The ambulance screams through December streets, and I'm dying. Not metaphorically—actually dying, according to the paramedic whose eyes won't meet Vlad's. Two stab wounds, one catching something vital, blood loss that won't stop despite their efforts.
"Stay with me," Vlad keeps saying, his hand crushing mine. "Jasmine, please. Stay with me."
I want to tell him I'm trying, but words are too hard. Everything is too hard except floating, except letting go. It would be so easy to just... stop.
"Don't you fucking dare." Leo's in the ambulance too—of course he is, probably bullied his way in. "Devon needs you. We need you. You don't get to save everyone and then die."
Devon. My baby. Where is—
"He's safe," Vlad says, reading my panic. "Richard's with him. The men were arrested. It's over."
But it's not over. I can feel it in how my body is shutting down, systematic and inevitable. This is what dying feels like—not dramatic, just... fading.
The hospital explodes into action around us. I'm wheeled through corridors that blur into white streams. Voices shout medical terms I don't understand. Someone says "surgery" and "critical" and "prepare for the worst."
Vlad's being pulled away. "I'm her fiancé!"
"Sir, you need to let us work—"
"I'm not leaving her!"
"Vlad." Leo's voice, unusually gentle. "Let them help her."
The last thing I see is Vlad being held back by his brother, both of them looking destroyed. Then doors close between us, and I'm in a cold room with bright lights and masked faces and machines that beep increasingly urgent warnings.
"We're losing her," someone says.
No, I think. Not yet. Not like this.
But my body doesn't listen to my mind anymore.
In the waiting room, Vlad is destroying himself. Leo watches his brother pace, punch walls, rake hands through hair until it stands wild. The controlled, contained David Dickenson is gone, replaced by something primal and desperate.
"This is my fault," Vlad says for the hundredth time. "The security, the threats—I should have known Theodore would—"
"This wasn't Theodore." Leo's voice is flat. "The men they arrested—they're connected to Thomas."
Vlad stops pacing. "Our cousin? But he's in Switzerland—"
"Was. Apparently, he's been planning this for years. Revenge for what you did to him at that party." Leo laughs bitterly. "The party where you met Jasmine. Poetic, really."
"I'm going to kill him."
"Get in line." Leo's usual humor is completely absent. "But first, Jasmine needs to survive."
Chase arrives, having broken every speed limit in the city. He takes one look at his brothers and pulls Vlad into a hug that Vlad doesn't resist.
"She's strong," Chase says. "She's survived everything else."
"She shouldn't have to survive anything!" Vlad explodes. "She should be planning our wedding, not—" His voice breaks.
Devon appears in the doorway with Richard. He's still in his tiny tuxedo from the rehearsal dinner, but there's blood on it—my blood. His face is eerily calm, too calm for a six-year-old whose mother is dying.
"Is she going to make it?" he asks, his voice steady in a way that breaks hearts.
Vlad drops to his knees before his son. "I don't know."
"Don't lie to me." Devon's composure cracks slightly. "Everyone always lies to protect me, but I need to know. Is my mom going to die?"
"The doctors are doing everything they can—"
"That's not an answer." Tears finally start falling down Devon's too-young face. "She saved me. That man was going to take me and she stopped him and now she might die and it's my fault—"
"No." Vlad pulls Devon against him fiercely. "None of this is your fault. Do you hear me? None of it."
"If I wasn't a Dickenson—"
"Then you wouldn't be you," Leo interjects, kneeling beside them. "And your mother would rather die a thousand times than have you be anyone other than exactly who you are."
"But I don't want her to die even once!"
The raw honesty of it breaks something in all of them. They sit in that sterile waiting room, three Dickenson men and one small boy who might lose the person who loves him most.
Richard approaches the desk, using his medical credentials to get information. When he returns, his face is grave.
"She's in surgery. The blade caught her liver, nicked an artery. They're trying to repair the damage but..." He stops, glancing at Devon.
"But what?" Devon demands.
"She's lost a lot of blood. They're giving her transfusions, but her body's in shock."
"What's her blood type?" Chase asks suddenly.
"AB negative. Rare."
"That's my type," Vlad says immediately. "I can donate—"
"And mine," Leo adds, which surprises everyone. "What? We're brothers. We share everything, including apparently rare blood types and a tendency to fall for complicated women."
They both disappear with nurses, leaving Chase with Devon.
"Tell me about the wedding," Chase says, trying to distract his nephew. "What was your mom planning?"
Devon's voice is small but determined as he describes my plans—winter roses, candlelight, a dress that was "princess but Gothic" (Leo's influence), how I wanted to walk down the aisle to Pachelbel's Canon played live by Devon himself.
"She said it would be perfect," Devon whispers. "She said after everything, we deserved perfect."
In the donation room, Vlad and Leo sit side by side, watching their blood flow through tubes, hoping it will be enough.
"She has to survive," Vlad says quietly.
"She will. She's too stubborn to die." But Leo's voice lacks its usual confidence.
"If she doesn't—"
"She will." This time harder, like saying it firmly enough will make it true.
Hours pass. The waiting room fills with people—Helen arrives, having driven through the night, looking haggard but determined. Patricia and William Blackwood, here to support despite everything. Even Cordelia appears, sitting regally but with genuine concern in her eyes.
"Any woman who'd take a knife for her child is worthy of the Dickenson name," she declares, as if her approval might keep me alive.
Dr. Morrison emerges after four hours, looking exhausted. Everyone stands simultaneously.
"She's alive," she says, and the collective exhale could be heard in Switzerland. "But she's not out of danger. The next twenty-four hours are critical. She's in a medically induced coma to let her body heal."
"Can we see her?" Vlad asks.
"One at a time. Family only."
"We're all family," Devon says firmly, and something in his voice brooks no argument.