ADRIAN’S POV
I broke every traffic law in New York getting to her apartment. The recording was still running on my phone, Jesse's cold laughter echoing in my head as I took corners at dangerous speeds. The gunshot. Her scream. The silence that followed.
Please let me be wrong. Please let that bastard have missed.
The building's lobby was chaos, police cars, ambulances, neighbors crowding the sidewalk. I abandoned my car in the middle of the street and ran toward the nearest paramedic.
"The woman who was shot, how is she?"
"Sir, I can't give out information—"
"Her name is Mira Weston. I'm the one who called 911. I heard the gunshot over the phone."
The paramedic's expression softened slightly. "She's stable. Lost a lot of blood, but the bullet missed anything vital. We're taking her to Mount Sinai."
I followed the ambulance to the hospital, my hands shaking on the steering wheel. Every red light felt like an eternity, every delay like another chance for her to slip away.
At the hospital, I paced the emergency room waiting area like a caged animal. Doctors and nurses moved past me with practiced efficiency, but none of them could tell me anything about her condition.
"Family only," they kept saying when I asked for updates.
I wasn't family. I wasn't even sure what I was to her anymore. The man she'd been assigned to destroy? The mark who'd fallen for her lies? Or something more complicated than either of us had expected?
After three hours, a doctor finally approached me. "Mr. Roth?"
"Yes. How is she?"
"Ms. Weston is stable. The bullet grazed her shoulder—painful and bloody, but not life-threatening. She was more affected by the shock and blood loss than the actual wound."
Relief flooded through me so suddenly I had to sit down. "Can I see her?"
The doctor hesitated. "She's asked that no visitors be allowed. She was very specific that she doesn't want to see anyone."
"Anyone, or me specifically?"
"She mentioned you by name, sir. She said to tell you she was sorry, but she can't face you right now."
Of course she couldn't. She thought I hated her, thought I blamed her for everything that had happened. After what Jesse had revealed, after the way I'd treated her when I thought she was just another agent sent to destroy me, she probably believed I was here out of obligation rather than genuine concern.
"Doctor, can you give her a message for me?"
"I suppose I could—"
"Tell her I forgive her." The words came from somewhere deep inside me, a truth I'd only just realized. "Tell her I picked up her call today planning to give her a piece of my mind, but when I heard what was really happening, I understood. She was manipulated just like I was."
The doctor nodded, making notes on his clipboard. "I'll tell her."
"And tell her I recorded the entire conversation with Jesse. Everything he said about David Hong, about her father, about the conspiracy, it's all on tape. The police can use it as evidence."
"I'll pass that along as well."
The doctor disappeared back into the restricted area, leaving me alone with my thoughts and the weight of everything that had happened. Jesse was still out there somewhere, probably reporting back to David Hong that his mission was complete. They thought they'd won, thought they'd destroyed both Mira and me.
They were wrong.
Twenty minutes later, the doctor returned. "I gave her your message."
"And?"
"She thanked me for telling her, but she still doesn't want to see you. She said she's too ashamed of what she's done."
Ashamed. The word hit me harder than I'd expected. She was lying in a hospital bed, shot by the man who'd manipulated her into believing I was a monster, and she was ashamed.
"Is she going to be okay? Physically, I mean?"
"She'll make a full recovery. The shoulder will be sore for a few weeks, but there's no permanent damage."
"Good. That's... good."
The doctor started to walk away, then turned back. "For what it's worth, Mr. Roth, she seemed genuinely upset about whatever happened between you two. Whatever she did, I don't think she meant to hurt you."
"I know," I said quietly. "That's what makes this so complicated."
After the doctor left, I sat in the waiting room for another hour, staring at the elevator that would take me to her floor. She didn't want to see me, had made that clear. But I couldn't just leave, couldn't walk away knowing she was up there blaming herself for everything.
The night security guard was reading a newspaper, paying no attention to the few visitors moving through the lobby. I waited until he was distracted, then slipped into the elevator.
Room 412. I found it easily enough, noting the police officer stationed outside the door. Jesse was still at large, after all.
"I'm here to see Ms. Weston," I told the officer.
"Are you family?"
"I'm Adrian Roth. I'm the one who provided the recording of her attack."
The officer checked his list. "I don't see your name here, sir."
"She's been refusing visitors, but this is important. It's about the case."
The officer looked uncertain. "I'd need to check with—"
"Officer Martinez?" A nurse appeared at his elbow. "The patient in 415 is asking for you. Something about remembering more details about her attacker."
As the officer hurried away, I slipped past him into Mira's room.
She was lying in the hospital bed, her left shoulder heavily bandaged, her face pale against the white pillows. Her eyes were closed, but I could tell she wasn't sleeping by the tension in her body.
"The doctor said you didn't want to see anyone," I said quietly.
Her eyes snapped open, and I saw a mixture of relief and fear flash across her features. "Adrian. You shouldn't be here."
"Probably not. But I needed to see for myself that you were okay."
"I'm fine." She tried to sit up, winced, and settled back against the pillows. "You should go."
"Should I? Because it doesn't looks like you're trying to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders. Again."
"Adrian—"
"Why won't you see me, Elise?" I used the name deliberately, the name I'd fallen in love with, the name that represented everything good that had happened between us. "Why are you shutting me out?"
Tears welled up in her eyes. "Because I don't deserve your forgiveness. Because I let myself be used as a weapon against you. Because every moment we shared was built on lies."
"Was it?" I moved closer to her bed, noting how she turned her face away. "Because what I felt was real. What happened between us in Miami, the way you looked at me when I told you about my family, that felt real."
"It was real," she whispered. "That's what makes it worse. I fell in love with you while I was supposed to be destroying you."
"Then we're even. Because I fell in love with you while you were lying about who you were."
She looked at me then, really looked at me, and I saw the woman I'd fallen for. Not the federal agent, not the manipulated pawn in David Hong’s game, but the woman who'd cried when I told her about my childhood, who'd defended me at business dinners, who'd made me believe in love again.
"I'm sorry," she said, her voice breaking. "I'm so sorry for everything."