Thirty-Four
ALLISON
S pit it out already, Allison thought, her heart racing.
Angelo cleared his throat, his fingers drumming on the armrest as he shifted uncomfortably. His usual poise was gone, his striking features clouded by unease. He was always the picture of confidence, always in control. But not now.
When had his commanding nature slipped into her heart? Maybe it was that meeting all those months ago. Or perhaps it was that first ultrasound, when he’d gripped her hand, tears in his eyes as they heard their baby’s heartbeat. She couldn’t pinpoint it.
All she knew was that her heart belonged to him, without question and beyond recall, completely under his control. His every word, every touch, wove itself into the fabric of her being. She reveled in the way he could make her feel safe and cherished, as if they were the only two people in the world.
And she never wanted that to change.
Angelo drew in a sharp breath, about to speak. “Your father almost went bankrupt twenty years ago,” he said, his voice low. “He found a way back—too quickly.”
His eyes didn’t leave hers, giving Allison the sense of security, despite the ominous feeling that overtook her as he continued.
“He hired a man, planted him in companies,” Angelo continued, his voice tightening. “This man infiltrated the finance departments of big corporations, under a different name each time, where he would record their transactions, until he would find a way to create dead capital.”
He paused, swallowing hard, and Allison could see the struggle in his eyes. She silently urged him on, fearing that if he stopped now, the truth would remain buried forever.
“The man made large, unnecessary purchases—outdated, unsellable inventory. Hundreds of thousands wasted, every month. After six months, the companies would go bankrupt, and your father would swoop in, buy them for next to nothing, and resurrect them—with him in control.” Angelo’s voice dropped to a near-whisper. “He tried it with my company. But I caught his man on my board.”
A pin dropping would have been as loud as a gunshot in the silence that followed. Allison’s eyebrows raised to her hairline, her eyes falling closed from the weight of her father’s actions.
“Oh.”
She felt frozen, turned into an icy cold statue, a distant version of herself that took form in the harsh, unforgiving light of her father’s betrayal. The revelation struck her to the core, and for a moment, she was paralyzed, her mind numb and her heart encased in a shell of ice. Her chest constricted painfully, each breath a laborious effort as she tried to comprehend the magnitude of what she had just learned.
Slowly, her blood began to warm, a burning rage coursing through her veins, melting the icy exterior that had momentarily encased her. Her vision blurred, and a fiery heat surged from deep within her. She exploded, a torrent of emotions erupting all at once—anger, hurt, betrayal, and sorrow—each one vying for dominance as she struggled to reclaim her sense of self from the icy grip of shock and disbelief.
“How could he?” Her voice trembled with fury. “He destroyed all those companies, shattered so many lives. People lost their livelihoods, their families probably fucking starved! And for what? Just so he could line his pockets with more money?” Allison started pacing instinctively, too overcome with emotions to stay still.
“Who does that? He played with people’s lives like some goddamn puppet master, tearing them apart without a second thought!” Her hands tangled in her hair, pulling at the roots in anger or despair or heartbreak or everything at once. She felt something cool running down her cheeks—she was crying.
Katerina came running down the stairs, her disheveled state not registering in Allison’s frazzled mind. She slowed to a stop at the bottom of the stairs, as the blonde woman gradually unraveled.
Angelo approached cautiously, his steps slow and calculated, but Allison moved away instinctively. She was scared if he touched her now she would burn him.
“Allison, please. Calm down.” He raised his hands in a placating motion, appearing scared he’d push her over the proverbial edge.
“I—can’t—breathe.” Each word came out between ragged gasps, as she clutched her chest, her breaths growing faster.
Katerina rushed to her side just as Angelo reached for her, arms extended.
“Ali, I need you to listen,” Katerina said, her voice—stern but warm—trying to break through the haze. “Angelo is holding you. Feel his arms, Allison, focus on the size of them, the pressure on your shoulders, the weight of his palms on your arms.”
Allison tried. But all she could focus on was her father. His cruelty, his greed, his manipulation. Her fucking father.
Her mind spun in chaotic loops. How did I not see this? How did I miss it? She had worked so closely with him, been his assistant for years. And yet, she’d been blind to it all.
Who am I now?
Her mind was a battlefield, anxiety the ever-present enemy. The pain was relentless, an invisible weight pressing down on her chest, making each breath a conscious effort. She was losing herself in the heartbreak, the person she once knew slipping away with each tear that fell.
“Come on, sweet girl, breathe for me. Please.”
In the labyrinth of her mind, she was drifting, untethered and ghostlike, as reality disappeared behind a fog-like haze.
Panic rose, a relentless tide, crashing against the fragile walls of her disconnection, although she couldn’t feel it. Her breath quickened, shallow and erratic, like a bird trapped in a glass cage, and yet she couldn’t feel that either. The world around her blurred into a chaotic swirl, sounds and colors bleeding into each other, as her pulse throbbed a wild rhythm.
She was standing on the precipice of her own consciousness, watching as her mouth opened, a silent scream lodged in her throat. She was teetering between the bottomless abyss of panic and the dark void of detachment, grasping at the fraying edges of herself, desperate for something solid to hold on to.
She was drowning on dry land, choking on the very air she breathed, buried alive beneath the weight of her own existence. She was dying, there was no way she would survive this pain, this betrayal, this—
“Allison!” Hands shook her with a desperate urgency, a masculine voice shouting her name. It sounded familiar, yet distorted—a voice that was meant to be warmer, kinder, and calm, now edged with a raw intensity that pierced through her disoriented haze.
Angelo.
“Please, breathe. Just breathe,” he urged, shaking her gently as if trying to wake her. But she wasn’t asleep. She wished it were only a nightmare—a dark, twisted dream crafting this relentless torment and unimaginable pain. Yet reality clung to her, tightening its grip, squeezing the air from her lungs until she felt like she was suffocating from the inside out.
Suddenly, the agony became real and tangible—a deep ache spreading from her core, like a muted echo reverberating through her very soul. If she had any breath left, she would have screamed, but the silence consumed her, leaving her trapped in the unyielding grip of her suffering.
“Oh, God. Her water broke.” The words cut through the silence, a feminine voice strained and panicked, starkly contrasting with its usual bright and cheerful tone.
“Katia?” Angelo’s voice trembled with uncertainty, searching for answers amid the sudden chaos.
“Between her damn legs, Angelo! Something’s happening,” Katerina interjected sharply, her voice oddly detached and almost clinical, a stark departure from her usual warmth and compassion, sending shivers of unease through the room.
She felt a cool trickle running down her bare legs, the unmistakable sensation of amniotic fluid slipping away, confirming Katerina’s observation.
Crap. This was a new dress, too.
“Fuck, no. No, no, this can’t be happening. I can’t—please, I can’t fucking lose them. Either of them.” Angelo’s voice was filled with desperation, and she might have laughed at the absurdity of it all, if only everything didn’t seem so distant.
Another dull ache struck, a relentless rhythm of discomfort that doubled her over, pulling her back to the harsh reality of her situation.
She had drifted, detached from reality, shielded by her mind from the unbearable truth of her father’s actions. But dealing with him would have to wait.
“Call an ambulance!” she shouted, her voice hoarse but determined. Fear clawed at her chest. How long had she been lost in her panic? She needed help—her baby needed help.
Please, let my baby be okay.
The next thirty minutes was a dizzying blur of frantic voices, hurried movements, and a torrent of suffocating emotions.
Angelo, his face pale with worry, insisted on driving her to the University of Washington Medical Center. Allison’s cries of pain pierced the air, each one sharper than the last as relentless contractions gripped her.
The drive felt like an eternity, her anxiety mounting with every bump and swerve. She endured the agonizing contractions, but what terrified her most was the increasing pressure—a sinister sign she couldn’t ignore.
Her mind raced, flashing back to the hours she’d spent studying the complications of pregnancy in a desperate attempt to avoid her mother’s fate. Now, with unmistakable symptoms and a ruptured amniotic sac, the horrifying reality set in: she was likely in preterm labor, and every second felt like a ticking time bomb.
Her baby girl was barely past twenty-seven weeks, far too early for a safe arrival. Normally pragmatic and grounded in logic, Allison found the thought of losing her baby unbearable. The fear gnawed at her, a relentless ache twisting her heart and making it hard to breathe. The emptiness of such a loss, the shattered dreams and hopes, was a darkness she couldn’t confront, looming over her like an oppressive shadow.
In her desperation, she complained. She grumbled about the unyielding traffic that turned each minute into an eternity. She vented about the oblivious people moving in slow motion, unaware of her escalating panic. She cursed the weather, the oppressive gray clouds, and the drizzling rain that only added to the gloom weighing down her heart. Each complaint was a lifeline, a desperate attempt to anchor her mind to something other than the terrifying reality unfolding.
If she didn’t keep her mind occupied, she knew she would spiral into shock again, her body betraying her when she needed to be strong for her baby girl. The stakes were too high; if she lost control, her angel would be in real danger. The fear was a monster lurking at the edges of her thoughts, and her frantic complaints were the only weapon she had to keep it at bay.
When they finally arrived at the hospital, the night was eerily quiet as Angelo’s sleek car sped into the emergency entrance, its tires screeching to a halt. Panic etched across his face, Angelo leaped out and raced to the passenger side. He flung the door open, revealing Allison hunched over in the seat, her face contorted in pain, sweat glistening on her forehead.
“Help! Someone help us!” he yelled, his voice cracking with desperation.
Almost immediately, two paramedics who had been nearby—likely on a break—dropped their coffees and sprinted toward the car. They assessed the situation with trained eyes, Allison’s heart pounding harder with every second. One of them, a tall woman with a calming presence, spoke gently but urgently, likely recognizing her distress. “Ma’am, we’re going to get you inside. Everything’s going to be okay.”
I hope you’re right.
The paramedics carefully lifted her out of the car, her swollen belly making it clear she was pregnant. She cried out in pain, clutching her abdomen. “It’s too early, it’s too early,” she gasped between labored breaths.
The paramedics exchanged a glance, understanding passing between them. “She’s in preterm labor,” the male paramedic said, his voice calm but urgent. They swiftly placed her on a stretcher that a nurse had wheeled out, and began pushing her toward the entrance with long, purposeful strides.
No, no, no. It’s too early for her.
The automatic doors of the emergency room whooshed open, revealing a bustling hive of activity. Nurses and doctors, alerted by Angelo’s frantic call, were already assembling with equipment at the ready. The bright fluorescent lights cast a harsh glow on the scene, illuminating the controlled chaos. Allison’s personal chaos nested inside her, incubating and spreading like a virus, infecting everything in its path.
It’s too early, too early. She won’t make it. She’s not ready.
She heard the paramedics describe her condition, but it barely registered.
“Preterm labor, approximately twenty-seven weeks,” they called out as she was rushed in. “Contractions are less than two minutes apart. She needs immediate attention.”
“Help her, please!” Angelo exclaimed in desperation, somewhere close to Allison, although not visible to her.
A nurse with kind eyes and a steady hand stepped forward to take Allison’s vital signs as her stretcher was guided down the corridor toward the maternity ward. “Hang in there, sweetie, we’re going to take good care of you,” she soothed, though her movements were brisk and efficient.
Too early, not ready, too early, not ready.
An obstetrician, scrubbed and ready in a pink uniform, joined the team, barking orders. “Get the fetal monitor on her and start an IV. Prepare for possible delivery.”
Allison thrashed against their hold at the woman’s words. “No! She’s not ready yet! It’s too early!” she cried out, her breathing becoming more labored.
Two nurses swiftly approached, one with a fetal monitor and the other with an IV kit. The obstetrician, a tall woman with sharp features and determined eyes, stepped closer, her expression a mix of urgency and authority. “What’s your name?”
“Please, she’s not ready—”
“I’m Dr. Montgomery. What is your name?” She insisted, her voice firm yet warm.
“Allison.”
“Allison, you need to stay calm,” Dr. Montgomery said firmly but kindly. “We have to ensure the safety of both you and your baby.”
Allison’s panic intensified at the reminder as the nurse with the IV kit tried to find a vein in her arm. She pulled away instinctively, her movements erratic.
Too early, too early, too early.
Dr. Montgomery signaled to another team member, who appeared with a small vial and syringe.
“Hold her still,” the obstetrician commanded as Angelo’s protests grew louder, demanding they release her.
“What the hell are you doing to her?” Allison looked behind Dr. Montgomery, seeing Angelo struggling to get past two security guards.
Please, please, please. She’s not ready.
The nurses tightened their grip on Allison, securing her arms and legs gently but firmly to prevent her from thrashing.
“No, please!” Allison’s voice was hoarse with desperation, tears streaming down her face. “It’s too soon. She’s not ready.”
Dr. Montgomery approached with the syringe, her movements precise. “This is just a mild sedative to help you relax. We need you calm so we can take care of you and your baby.”
As the sedative took effect, Allison’s struggles weakened. Her breathing, once ragged and panicked, began to slow. Her eyelids fluttered as she fought to stay conscious, but the drug’s potency was overpowering.
“Good,” Dr. Montgomery murmured, nodding to the team. “Let’s get that fetal monitor on her now.”
The nurse with the monitor stepped forward, attaching the device to Allison’s belly. The rhythmic sound of the baby’s heartbeat filled the room, steady but rapid. Dr. Montgomery listened intently, her face showing a hint of relief.
“IV’s in,” the other nurse confirmed, taping the line securely to Allison’s arm. “Fluids are running.”
Allison’s vision blurred as she tried to focus on the faces around her. She felt a strange detachment, as if observing from a distance. Her limbs felt heavy, almost immobile.
“Hang in there, Allison,” Dr. Montgomery said softly, her demeanor shifting to one of gentle reassurance. “We’re going to take good care of you both.”
As the sedative’s full effect took hold, Allison’s eyelids finally closed, her body going limp.
As she drifted into unconsciousness, the last sound she heard was the steady, reassuring thump of her baby’s heartbeat.
Please, save her.
Allison woke reluctantly, feeling the weight of sleep clinging to her like a heavy blanket. Her eyelids fluttered open to reveal a dimly lit room with sterile white walls. Grogginess clouded her thoughts, making it difficult to piece together the events that had led her here. She blinked a few times, trying to clear the fog from her mind.
As she shifted slightly, a dull ache spread through her middle, a reminder of the trauma she had endured. Allison scanned her surroundings, her vision gradually sharpening. The room was sparse, with just a few pieces of medical equipment and a solitary chair by her bedside. An IV drip was attached to her arm, its slow, steady drip the only movement in the otherwise still room.
Angelo was in a chair beside her bed, hunched over and asleep.
A sense of disorientation washed over her, and she briefly wondered where she was and how she had ended up in this state. The beeping of a heart monitor, rhythmic and persistent, began to penetrate her consciousness. With each beep, fragments of her memory started to resurface. The shrill, mechanical sound served as an unwelcome anchor, pulling her thoughts back to the moment it all happened. She remembered the conversation she had with Angelo—the lies her father had spread, the sinking pain.
Panic surged through her as she recalled the chaos that followed, the frantic voices, the hospital staff rushing around her, and then—
Black. They had sedated her.
Her heart raced as the memories flooded back, intertwining with the present. She closed her eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath to steady herself.
She shifted her gaze to Angelo’s sleeping form, thankful she was not alone. She looked around, searching—
Where is she? Oh God, where is she?
The monitor beeped faster, matching the erratic rhythm of her heart as she looked for any sign of her baby girl.
The door opened, and a nurse rushed in, jolting Angelo awake. The nurse slowed as she noticed Allison was awake.
“Good morning,” the nurse said softly, approaching the bed. “How are you feeling?”
Her soothing voice was a stark contrast to the beeping that had initially greeted her. Allison tried to respond, but her throat was dry, and her voice came out as a croak. The nurse quickly handed her a cup of water, but Angelo was faster, bringing the cup to her lips and helping her take a few sips as he watched her in silence.
Where is our daughter?
It wasn’t until the nurse spoke again that Allison realized she had voiced her concern. “She’s upstairs in the NICU. She had a rough night, but she’s taking it like a champ. Two pounds, three ounces.”
Relief washed over Allison like a wave crashing on the shore as she learned her baby was fine. She was safe. The tension that had gripped her heart finally loosened, leaving her feeling lightheaded and grateful.
“She’s okay?” Allison asked, her tearful gaze locked on Angelo’s smile.
Angelo nodded, wiping away his own tears. “She’s a fighter, just like her mom.”
He moved to her side, wrapping his strong arms around her in a way that made her feel safe, reminding her that everything would be alright.
She didn’t notice when the nurse slipped away or when Dr. Montgomery, if she recalled correctly, entered the room. She didn’t focus on the obstetrician’s words as she explained the situation.
“You likely experienced a lot of stress, which caused the amniotic sac to burst and triggered preterm labor,” the red-haired woman explained. “We initially hoped to stop the contractions and keep the baby in a bit longer, but the cord had prolapsed through the sac, causing the baby distress. We had to perform an emergency C-section.” Allison’s heart raced at her words, but Dr. Montgomery pressed on, appearing certain. “She had a rough night but is doing perfectly fine now. We’ll keep you under observation for about a week, and she’ll stay in the NICU until she reaches full gestational age.”
Allison realized she had endured what her own mother had suffered, and she had survived . She didn’t fully grasp everything that had happened but knew her baby was okay, and Angelo was holding her together.
He kissed her hair softly, as if afraid she might break into a thousand pieces if he applied too much pressure. “Don’t ever do that to me again, you hear?”
Allison nodded, tears still streaming down her face as she chuckled. “I promise.”
“I’m serious, Allison. I thought—” He moved back to look at her, his gaze intense and shaking her to her core. “I thought I lost you,” he whispered, his voice breaking along with Allison’s heart.
She placed a palm gently on his cheek, stroking it with her thumb. “You could never lose me, darling. I’m right here, and I’m not going anywhere.”
His gaze hardened, though not in anger. “You bet your ass you’re not going anywhere. Once you and the baby are out of here and we’re all back home, I’m going to marry you.”
Her thumb froze on Angelo’s cheek, her heart skipping a beat as the monitor betrayed her emotions. “You are?”
He chuckled at her surprised squeak. “Yes, sweet girl. You should have realized it by now. You and I are inevitable.”
Tears gathered in her eyes once more, but for a new reason. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing, not blinking in case it all vanished like a puff of smoke.
“You claimed my heart from day one. You sat on that barstool, confidence shining around you, and drew me to your side like a moth to a flame. Your laughter filled the room, and every word you spoke resonated deeply within me. From that moment, I was yours.”
Allison’s tears fell freely now, as did Angelo’s. He held her hand in his, anchoring her to this moment as he continued.
“Your presence brought warmth and light into my life that I never knew I needed. You made ordinary moments extraordinary, simply by being you. You are my heart, my home, and my everything. I love you, Allison Pink Lockwood.”
The monitor skipped a beat, just as Allison’s heart did a somersault. She laughed, a tearful sound of hiccups in her emotional state.
“I love you, too, Angelo Taylor,” she whispered, before the man of her dreams leaned in and kissed her. The world seemed to fade away, leaving only the warmth of his embrace and the gentle brush of his lips against hers.
In that perfect moment, nothing else mattered but them .