Chapter Sixteen #2
Hollister and Marquette looked pissed at the provocation.
Everybody knew that since Draven took over his father’s seat, things had gotten cold between him and the old men—no way was he ever going to play by their rules.
D ran guns, sourcing raw materials and supplying finished product.
I was the center of manufacturing operations with my industrial tech.
Our alliance was inevitable, especially since we were best friends, but the old men hated it.
Now I was starting to think they regretted marrying me off to Serenity, because the power was clearly shifting.
“We need to find a sixth member, and fast. The council is six families, not five. Veylor is out. We need another money cleaner,” Marquette fired back, locking eyes with me.
“Maybe we should all reconsider accepting the Sawyer application, since they’re the most suitable candidate.
You’ll have to stop this war you want to start with them right fucking now.
We can’t afford to lose more than we already have with what Veylor and your house have already done. It’s affecting all of us.”
Before I could answer, a scream split the night.
My world cracked open the second I heard shouts from below.
My eyes searched for my wife, and when I spotted her fighting in the pool, struggling to keep her head above water, everything else faded.
Blood thundered in my temples, terror flooding me, and I was already moving.
I sprinted across the ballroom, my heart crashing in my chest, tearing off my jacket and ripping open my shirt as I ran.
When I reached the pool’s edge and saw Serenity had already vanished beneath the surface—gone in a heartbeat, bubbles barely breaking—the panic that tore through me was pure hell.
“Serenity!” I screamed, raw with desperation, before diving in headfirst, running on nothing but the drive to pull her out and keep her close. Just like that day nineteen years ago, every part of me screamed to bring her back to me.
The water burned my eyes as I reached for her.
She was already deep at the bottom of the pool, like she’d given up on life, like she’d decided to stop fighting and just leave for good.
The thought of her abandoning me before I ever got the chance to love her in the open, to cherish her, to show her how hard my heart beats for her and always has, killed me.
I never gave her permission to leave me.
I never allowed her to walk away. I needed her more than my next breath.
Since I was twelve, I’d only ever seen her, only ever breathed for her.
She was the only reason I existed. So if she thought she could just let go and get rid of me, she was wrong.
I would chase her into the afterlife and drag her back to me.
My lungs were burning, breath running out, but I refused to give up.
I reached her at the bottom, grabbed her, and gave everything I had to haul her back to the surface.
When I pulled her up to the edge and took my first breath, it didn’t feel like living.
It felt like inhaling poison, because my wife was lying there, pale, showing no sign of life. But I refused to believe she was dead.
“Serenity,” I gasped, falling to my knees beside her. “Breathe. Please, baby, breathe.”
Nothing. Her chest barely moved.
I pressed my mouth to hers, giving her my breath, compressions, counting out loud, hands shaking.
People crowded around, busy doing God knows what.
I didn’t give a shit. All I cared about was bringing my woman back to me.
My world narrowed down to her, and her alone.
I pressed her heart again, breathed into her mouth, pinching her nose shut.
The pain in my chest grew sharper with every second she didn’t breathe. My tears mixed with the pool water.
I heard Draven’s voice from somewhere far away, asking if he should take over.
But there was no way I was moving, no way I was letting go.
No one else was saving her but me. She had to come back to me.
She needed to hate me when she learned I was Knox.
She needed to forgive me for lying to her all those nights, give me a chance to make up for this lost year of marriage.
God, give me one more chance to love her right.
“Don’t leave me,” I whispered, voice shaking. “You can’t leave me. You’re not allowed to leave me, baby. I can’t survive without you. Please, Serenity. Come back. I need you.”
I breathed for her again, pressed her chest, cursed the universe, cursed myself for leaving her alone. I didn’t stop. I couldn’t. I pressed my mouth to hers, poured air into her lungs. Then, as if God Himself had mercy on me, I felt her chest stutter under my hands.
She coughed, water bursting from her lips as her body jerked and she gasped, sucking in air.
Oh my God. I could breathe again, like my body and soul had reunited, like life had just returned to me.
Relief hit so hard I nearly collapsed. I pulled her into my arms, holding her tight, pressing my lips to her forehead.
My heart pounded so hard it could have broken out of my chest. I’d never been so scared in my life, never felt pain like this.
I’d never felt so empty, so close to death myself.
Losing my mother had filled me with rage, but the thought of losing Serenity left nothing but a terrifying, suffocating void, a black hole so heavy it felt like I’d fused with oblivion.
It was more than pain. It was something I never wanted to feel again.
“Thank you. Thank you for coming back to me,” I whispered.
Slowly, the world came back into focus while my heart kept pounding.
“Call a doctor, now!” I shouted, cradling my wife in my arms.
She was breathing, but her pulse was weak and her eyes barely opened. I had no idea how long she’d been down there, but she needed help immediately.
“Konflict, I’ve had the guest room prepared. The doctor is already here,” Maureen Marquette called out, her voice thick with worry.
I didn’t think. I carried Serenity straight to the guest room, never letting her go.
When I looked down at her, I saw her trying to open her eyes.
Her eyelids were heavy, her body so weak my heart twisted again.
Then, when I least expected it, she pressed her fingers to my chest, right over the tattoo she knew by heart, and whispered a name that froze my blood.
“Knox,” she breathed, her voice barely there, before her eyes slid shut again.
My heart skipped, then started racing all over again, faster, harder, as if the ground was falling away beneath me. Had she recognized me? Had she seen through every one of my lies? I didn’t have time to think about it because fear crashed back in. Her breathing was even weaker now.
I rushed to the bedroom and laid her down carefully on the bed.
Her dress clung to her skin, soaked through, cold and heavy beneath my hands as I peeled the fabric away from her body.
I also took off my mother’s necklace and earrings so I could keep them safe.
I didn’t want her to be upset if she woke up and found something missing.
Maureen had already set out dry clothes on the mattress.
I lifted Serenity, sliding a loose shirt over her arms with slow, deliberate care before lowering her back against the pillows.
My hands lingered at her shoulders longer than necessary—letting go of her, even for a second, still felt wrong.
It was like loosening my grip might let something unseen steal her away from me again.
The Marquette family physician stepped in a moment later, medical bag already open, moving toward the bed. His calm efficiency almost pissed me off. My entire world had just shattered, and he moved like this was just another routine checkup.
He glanced at me as he reached the foot of the bed.
“Mr. Korven, I need space.”
“I’m not leaving.”
The words hung there, pointless. I didn’t move. My arms folded across my chest, eyes locked on Serenity’s face, every part of me rooted beside that bed with the stubborn certainty of a man who’d almost lost everything tonight.
He looked like he might push, but then he seemed to realize nothing he said would change a damn thing, so he turned back to Serenity.
His fingers found the side of her neck, pressing lightly against the artery under her jaw while his eyes tracked the rise and fall of her chest, counting silently.
“Pulse is weak… but present.”
The air in my lungs barely moved.
He lifted her wrist, checking the pulse again at the radial artery, then pulled a penlight from his pocket.
Without realizing it, I leaned closer, focus locked on my woman, as the doctor slipped a stethoscope into his ears and pressed the cold disk to her chest, listening carefully as he shifted it to different points, concentrating on each breath moving through her lungs.
The silence stretched too long. Stress ate me alive.
She needed to wake up because seeing my beautiful, strong wife laid out like this was hell.
He clipped a small pulse oximeter onto Serenity’s finger, watching the digital reading stabilize as it blinked.
“Oxygen saturation is lower than ideal, but holding,” he murmured, noting it carefully.
He also counted her breathing under his breath, tracking the rhythm with clinical focus before moving on.
Next, he took a professional-grade thermometer and placed it gently against her forehead, waiting for the reading. As the device beeped, he checked the result, his expression serious.
“Her temperature dropped from the water,” he said, then nodded toward the blanket at the end of the bed. “Cover her.”
I didn’t hesitate before wrapping the blanket around her shoulders, tucking the fabric tight around her body, urgency leaking into every movement.