This chapter does touch on events from previous chapters. Please proceed with caution.

Thanks for reading!

-CL


I throw myself on top of Darien, crying out when my arm smarts in response. I ignore it and try to keep him safe. Once I think it's safe, I get up and truly look at Darien's wound. It's bleeding profusely, and if he doesn't get medical help soon, he's going to bleed out. I place my hands over his wound. I push down, causing pressure. I just hope it'll staunch the bleeding. It hurts my arm, but the pain is starting to dull due to the adrenaline. "Please, Darien," I sob. "Darien, please wake up." I turn to look at his face, hoping that he's awake, but his eyes are still closed. I feel the tears intensify, more of them streaming down my cheeks. I turn back to his wound, wondering if there's anything that I can wrap the wound with. I look at my dress and tear off the hem, applying pressure to the gunshot with my dress material.

Suddenly, I feel a hand on my good arm. I stiffen, wondering if it's the shooter. I turn my head slowly to see Darien holding onto my arm. "Darien," I gasp between sobs.

"Bella…it's…alright," Darien whispers.

I shake my head. "You're getting out of here alive." Darien's hand slowly drifts to my face, wiping away my tears. I free one hand and place my hand on his, leaning into the touch.

"Cat, I…need to tell…you someth-ing," he grits out between his teeth. His breathing is becoming very labored. His hand drops from my face. I place my hand back on his wound, but the blood is pouring out too fast.

"Whatever you want, Darien. Just stay with me," I say, my eyes starting to scan the ballroom for guards or anyone alive. I see some and start to yell for help. Some guards respond, rushing over here.

"I'm-King-Maxon," Darien whispers.

My head whips to face him. "What?" I whisper. Darien nods. "How-how do I know you're telling the truth?"

"In-pocket," he says. I carefully move my hands off his wound, knowing it's not doing much. I slowly reach into his pocket and pull out two rings: the Schreave family crest ring that Maxon wears all the time, and his-our-wedding ring.

I gasp. "Dar-Maxon," I whisper frantically. This has just become so much worse. "Guards!" I scream. I look at Maxon's face and see his eyes roll back into his head.

They finally reach us, and I instruct them to get Maxon to the hospital. "It's-the King," I say, showing them Maxon's rings. I see their faces pale, and they quickly run away with Maxon in their arms.

I stand up and watch Maxon's limp body disappear around the corner. I lean against the wall, my arm starting to burn again. I grit my teeth and try to walk, but my legs collapse, and I sink to the floor. I start sobbing, the events sinking in. I may lose my husband, I realize. I stand up again shakily but soon fall to the ground, black taking over my vision from the pain of the gunshot. I scream and fall down, letting myself sink into unconsciousness.


"Miss," a masculine voice says, shaking me. "Miss, wake up." After another moment the voice comes again. "Please."

I groan, swatting at the person. My arm fucking hurts and whoever this is is making it worse. I open my eyes and see, of all people, Carter's and Marlee's faces peering down at me. "Mar-" I croak, but my voice drops off. My throat hurts; I must've lost my voice.

"It's alright, miss," Carter responds. "We're going to get you to the hospital, alright?" He gives me a cup of water to help my parched throat. I drink greedily, the water streaming down my chin.

I nod and take in my surroundings. I'm still in the ballroom, lying on the floor. Where is-?

"Maxon!" I shout, sitting up, the water allowing me to speak again. I remember what happened and whip my head toward Marlee. "Where's Maxon?"

"Miss?" she asks, a look of confusion crossing her face.

"Maxon. Where. Is. Maxon?" I say, trying not to scream. I want to shake Marlee.

"Miss, let's get you to the hospital," Marlee says, unease prominent on her face.

Carter lifts me into his arms while Marlee walks ahead opening doors. I try to speak with them but realize they aren't listening. I sigh and allow myself to relax in Carter's arms. My arm still really hurts, especially when Carter uses a staircase.

A little while later, we enter the hospital. As soon as I see the bright hospital lights, I start looking for Maxon. I hear Marlee talking to a doctor, Michael, from the sound of the voice. Carter takes me into a room before laying me on the examination table. "I wish you luck, Miss," he says before exiting the room. I don't even get a chance to tell him that it's me, Bella.

Michael soon enters the room. "Alright, Miss, I see that you-"

"Where's Maxon?" I ask as soon as Michael shuts the door.

"Miss?" Michael looks at me, and I don't understand why these people, my friends, don't recognize me.

Suddenly, as if waking from a fever dream, I realize that I'm still in my costume from the ball. "It's me, Michael," I say. I look at his face to see if recognition crosses his face; it doesn't, so I clarify, "It's me. Bella."

Michael's eyes light up with recognition like I just broke him from a spell. "Oh, Bella! I didn't realize it was you…" he says, trailing off. "Your costume…"

"Shouldn't you have recognized me from seeing me before the ball?" I ask. When he doesn't answer, I clarify again. "When you came into America's room and kissed her?"

Michael blushes. "You were in there? I didn't-I was only paying attention to Ames," he says sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand.

"Of course, you were," I mumble under my breath. I speak at a normal volume. "So where is Maxon?"

"Let me take care of your arm first, Bella," Michael says, avoiding eye contact. He ducks his head and washes his hands, pulling on gloves.

"Michael, where is Maxon?" I ask again, this time through gritted teeth.

Michael avoids my question and starts to work on my arm. I allow him to because the adrenaline is starting to diminish again, my arm now burning. I feel a needle pierce my skin, and I turn my head away; I hate needles.

Soon, the pain in my arm fades away. I sigh, but then Michael starts stretching the wound, trying to extract the wound. I bite back a yell, and Michael starts talking, probably to take my mind off of the pain. "This reminds me of when Maxon had a similar wound."

"When?" I ask, my mind trying to find the memory.

"When you shot him," he says bluntly. I flinch, remember that day. One of the times that I tried to take my own life. I start thinking about that—the mirror…shards of glass…sleeping pills.

I soon realize that I haven't spoken in a while. "I didn't realize-"

"Yes, I took care of him and Ames, along with Annabella," he says, producing a bullet held tight between a pair of tweezers. "And there's the culprit," he says. "I already stitched you up, too," he says, "It was a shallow wound, probably not aimed at you, but probably Maxon."

I glance down to see my sleeves chopped off my dress and a bandage wrapped around the bullet wound. Michael must've cleaned my hands and arms of the blood that was smeared on them. "And where's Maxon?"

Michael sighs. "Bella, Maxon's wound was very close to his heart. He's in critical condition, in a coma."

I feel tears form in my eyes, but I realize Michael didn't say Maxon was dead. He was just in a coma. "Ok, that's good," I say. I notice Michael's gaze. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

Michael takes a deep breath before speaking. "Bella, there's a chance Maxon won't ever wake up."