Chapter 80 See You Soon
The wail of sirens shattered the night, but Henry barely registered them over the ragged sound of his own breathing. His hands trembled as he cradled Emilia's limp body, her warmth slipping away with every second. Blood—so much of it—soaking into his skin, into his clothes, into the very air around him. It felt like the world was bleeding with her.
A broken sob tore from his throat.
Beau's voice cut through the chaos, sharp and desperate. "The EMTs said St. Andrews. Henry—" His usual teasing edge was gone, stripped away by something raw and unfamiliar. Terror. "I'll meet you there. I'll bring everyone—Caleb, too."
Henry barely nodded, his world narrowing to the fragile rise and fall of Emilia's chest. Too shallow. Too slow. The paramedics worked around him, voices urgent, movements efficient, but none of it mattered. Not if—
No. He wouldn't think it. He couldn't.
Then they lifted her onto the stretcher, and something inside him shattered. A deep, visceral crack that left him gasping, empty. He surged forward—he had to go with her, had to be there when she opened her eyes, because she would open them.
But just as he turned, ice crawled down his spine. A whisper of something wrong. A shadow where there shouldn't be one.
And then—
A figure. Hooded. Still. Watching.
The world seemed to narrow, the flashing red and blue lights turning into something distorted, dreamlike. And then the figure smiled. Slow. Satisfied.
Rage exploded inside Henry, white-hot and all-consuming. His body coiled, ready to launch—to tear through the chaos and end whatever twisted game they were playing.
But then—
A twitch. The barest, weakest movement of Emilia's fingers. A breath, sharp and pained. A sound so small, but it drowned out everything.
His head snapped back to her, and in that split second, the figure disappeared.
Henry clenched his fists, fury and fear warring inside him. This wasn't over.
But first—Emilia.
He turned, following as they loaded her into the ambulance. [This book is available exclusively and for free on Wattpad. If you find it anywhere else, it has been stolen. Please report any unauthorized copies.] He climbed in beside her, gripping her hand like it was the only thing keeping him from falling apart.
The doors slammed shut, sealing them inside, and as the ambulance lurched forward, Henry made a silent, vicious promise.
Whoever did this wasn't just going to pay.
They were going to beg.
_____________________________________________
The hospital waiting room was suffocating. The air was thick with unease, the sterile scent of antiseptic clawing at Henry's throat, making it hard to breathe. Everything felt too bright, too sharp, like the world was mocking him with its normalcy while Emilia fought for her life just beyond those fucking doors.
His hands trembled, but not from fear—no, fear had come and gone. Now, there was only rage. It burned through his veins, licked at the edges of his sanity, coiled so tightly in his chest that he thought he might snap in half. His fists clenched so hard his nails bit into his palms, but he welcomed the sting. It was nothing compared to the ache in his heart.
This was different. It wasn't like with Zoey. Losing her had been agony, a slow, bitter kind that settled deep in his bones, but this—this was a firestorm. A violent, all-consuming thing that demanded destruction in return.
If Emilia didn't make it—
No.
He couldn't finish that thought.
Caleb paced nearby, the tension rolling off him in thick waves. Every few steps, he raked a hand through his hair, jaw clenched so tightly it looked painful. His brother was barely holding it together, but Henry? Henry wasn't holding it together at all.
Beau arrived not long after, the rest of the family trailing behind him, their faces drawn tight with worry. But the second his eyes landed on Henry, something in his expression shifted—rage simmering just beneath the surface, controlled but dangerous. He strode across the room, eyes dark.
Henry didn't respond. He couldn't. His gaze was fixed on the doors leading to Emilia's room, as if sheer willpower could force them open, could undo the horror of tonight and give him back the girl who had become his entire goddamn world.
Beau wasn't having it.
Caleb's voice cut through the haze, low and unyielding. "He's right. We need to do something. This wasn't random."
Henry exhaled sharply, dragging his gaze toward them. He knew they were right. This wasn't an accident. This was calculated. Planned.
Someone had wanted Emilia hurt. Maybe worse.
And Henry was done waiting for the next strike.
Beau's expression hardened. "We need answers. And there's only one place to get them."
Henry's hands flexed at his sides, the fire inside him roaring to life.
Caleb nodded. "He'll know who to talk to. Who to squeeze. We need to move now."
Something unhinged settled in Henry's chest, something dark and reckless. He pushed to his feet, the chair scraping against the tile with a sharp screech. He didn't even feel the way his muscles protested, the way exhaustion clawed at his limbs. None of it mattered.
Only Emilia mattered.
If she didn't wake up—if this was the last time, he ever got to hold her, to hear her laugh, to feel her warmth next to him—then God help whoever was responsible.
Because Henry wouldn't stop.
Not until they paid.
And if that meant breaking bones? Spilling blood?
So be it.
________________________________________
Vincent's hideout was buried in the city's underbelly, a dimly lit loft that reeked of cigars, whiskey, and secrets. The kind of place where deals were made in blood, and trust was a myth.
The second Henry, Beau, and Caleb stepped inside; Vincent was already waiting. [This book is available exclusively and for free on Wattpad. If you find it anywhere else, it has been stolen. Please report any unauthorized copies.] He sat perched in a sleek leather chair like a king on his throne, one arm draped lazily over the armrest, a crystal glass of amber liquid swirling between his fingers.
Henry didn't slow, didn't hesitate—he stormed forward, slamming his palms against Vincent's desk so hard the glass rattled.
Vincent arched a brow, unfazed. "Straight to the point. I always liked that about you."
Henry's jaw clenched so hard his teeth ached. "I don't have time for games." His breath was ragged, his pulse hammering against his ribs. "Emilia was nearly killed. You know something. Spill."
For the first time, something flickered in Vincent's eyes—interest, maybe amusement. He exhaled, leaning back like he had all the time in the world. "Alright, Henry. I'll give you something. But you're not gonna like it."
Then he reached into a drawer, pulled out a thick folder, and tossed it onto the desk with a dull thud.
Silence slammed into the room like a gunshot.
The words barely registered. Henry's breath hitched, his entire body going rigid. The world around him blurred, muffled, distant.
Vincent tilted his head. "Oh, it is," he murmured. "She was institutionalized. Up until early last year."
Beau grabbed the folder with shaky fingers and flipped it open. And what Henry saw sent ice straight through his veins.
Photos. Dozens of them.
Zoey, wild-eyed and gaunt, her once soft features now sharp with something feral. Her hands clutching at her own arms like she was trying to crawl out of her own skin.
Then the letters. Never sent.
Some were pleading, desperate. Come find me, Henry. You promised.
Some were full of rage. I waited for you. You never came. Now she'll know what it feels like.
But all of them—every single one—ended with the same haunting phrase:
Henry felt his chest cave in, like the air had been ripped from his lungs.
Vincent sighed, rubbing a hand over his jaw. "She didn't just manipulate me," he admitted, voice void of emotion. "She played everyone. Broke them. She doesn't just hurt people—she destroys them."
Henry's hands curled into fists. He could barely hear over the roar in his ears, the way his heartbeat pounded like war drums.
Vincent's lips twitched. "If I knew, we wouldn't be having this conversation."
That was the last straw.
Something inside Henry snapped.
With no warning, he lunged—grabbing Vincent by the collar and yanking him forward over the desk. Papers went flying, the whiskey glass shattered against the floor.
Vincent didn't fight back. Didn't even flinch. Instead, he smiled. Smiled.
Rage exploded in Henry's chest.
With a sharp growl, he reared back and punched Vincent across the face.
The sickening crack of knuckles against bone filled the room.
Vincent's head snapped to the side, blood trailing from the corner of his mouth. He exhaled slowly, then turned back to Henry, rolling his jaw like he was amused.
Henry didn't answer. He was still breathing too hard, chest heaving, hands trembling.
Then—
His phone vibrated.
A call.
Unknown number.
A deep, twisting dread curled in Henry's gut as he answered, pressing the phone to his ear.
Static. Then—laughter.
Soft. Amused. Chilling.
The line went dead.
For a second, Henry couldn't move. Couldn't breathe.
Beau and Caleb were already watching him, their expressions tight with worry. "Henry?"
But he wasn't listening. He couldn't.
He turned, his body moving on autopilot, his feet dragging him toward the exit because suddenly the walls were too close, the air too thin.
The moment they stepped outside, Henry's blood turned to ice.
A Polaroid lay on the ground.
A picture of Emilia. Taken earlier that day.
His hands shook as he flipped it over.
Smeared in red ink—
A shadow shifted at the end of the alley. A figure. Hooded. Watching.
Then—they smiled.
Something in Henry broke.
A growl ripped from his throat as he surged forward, but before he could get more than two steps, Caleb yanked him back. "Henry, stop!"
But when he looked again—the alley was empty.
The figure was gone.
And Henry?
Henry had never felt so utterly helpless.
He clenched the Polaroid in his fist, his entire body shaking with something unhinged, something dangerous.
He was done playing defense.
He was done waiting.
Whoever did this?
They weren't just going to pay.
Henry was going to make them suffer.