips out of the room to call Ana's parents and I wince, realizing I should have done that myself hours ago. This is what happens when I lose control of a situation; everything I should do flies straight out the window. While my dad, Elliot, and Mia discuss what to do next—apparently it's now okay to run out and get everyone something to eat—I tune everyone out, reminding myself of everything I was just told. Ana will recover. She may be in pain for the foreseeable, but she'll be alive. I'll be there with her every step of the way; whatever she needs to recover and be comfortable, it's hers.

My mood is very slightly improving until Taylor and Sawyer enter the room looking grim and like they wish they could be anywhere else right now, doing absolutely anything else that won't involve telling me whatever it is they came here to tell me. I follow them out of the room, gesturing for them to step into an empty room.

"Just tell me," I say exhaustedly, leaning against a desk.

Taylor sighs, his eyes darting towards Sawyer. "We're unable to identify the shooter," he says quietly reluctantly. "Whoever did this knows all the blind spots in that building and the few they were unable to avoid, the wires were cut or the cameras damaged."

I bite back every possible retort I have for this news, all of which will probably get me banned from the hospital for shouting so loudly every patient on every floor hears me. "So you came here to tell me you have nothing?" I manage to say through gritted teeth.

"Not exactly, sir," Sawyer says quietly. "We questioned the building's other tenants, hoping one of them may have seen someone. A couple people report having seen a young woman, petite, with long brown hair hanging around the building this week. Her clothes torn and dirty, her appearance that of a homeless person."

"Sir, on a whim, I flashed a photo around the neighborhood," Taylor picks up. "The eyewitnesses confirmed the identity of the woman in the photo to being the one they saw."

"Who?" I ask shortly.

Taylor pulls out his phone, swiping through until he finds what he's looking for and hands it to me. I study the image for half a second before I have the inclination to throw someone else's phone against the wall just to see it break. "Leila Williams, sir."

A/N: I did warn you... Next chapter coming soon, but probably not soon enough.