Chapter 33 The World Stops
The World Stops
Langston
Ihate Toronto.
Not the city itself. Not the skyline or the clean efficiency of the warehouse district or the fact that it’s one of the largest diamond distribution hubs in the world.
I hate that I’m here without her.
The hotel room feels wrong—too quiet, too empty. I didn’t sleep worth a damn last night. I’m used to knowing where Sabrina is, even if we’re not sharing a bed. Used to hearing her move down the hall. Used to the quiet proof of her presence.
Now there’s nothing.
Just distance.
The warehouse tour runs long. Too long. Pallets of inventory stacked like fortresses, security protocols reviewed again and again. This facility should be airtight. Toronto is supposed to be one of our most reliable stops before shipments move south into the U.S.
And yet here I am, chasing another problem.
Another missing thread.
By the time I step into the private to take a call, my jaw is tight with frustration.
“Talk to me,” my father says without preamble. “Have you figured out what the hell is going on yet?”
“Yes,” I answer, steady. “The issue isn’t theft. It’s misrouting and temporary storage gaps. Too many hands. Too many middle points.”
“And?”
“And Sabrina’s father came through,” I say. “He secured a private warehouse—off the books. Direct transport from overseas straight into Toronto. No bouncing. No exposure.”
There’s a beat of silence.
Then my father exhales like he’s just won a long game of chess.
“I knew it,” he says. “I told you this marriage would bring exactly what the family needed.”
Something heavy settles in my chest.
“This marriage isn’t just about connections,” I say quietly. “Not anymore.”
Another pause. This one is sharper. “Are you telling me you’re starting to have real feelings for your wife?”
I don’t hesitate. “I already do.”
I expect pushback. Strategy. Warnings.
Instead—he laughs.
Not mocking. Not dismissive. Genuinely pleased.
“Well,” he says, sounding almost relieved, “it’s about damn time.”
I frown. “That’s… not what I expected you to say.”
“You thought I’d be angry?” he asks. “Langston, I pushed for the marriage because you weren’t slowing down. You weren’t settling. I wasn’t sure you ever would.”
I run a hand through my hair. “You were ready to marry me off to a child.”
He laughs again. “You really think that was the plan?”
I stiffen. “What do you mean?”
“Do you honestly believe Sabrina just happened to get the last open seat on that flight out of Chicago?” he asks mildly.
“That it was coincidence she arrived when she did? I knew that her sister would call her. That if she was anything like her mother raised her to be that she would go to her. I told the airlines to watch for her name to come across and slide her into the seat I saved.”
My grip tightens on the phone.
“You planned it.”
“I knew her,” he says. “I met Sabrina years ago. I met her mother, too—before she passed. Strong woman. Smart. Protective. She raised her daughter well.”
My throat tightens unexpectedly.
“I knew Sabrina would be perfect for you,” he continues. “I just needed you to meet her at the right moment.”
“She gave me one year.” I mutter. He starts laughing again. “That’s not funny.”
“No,” he agrees. “It’s not. Which is why you’d better make her fall in love with you before that year’s up.”
I scoff. “You make it sound easy.”
“You’re a Blackwell,” he says simply. “And you already care. That’s the hard part.”
Before I can respond, my phone beeps—another call coming through.
Jack.
“I’ve got to take this,” I say.
“Go,” my father replies. “And Langston?”
“Yes?”
“I’m glad you’re giving this a real chance.”
The line disconnects.
I stare at the phone for a moment longer than necessary before answering Jack’s call—already missing my wife, already counting the hours until I can get back to her.
I answer before Jack goes to voicemail. “What now?”
There’s a beat on the other end. Just long enough to make my spine tighten.
“Boss,” Jack says carefully, “we have a problem.”
“What?” I huff, already done with this day, with this city, with everything that isn’t Sabrina. “What is it now?”
“Sabrina is at the hospital.”
The world stops.
Not slows. Not tilts.
Stops.
The hallway disappears. The noise drains out of the air. All I can hear is the violent rush of blood in my ears, my heartbeat slamming so hard it feels like it’s trying to break free of my chest.
Hospital.
Sabrina.
My wife.
My vision tunnels, black creeping in from the edges. My hand tightens around the phone until my knuckles ache. My lungs lock like they’ve forgotten how to work.
No.
No, no, no—
I picture her on the floor of some sterile room, hair spread out, eyes closed. I picture blood.
All the time I wasted pretending I could keep distance, pretending I was protecting us by pulling away.
I wasn’t there.
I left her.
The room spins.
I don’t realize I’ve stopped walking until Jack’s voice explodes through the phone.
“Fuck—Boss, that’s not what I meant. Langston!” he shouts.
It barely registers.
This is it. This is what I get for being a coward. For telling myself one year was safer. For sleeping across the hall while she lay alone wondering if she mattered to me.
I should have been with her.
Every night. Every morning. I should have chosen her when it counted.
“Langston!” Jack yells again. “Breathe. Look at me—no, listen to me.”
I drag in a breath so sharp it burns. Another. My knees feel weak. My hands are shaking.
I don’t hear myself move, don’t remember standing, but suddenly Jack’s voice is louder—sharper.
“Say it again,” I grind out.
“Sabrina was called to the hospital,” Jack says quickly now. “Her old neighbor—Mrs. D, I think?—she was taken in. Sabrina rushed over to be with her. She’s not hurt.”
The pressure in my chest cracks just enough for air to rush back in.
I bend at the waist, bracing a hand on my thigh, breath shaking.
Mrs. D.
Her mom stand-in. The woman she checks on, worries over, builds her days around.
“Fuck,” I mutter, pressing my palm to my forehead. “Okay. Okay.”
Then another thought slams into me.
“How did she get there?” I demand. “Please tell me she didn’t take a fucking Uber.”
I already know she’s upset. I know she’s scared. The idea of her rattled and alone in a car right now makes my skin crawl.
“Mr. Rizzoli was still here,” Jack says. “He took her.”
Relief hits me so fast it almost makes me dizzy. I sag against the wall, eyes closing briefly as my heart finally slows from a gallop to something survivable.
“Thank God,” I breathe.
I don’t stop moving. I’m already heading to the door. Passing people that I should be walking through a warehouse with.
“Wait, Which one?” I ask, that fucking family doesn’t know how to travel alone. “Please don’t say Cross.”
There’s a pause.
“Callum,” Jack confirms.
I exhale hard. “Good.”
Then, quieter: “Cross was there too.”
Of course he was.
I roll my eyes, even as my hands keep moving. “Naturally.”
“Jack,” I say, already halfway out the door, “Call the hotel and tell them to ship me everything left in my room. Call the pilot. We take off in twenty minutes.”
There’s a sharp inhale on the other end. “Boss—you have another tour tonight. One you can’t miss.”
I stop cold.
My jaw tightens until it hurts.
All day I’ve been telling myself distance was safer. That restraint was noble. That keeping my heart locked away was control.
Bullshit.
“My wife needs me,” I grit out, every word edged with steel. “I’ll be there.”
I end the call without waiting for his response.
Toronto can burn for all I care.
Sabrina is scared. Sabrina is hurting. And whatever this marriage started as—contracts, leverage, expectations—none of that matters right now.
I grab my jacket, stride toward the elevator, and let only one thought anchor me as everything else falls away:
I’m coming, Sweetheart.