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The ink on the temporary guardianship emergency decree was barely dry before I realized the magnitude of what I had just done. In the eyes of the law, Vincent Hale was a titan of industry with a fortress of legal protection; in the eyes of a cold, tired, and deeply suspicious seven-year-old, I was just a stranger who smelled like expensive wool and impending doom. / Chapter 7 / 17

Chapter 7 - The Bullet Meant for My HeartTime seemed to fracture into slow motion. I saw the flex of Raymond’s trigger finger, saw the dark muzzle of the Beretta align dead center with my chest, and felt the final, desperate surge of adrenaline flood my failing veins. I lunged forward, but my legs—weakened by cancer and exhaustion—betrayed me. My knee buckled.

Bang.

The silenced shot sounded like a dull thud in the howling wind.

I braced for the burning impact of lead, the tearing of flesh, the final darkness. But the impact never hit my chest.

Instead, a tiny, missile-like blur shot out from the hallway doorway, screaming with a ferocity that defied human nature.

"NO!"

Lucy.

She had been standing in the shadows of the hallway, watching, waiting, or perhaps unable to sleep. In a fraction of a second, just as Raymond’s finger released the round, Lucy launched her small body directly into my path.

The bullet, meant for my heart, tore through the air and struck her tiny shoulder with a sickening crunch of bone and tearing fabric.

"LUCY!" I roared—a sound that was less human and more the howl of a wounded beast dragged straight from the depths of hell.

She collapsed against my chest, her small body instantly weightless, a spreading crimson blossom blooming across the white cashmere sweater I had given her just hours before.

Raymond stood paralyzed, the smoking gun slipping from his fingers, clattering onto the hardwood floor as his eyes widened in sheer, unadulterated horror. He hadn't planned on a child. He hadn't planned on this.

"Vincent..." Lucy whispered, her dark eyes fluttering open, fighting against the crushing wave of unconsciousness. Her tiny hand reached up, smearing warm blood across my lapel. "You... you gave me a warm coat."

"Stay with me, Lucy! Look at me!" I screamed, pressing my bare hands over the wound, desperately trying to stem the rushing tide of crimson. "Marcus! MARCUS!"

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