Chapter 29

From Orm's Perspective 🤍🩺

I was trembling—my hands slick with her blood, sticky and warm, soaking through my fingers no matter how hard I pressed. It felt like I was underwater. Distant screams, boots pounding the ground, orders being shouted, guns shifting—but all I saw was her.

My Lingling.

"Stay awake," I whispered, even though my voice cracked. "Please, Ling, look at me. Keep looking at me."

Her eyes fluttered, dazed and glassy. Her skin had gone pale—too pale.

Jiang barked something behind me, then suddenly appeared at my side. "We have to move. Now."

"No—no, wait—"

"Orm." His voice was firmer. Blood streaked across his temple, but he didn't even notice. "She needs to be in a car. We'll stabilize her there. You're coming."

Before I could argue, Jiang had already slid his arms beneath her, lifting her like she weighed nothing. Her head lolled against his shoulder, and my chest seized.

I followed, stumbling into the back seat of the G-Wagon as Jiang carefully laid her down.

She whimpered. I was already climbing in beside her.

"Get me the med kit from under the passenger seat," I said quickly. "Now. Jiang—now."

Jiang didn't even respond—just moved.

My hands were shaking, but I forced them to stop. I had to shut off the panic. Shut off the fact that this was her, that I had just watched the woman I loved take a bullet right in front of me.

"Lingling," I whispered again, trying to assess the wound. Right below the ribcage, left side. It missed her heart. It missed her heart. Maybe the lung. Maybe.

Please, God.

"Pressure. I need more pressure here—Jiang, I need gauze. And saline if you've got it. Bandages. Now."

The G-Wagon roared to life beneath us, the engine growling. We sped off—sirens in the distance, or maybe it was just the sound of my own heartbeat slamming in my ears.

I leaned over her, one hand pressing into the wound, the other brushing the hair from her damp forehead.

"Don't you dare close your eyes," I murmured. "You told me not to let go. So I won't. I'm not going anywhere. You hear me, Lingling? I'm right here. Just... stay with me. Please."

And for the first time in years, I felt like I was begging something bigger than me.

Don't take her away from me.

Not now. Not after everything.

...

The tires screeched as the G-Wagon jerked to a stop in front of the clinic, and I flung the door open before the vehicle had even come to a full halt.

"PRIYA!" I screamed, my voice raw with panic. "OR—NOW! Get the OR ready!"

The glass doors slammed open as I stumbled inside, one hand still pressed to Lingling's side, blood warm and soaking through my sleeves. Jiang followed behind me, carrying her like something precious and broken.

"Gauze—oxygen mask—call Dr. Mendez—NOW!" I snapped at the two nurses on duty. Priya's eyes widened when she saw Lingling, but she didn't ask questions. She spun into action.

"Vitals?" I barked. I was trying to stay focused, to stay in control, but my heart was thrashing like a wild animal in a cage.

"BP dropping—seventy over fifty and falling," Priya called. "She's losing too much—Dr. Kornnaphat, we need to move."

"I know!" I pushed the OR doors open myself, holding the mask to Lingling's face. Her breath was shallow, lips paling. Her suit had been cut open down the front. Everything was soaked in red.

Stay with me. Please, stay with me.

We got her on the table. Machines beeped to life, monitors flashing red. I was scrubbing up, trying to steady my hands, to shut off the part of my brain screaming in horror.

She looked so still.

Too still.

Priya handed me the scalpel. "You sure you wanna do this yourself?"

"She's mine," I said through gritted teeth. "Prep for internal bleed and possible lung puncture. Get clamps and suction. I need that bullet out."

I glanced once more at Lingling as the anesthesia started working, brushing my gloved fingers against her cheek.

"I've got you," I whispered. "I'm not letting you go."

The bright lights of the OR flooded my vision, making the sweat on my brow feel colder than it was. The surgical mask clung to my face, and I could feel my own heartbeat in my ears as I stared down at her—Lingling—lying unconscious on the table. Her chest rose slowly, too slowly, the ventilator doing its job. Tubes, monitors, clamps. Blood everywhere.

Just like last time.

God... no. Not like last time.

I remembered it too clearly—the first time she had landed in my operating room. She hadn't been "Lingling" then. She'd been a nameless woman with bullet wounds, escorted by men with unreadable expressions and guns tucked into their coats. No ID. No backstory. Just another emergency dumped on my table in the middle of the daylight.

Back then, I had worked on her like any other patient, detached and efficient. But even then, something about her had stayed with me. The mole over her ribs. The stillness in her face, even in pain. The calloused hand that had twitched when I held her wrist to find a pulse.

Now... I was shaking.

But I had no choice.

"She's crashing!" Priya's voice broke through.

"Clamp the artery!" I barked, diving in.

There was internal bleeding. The bullet had torn through muscle near her lower ribs, grazed the liver—but it hadn't gone clean through. It was lodged, likely causing a slow bleed. I could see it now. Metallic glint. Blood pulsing.

"Retractor," I said. "Keep the field clear. I need suction—there."

The smell of cauterized flesh filled the room as I stopped the bleeders one by one. I was speaking automatically, my mind focused on every twitch of the scalpel. Her blood pressure was dropping again.

I could feel time slipping like sand through my fingers.

"You're not dying on me," I muttered. "Not now. Not after everything."

Forceps in hand, I guided it gently around the bullet's edge. The tissue here was delicate, inflamed. Another tear, and she might bleed out before I could repair it.

"Hold her steady. Almost there..."

The bullet came loose.

"Got it."

I dropped it into the tray, the metal clinking like thunder in the silence.

"Pressure dressing. We're closing."

The rest was a blur—suturing, cleaning, stabilizing. I didn't breathe properly until the final suture was tied and the monitor showed her vitals leveling out.

"She's going to be okay," Priya said softly.

But I didn't answer. My gloved hands trembled over her chest. I didn't want to leave her side.

I had cut her open once when she was a stranger.

This time, I'd done it while holding the heart she owned in my hands.

I was fully closing up, my fingers working quickly, almost instinctively as I stitched the final layers of muscle and skin. The hum of the machines around me seemed to fade into the background, and I focused solely on the delicate work in front of me. Time felt like it was stretching, each second pulling at my nerves.

And then...

The heart monitor gave a warning beep.

I froze.

I didn't need to look at the screen—I could hear it in the beep. It was slowing down. The steady rhythm that had been pulsing with hope just moments ago was beginning to falter. The numbers on the display dipped, faster than I could track, the lines jagging, then flatlining.

My throat went dry.

"Dammit!" I hissed under my breath. Panic flashed across my mind, but I shoved it down, focusing entirely on the task in front of me.

Stay calm. Stay calm, Orm.

"Priya!" I shouted, not even looking up. "Grab the defibrillator, now!"

I could hear her scrambling behind me, but I didn't have time to look. My hands were shaking as I hooked the last stitch, the last layer. Stay steady. Just finish. Then—

The beeping on the monitor slowed again. Another flatline.

No, no, no...

My heart thudded harder. My chest tightened with the sudden suffocating weight of the situation. I couldn't lose her. Not like this. Not after the way she loved me—so fiercely, so freely, like I was the only soul in the world that mattered. Her love had lit every dark corner of me. How could I ever let that light go?

"Orm!" Priya's voice was strained, coming from behind me.

The defibrillator. It's now or never.

I stared at Lingling's still body. Pale. Motionless. The line on the monitor—a thin, cold accusation.

I couldn't breathe.

I pressed the paddles against her chest, one on her sternum and the other slightly to the side, my fingers trembling around the handle.

"Clear!" I shouted.

The shock surged through her.

Nothing.

Just the flatline. That long, lifeless tone.

"Come on..." I whispered, voice cracking.

Again.

"Clear!"

Her body jolted. But the line—flat. Still flat.

I felt something inside me crack. My throat closed. Tears blurred everything.

"Please," I said, a broken whisper. "Please come back. You can't do this to me."

I looked at her—really looked at her. The woman who had poured her love into me like it was effortless. Who laughed like sunshine and held me like I was her whole world.

"Lingling... I need you," I breathed, bending closer. My voice shook. "I'm not ready to let you go. You hear me? Not after everything. Not after how you looked at me like I mattered. Not after how you loved me when I didn't even know how to love myself."

I pressed the paddles to her chest again. One more time. One last chance.

"Clear!"

The jolt slammed through her.

Her body seized—and then...

The line flickered.

A twitch. A small, stubborn heartbeat.

I held my breath.

"Come on," I begged. "Come back to me."

Beep.

A pause. Another beep. Then again. Slow. Fragile. Real.

I choked on a sob, collapsing forward, clutching her hand. It was still cold, but not gone.

"You're here," I whispered, tears dripping onto her skin. "You're still here..."

My voice dropped to a whisper, one word cracking me open.

"Baobei..."

The first time I'd ever said it. The word she'd always called me, over and over. And now—it was mine.

Her heart beat steady beneath the monitor's rhythm, and I knew.

She heard me.

She was fighting.

She was coming back. For me.

For us.

The moment the OR doors swung open and we rolled Lingling out, it was like the breath I'd been holding for the past few hours finally shattered in my chest. The white lights above blurred as we pushed her bed down the hallway—too fast and too slow all at once. I could hear the beeping of her heart monitor, steady now, but fragile. Like she was holding on by the thinnest thread.

Jiang was there, standing right outside the OR, eyes locked onto Lingling like she was the only thing that mattered. His face was pale. The calm, unreadable expression he always wore was cracked.

"She's stable," I said, my voice breaking. "But... but she lost a lot of blood."

He nodded, his jaw clenched tight. I couldn't tell if he was trying to stay strong for me or himself.

I followed them into the VIP room as the nurses began hooking Lingling up to the monitors again. The room was dim, private, and completely quiet except for the beeping. The sound that would define whether I breathed or shattered again.

Lingling was so still.

Too still.

I stumbled back, leaning against the wall, unable to keep my knees from buckling. My hands trembled, blood still on my gloves, on my scrubs, on my skin. I couldn't tell if it was hers or mine anymore. I couldn't even look at her without feeling like I was drowning.

"I—" My voice cracked. "I should've done more. I should've—God, I let her get hurt..."

I slid down the wall, crouched there with my arms wrapped around myself like I could hold everything together that way. But it was falling apart. I could feel it—my chest tightening, my lungs struggling to pull air in.

Jiang crouched beside me a moment later. His voice was low. Careful.

"You did everything you could," he said, gently placing a hand on my shoulder. "Orm... you saved her. Again."

"I didn't—she flatlined, Jiang. I almost lost her—" My voice broke into a sob. I covered my face with my hands. "If I had just been more careful, if I didn't let her go back to Hong Kong—"

"You couldn't stop her," Jiang said softly, his voice a thread between grief and reassurance. "You know her. You couldn't have stopped her from doing what she thought needed to be done."

I looked up at him, tears blurring my vision.

"I don't care about that," I whispered. "I just want her to open her eyes. I want to hear her voice. Even if she's teasing me or bossing me around or—anything. Just something."

The clinic was a fortress now—Lingling's men positioned at every door, hallway, and corner. I could feel their presence like a wall pressing in around me. Yet in that moment, none of it mattered. All I could see was her, unconscious in that bed, her chest rising and falling just enough to keep me breathing too.

Jiang was still by my side. He didn't say anything else. He didn't need to.

Because we were both waiting for the same thing.

For Lingling to wake up.

For her to come back.

I sat there on the cold floor for I don't know how long—minutes, maybe an hour. The soft beeping from Lingling's monitor filled the room, a cruel reminder that she was alive, but not with me. Not yet.

My cheek still throbbed from where that man hit me—purple and swollen now. I hadn't even looked in the mirror since we got back. I didn't need to. I could feel it. Not just on the outside, but somewhere deeper. That kind of pain... the kind that doesn't show up on scans or X-rays.

I heard Jiang shift beside me, his hand still on my shoulder. He finally spoke, his voice gentle, but firm in that way only someone like Jiang could manage.

"Orm, you need to let the others take over now," he said. "Go change. Clean up. Get that bruise looked at."

I shook my head almost instinctively. "No, I... I have to be here. I need to see her when she wakes up."

"You will," he said, kneeling in front of me. "But you're not helping her like this. You're still in your OR scrubs, and you're literally shaking. You're exhausted. Look at yourself."

I opened my mouth to protest, but nothing came out. My hands were still stained red. My sleeves were stiff from dried blood. I looked like I'd been through hell—because I had. And part of me knew Jiang was right. I couldn't take care of Lingling if I let myself fall apart first.

My voice came out hoarse. "I don't want to leave her."

"You're not," he said. "Just... step out. Ten minutes. I'll stay here. She won't be alone, I promise."

The lump in my throat burned. I nodded slowly, eyes glued to Lingling's sleeping face one last time before I forced myself to stand. My legs felt like they weren't mine.

I stepped out of the room, the hallway full of Lingling's men. They nodded as I passed, some offering quiet bows of respect. I could feel their eyes on me—not with judgment, but with something closer to sympathy. And maybe fear. They had seen what Lingling meant to me now. And they had seen what I looked like broken.

Priya caught sight of me the moment I passed the nurses' station. She rushed over, her eyes wide, worried. "Orm—oh my god, your face..."

"I'm okay," I said quietly. "It's just a bruise."

"It's not just a bruise," she muttered, taking my arm and steering me toward the back hallway, where one of the spare rooms was empty. "Sit. I'll get you ice and something to clean up."

I didn't argue.

Because all I could think about was Lingling's body going still on that table. The moment her heart flatlined. The scream I hadn't let out, the breath I held in, the terror that still hadn't left.

And underneath all of that, one desperate, repeating prayer:

Please wake up. Please come back to me.

The sterile lights above buzzed faintly, a hum that felt too loud in the quiet room Priya led me to. I sat on the edge of the cot, my fingers twisting together in my lap, stained faintly red despite how many times I'd washed them. I could still smell the blood.

Priya came back with a small medical tray—ice wrapped in a cloth, antiseptic, gauze. She didn't say anything at first, just knelt in front of me and gently tilted my chin to get a better look at the bruise on my cheek.

I winced when she dabbed the alcohol on a cut just beneath my eye. And then—I couldn't hold it anymore.

A breath rattled through me, too sharp to be calm. My shoulders shook. Priya froze for a moment before placing the gauze down and resting a hand softly on my arm.

"She died," I whispered. "Her heart stopped."

Priya didn't interrupt. She just looked at me—really looked—and that broke whatever wall I had been clinging to for hours.

"I—" My voice cracked, tears slipping free like floodgates crashing open. "She flatlined, Priya. I watched it. I saw the line go still. And I was right there—I was cutting her open, my hands were inside her—" My breath hitched, ragged and shallow. "And for a minute, she was just... gone."

Priya wrapped her arms around me, careful not to press too hard on my cheek. And I collapsed into her shoulder like a child. I sobbed—ugly, full-body sobs I hadn't let myself feel. I'd been in surgeon mode. I'd pushed everything down. Until now.

"I thought I lost her," I choked out. "She got shot... because of me. Because she came back for me."

Priya's voice was low, steady. "You saved her, Orm. You brought her back."

"But what if next time I can't?" My voice broke again. "What if—what if she doesn't come back next time?"

The room felt cold. My hands wouldn't stop trembling.

"She's alive," Priya reminded me gently. "And she's stable now. You did everything you could—and more."

I shook my head. "I don't care about heroic. I care about her waking up. I just want her to look at me again. To talk. To be okay."

I stayed in Priya's arms for a while, letting the storm of panic and grief roll through me. The image of Lingling lying there, so still, haunted me. Her blood soaking the OR table. The monitor flatlining.

She had come for me. She had taken a bullet for me.

I should've known it would never be simple. Not when our love was wrapped up in danger and chaos. But this—it had all become so real.

"I love her," I whispered, voice trembling. "I love her so much."

And in that moment, all I could do was hope—hope that love would be enough to bring her back to me for good.

Priya helped me lie back, propping a cool compress against the bruise on my cheek as she dimmed the lights. My hands still wouldn't stop shaking. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw it—that moment in the OR when Lingling's heartbeat disappeared. That one, flat, endless line.

I had brought her back, but just barely.

I didn't even realize I'd fallen asleep until Jiang knocked softly on the door and stepped inside. He looked tired—his usual sharpness dulled, his suit wrinkled like he'd been pacing the hall for hours. Maybe he had.

"She's stable," he said, his voice soft but certain.

I sat up too fast, the room spinning slightly.

"She's not awake yet," he added quickly, "but her vitals are holding. No signs of internal bleeding, no infection. You did good, Orm."

I swallowed the tightness in my throat. "Can I see her?"

Jiang nodded and stepped aside.

The clinic halls were quiet. Too quiet. Some of Lingling's men were still posted at every exit, watching the shadows. I passed them without a word, their gazes dropping respectfully. Not one of them dared speak.

When I entered her VIP room, the beeping of the monitor was steady now—so different from the silence in the OR. She looked pale against the white sheets, her dark hair spread across the pillow, lips parted just slightly.

I sat beside her and gently took her hand.

"You scared me," I whispered.

She didn't move, but I didn't need her to. Just being here—alive—was enough.

"I don't care about anything else," I said, stroking my thumb over her knuckles. "I don't care about Sen Yui. I don't care about mafias or guns or blood. Just wake up. That's all I want."

The longer I sat there, the more I realized how much she'd changed me. This woman, who had once been a stranger bleeding out on my table, was now my whole world.

I leaned down and pressed a kiss to her forehead, lingering. "I'll wait," I murmured. "No matter how long it takes. Just... come back to me, Ling."

Outside, thunder rumbled faintly in the sky. A storm was coming. But in here, her heartbeat was steady.

And for now, that was everything.

...

I stayed by Lingling's side for hours. The storm that had threatened earlier had finally broken. Rain lashed the windows of the clinic, but in her room, the air was still. Her face was peaceful—too peaceful. Almost like she was dreaming.

Priya came in a few times to check her vitals, always giving me a small smile before stepping out quietly. I knew I should rest, maybe even let someone replace me at her bedside, but the idea of leaving her now felt unbearable.

My fingers were still wrapped around hers when I felt the slightest twitch.

I froze.

Then it happened again.

Her eyelids fluttered.

I stood up so fast I nearly knocked the chair over, leaning forward, eyes wide with hope and panic tangled together. "Ling?" My voice was barely more than a whisper. "Lingling, I'm here. You're safe."

Her brow twitched slightly, and then—slowly—her eyes cracked open, hazy and unfocused. Chocolate brown, soft and dazed.

"Orm..." Her voice was hoarse, barely audible.

My heart cracked open all over again. "Yeah, I'm here. God—Lingling, you scared the hell out of me."

Her lips curved into the faintest smirk, even in her weak state. "Didn't mean to."

I laughed through the tears already slipping down my face. "Don't ever do that again."

She squeezed my hand, not much strength behind it, but enough to let me know she was still fighting. Still her.

"Where's Jiang?" she asked, still trying to piece everything together.

"He's outside. He never left." I hesitated. "You took a bullet, Ling. You nearly died. Your heart stopped."

She blinked slowly, then exhaled. "Did we get him?"

I stared at her for a moment. Even now—fresh from the brink of death—her mind was already back in the game. "Jiang took care of him," I said carefully. "He's... alive. But restrained. You can deal with him when you're better."

She nodded slightly, her face hardening for a brief second before the pain forced her to soften again.

I leaned down and rested my forehead against hers. "You're not alone. I'm not going anywhere."

Her breathing was slow and steady now, and I could tell sleep was pulling her under again—but this time it wasn't from pain or trauma.

This time, it was peace.

Her voice was so soft I almost missed it.

"It... hurts."

I immediately looked down at her, panic sparking all over again. Her fingers clutched mine weakly, her eyes barely open. I knew it wasn't just the wound or the bullet—though that would've been more than enough. No, there was something else in her voice. Something deeper. Lingling wasn't the kind of woman to admit pain easily.

I brushed a hand against her temple, her hair damp from sweat. "I know, Ling... I know. You're okay now. You're safe."

She closed her eyes again, wincing, and I could see her jaw clench—fighting through the pain even in this fragile state. My heart ached seeing her like this. Lingling. My Lingling. The woman everyone feared, the woman I loved—brought so low by a bullet meant for her heart and a man who...

My chest tightened.

My father.

Sen Yui.

I sat down slowly, my limbs numb. The events from earlier felt like a fever dream, and yet I could still feel the way the blood drained from my face when I saw the tattoo on his neck. The same mark I'd only seen in childhood photos, half-remembered dreams. I could still see Lingling standing between us, ready to die to protect me.

She knew. She had known.

Lingling shifted a little, wincing again. "Don't... look at me like that," she murmured. "Like I'm gonna disappear."

I blinked back sudden tears. "I watched your heart stop, Lingling. I..." My voice cracked. "You didn't tell me it was him. You should've told me."

"I couldn't," she said, barely above a whisper. "Didn't want you to hate me... or him. Or yourself."

I swallowed hard, brushing my fingers gently across her knuckles. "I could never hate you."

She didn't reply. But I saw the single tear slip down from the corner of her eye. I leaned in and pressed a kiss to her forehead, the words trembling on my lips.

"I'll figure out how to deal with all of this," I whispered. "But not without you. Never without you."

She gave the faintest nod, her breathing shallow but steady.

And I stayed there. In that room filled with the quiet hum of machines and the weight of truths finally revealed, I stayed. Holding her hand. Guarding her sleep. Waiting for the moment when her strength would return—because I knew it would.

She was Lingling Kwong.

And nothing would keep her down for long.

Lingling stirred slightly again, her eyes fluttering open, brown lights dull but searching. Her hand, despite the IV line taped to it, squeezed mine with surprising strength.

She looked at me for a long, tense moment—then her gaze slowly drifted to my cheek.

Her expression changed instantly.

Her fingers twitched like they wanted to reach out and touch it, but her body couldn't follow. Her jaw tightened, and her nostrils flared. That fire—the one I was used to seeing in her when she was angry, when she was furious—came alive again in her dimmed eyes.

"Did they find who did that?" she whispered, voice hoarse but laced with fury. "Your face..."

I opened my mouth, but she cut me off with a low growl. "I swear, Orm. If I don't tear them apart, I'll never forgive myself."

Her breathing grew heavier, and the monitors picked it up, beeping faster. I leaned in quickly, cupping her face gently. "Lingling, hey—shh, calm down. Please. I'm okay. It's just a bruise. I've been through worse."

"That bruise is on your face because of me," she hissed.

"No, it's not," I said quietly. "It's because someone tried to use me to hurt you. And I don't blame you for that. You came for me, Ling. You saved me."

Her gaze burned into mine, wild and protective. "They're not breathing now, are they?"

I hesitated... then shook my head.

"I saw the blood," I whispered. "I saw what you did."

Lingling's jaw flexed, but she didn't say anything. Instead, her eyes welled with quiet rage again as she took in the faint discoloration on my cheek.

"You're mine," she said with such intense certainty it made my heart jump. "No one touches what's mine. Not like that."

"I know," I said softly, brushing a hand along her temple. "I know, baby. Just rest. We'll deal with everything when you're stronger."

She exhaled sharply, then leaned ever so slightly into my touch. Her body was still weak, trembling under the blanket, but her spirit was exactly the same. Fierce. Terrifying. Protective.

I sat back in the chair, still holding her hand. I didn't care how long it would take for her to recover—days, weeks—I'd be right there. For every second.

Because I was hers too.

I didn't even notice the door open—I was too focused on Lingling, on her slow, steady breaths, on the sharpness returning to her eyes, even if her body hadn't caught up yet. Her hand was warm in mine. Still trembling, but alive. And right now, that was enough.

Then came the soft click of the door and the sound of fast footsteps. I turned just as Jiang appeared at the doorway.

The moment he saw her—really saw her awake—his whole face lit up.

"Jie..!" he breathed, like a dam had broken inside him. His eyes shimmered, and I watched him hurry to the side of the bed opposite mine, the tension in his frame melting away. "Jie, you scared the hell out of me."

My brows lifted slightly. Jie?

It was the first time I'd ever heard him call her that. Not "Boss." Not "Ma'am." Just... Jie. Big sister.

The way he said it was raw, unfiltered. Like a younger brother desperate for her to be okay, finally seeing the person he'd looked up to all his life, breathing again.

Lingling gave him a tiny, tired smile. "I didn't mean to, Jiang."

His jaw clenched, and he exhaled hard, trying to hide how close to crying he actually was. "You almost didn't make it. One minute flatlined."

She looked toward me again, and I could feel the squeeze of her hand tightening around mine. Jiang followed her gaze—then looked back at me, quieter now.

"She saved you," he murmured to Lingling, nodding at me. "We would've lost you if she hadn't done the surgery herself."

Lingling looked like she wanted to say something, but her lips barely parted. Her eyes just stayed on mine, soft and endless, like she was seeing something I couldn't.

"I didn't do it alone," I said quietly, almost like I was reassuring her and Jiang both. "She fought the whole way."

Jiang gave me a look I couldn't quite read—part grateful, part surprised, maybe even a little protective—and then turned his attention back to Lingling, brushing a hand over her blanket like he was still trying to believe she was real.

"I'm not calling you Boss anymore," he muttered. "You're never getting shot again. That's the deal."

Lingling gave a faint snort that somehow still sounded smug.

And I just... watched the two of them.

For the first time, I realized how deep their bond ran. Not just loyalty, not just duty. They were family in a way that had nothing to do with blood.

And somehow, in the middle of all this chaos—I was part of it now too.

I stayed quiet, watching Jiang fuss over Lingling like a worried little brother trying not to fall apart. His tough exterior had all but melted in front of her, and I could tell he was trying to hold back a flood of emotion. His hands kept adjusting the edge of her blanket, even though it was already perfectly placed.

Lingling looked at him with that familiar calm — tired, yes, but still in control. Always in control. Except... this time, there was a gentleness in her eyes I hadn't seen before. She let Jiang hover, didn't tease him like she usually would. She just watched him, like she knew what it meant for him to see her like this.

"Jiang," she finally said, voice a bit hoarse. "I'm okay. Go get some air before you make my sheets wrinkle."

He sniffed and gave a weak laugh, rubbing at his eyes quickly like she didn't see. "You almost died and you're worried about wrinkled sheets?"

Lingling gave him a faint smirk. "Luxury comes with standards."

I almost smiled — almost. But my stomach still hadn't unclenched. I kept feeling the echo of her pulse flatlining. The panic. Her blood on my gloves. And underneath all of that — the shock that Sen Yui... my father... had done this.

I shifted uncomfortably in the chair. Lingling's hand found mine again, her fingers curling weakly. Jiang noticed the shift in atmosphere. He straightened.

"I'll give you both a moment," he said, stepping back. His eyes met mine for just a second — something soft passing between us — then he nodded once and stepped out.

The door clicked closed behind him.

I looked back down at her. Her skin was pale, her lips dry. But her eyes were still fire, even in this state.

"You really didn't tell me," I whispered, not sure if I was angry, scared, or just broken.

Lingling didn't pretend to misunderstand. She exhaled, long and quiet.

"I wanted to protect you from it," she said finally. "From him. From all of it."

My eyes burned. "You almost died protecting me."

Her thumb moved gently over the back of my hand. "I would again."

I looked away, swallowing hard. There was too much inside me — confusion, grief, guilt, fear, love — all of it tightening in my chest.

"That was my father," I said under my breath. "I saw it in his eyes."

Lingling nodded slowly, solemn. "And he saw you choose me."

The silence was deafening. I could still feel the echo of that decision in my body. Stepping between them. Watching my father aim that gun. Knowing who he was — and still choosing her.

"I don't regret it," I whispered.

Lingling's hand squeezed mine again, firmer this time. "Neither do I."

I lowered my head and kissed her knuckles, unable to hold back the tears anymore.

We were both wounded. We were both dangerous. And now, we were bound by something even deeper than the blood spilled between enemies.

We were each other's. Through fire, through betrayal — through everything.

Lingling's hand suddenly tightened around mine—hard—and before I could ask what was wrong, her body tensed all over.

"Ah—fuck!" she gasped, her voice strained with pain, eyes squeezing shut as her head jerked slightly against the pillow. Her free hand shot down to her side where the bandages were, gripping the blanket over her stomach.

"Lingling?" I shot up, heart thundering. "What is it?"

She didn't answer right away—her jaw clenched so tight I could see the muscle twitch. A cold sweat started forming on her forehead. My instincts kicked in immediately. I pressed the call button and leaned over her, trying to keep her still.

"Hey, hey—don't move. Breathe through it. Can you hear me?"

Her eyes fluttered open, unfocused and glossy from the pain. "It's—where I got hit. It's burning—Orm, it's—fuck—"

"Shh, I know, I know," I said, brushing the hair from her face, trying to keep her calm. "You might've strained the sutures. Just stay still."

The door burst open, Priya entering with two other nurses and a portable vitals monitor. She didn't waste a second.

"What happened?" Priya asked, already moving to the bedside.

"She started screaming—she said it's the wound."

"We'll check everything," Priya nodded quickly. She glanced at me, then at Lingling. "Orm, you should step back—"

"No. I'm staying."

The nurses didn't argue. They knew better.

I helped lift Lingling's shirt just enough for Priya to gently peel back the bandages. Blood had started to seep through. I swore under my breath. The sutures had torn.

"She shifted too much, maybe when she reached for you," Priya murmured. "We need to fix this before it starts hemorrhaging."

Lingling grunted in pain, one hand gripping the metal rail of the bed. "Just do it. I can handle it."

I leaned close again, pressing my forehead against hers. "Of course you can. But you don't have to. I'm right here."

Her brown eyes locked onto mine, even through the pain. I didn't move an inch.

They worked fast — stitching, cleaning, re-wrapping — and I held her hand through all of it. She didn't scream again, though I saw the tears at the corners of her eyes, the kind she'd never let anyone else see.

And I knew, right then — no matter what war was waiting outside these hospital walls, no matter what name my father bore — I would fight beside her. Because she had bled for me.

And I would never, ever let her bleed alone again.