He Saved Her, I Lost Our Child

Caroline POV

I didn't leave the restaurant. Walking out would have been a surrender, and I wasn't done fighting.

Not yet. Even if I was fighting a losing battle.

I returned to the table, my face a mask of porcelain indifference.

Ariana was wearing the earrings. They caught the candlelight, flashing with every turn of her head, mocking me with diamonds I had paid for.

"Caroline, you really must try the risotto," Ariana said, pointing her fork at my empty plate. "Blake ordered for you while you were gone."

"I'm not hungry," I said, taking a slow, deliberate sip of water.

"You're always so serious," she sighed, leaning back against the plush velvet. "You know, at the gala next week, people are going to talk. They say the Santos marriage is... strictly business. A contract."

She swirled her wine, watching the red liquid coat the glass. "It must be hard, knowing you were just a signature on a piece of paper."

Blake frowned, but he didn't stop her. "Ari, that's enough."

"I'm just saying," she pouted. "It’s sad. To be a pawn."

I set my glass down. The sound was soft, but heavy.

"I am the Architect of the Santos real estate holdings," I said, my voice dropping to a glacial calm. "I channel more money through legitimate construction projects in a month than your gallery makes in a decade. I am not a pawn, Ariana. I am the board."

She flinched. Blake looked at me, surprised. He rarely saw the teeth beneath the smile.

Suddenly, the room shook.

It wasn't an earthquake. It was a concussive blast from the kitchen—a gas line, or a bomb. The sound was deafening, a roar that sucked the air out of the room and replaced it with a wall of pressure.

The floor tilted.

Above us, the massive crystal chandelier, a behemoth of glass and steel weighing half a ton, groaned. The ceiling plaster cracked with the sound of a gunshot.

It was coming down.

Time dilated. I saw it falling in slow motion. A glittering guillotine.

I was sitting on the left. Ariana was on the right. Blake was in the middle.

He had a split second. One instinct. One choice.

He didn't look at me.

He lunged to his right.

He tackled Ariana out of her chair, throwing his body over hers, shielding her with his own flesh and bone, rolling them both under the heavy oak table.

I sat there.

I watched him choose.

Then the world exploded.

Crystal shattered. Metal screamed. A heavy brass fixture slammed into my shoulder, knocking me to the floor. Shards of glass rained down like daggers. A piece of the ceiling collapsed, pinning my leg.

Pain, white-hot and blinding, shot up my thigh. I screamed, but the sound was lost in the chaos of the alarms and the shouting.

Dust filled the air. I was coughing, choking on drywall and fear.

"Ariana! Are you okay?"

Blake’s voice. Frantic. Desperate.

"I... I think so," she whimpered from under the table. "You saved me."

"Stay down," he ordered. "Don't move."

I lay in the rubble, five feet away. Blood was soaking through my emerald dress. My leg felt like it was on fire.

"Blake," I croaked. It came out as a broken whisper.

He scrambled out from under the table, helping Ariana up. She didn't have a scratch on her. He checked her head, her arms, his hands frantic.

"Blake," I said louder, grit in my teeth.

He turned. He saw me.

I was half-buried under plaster and glass. My leg was twisted at an unnatural angle.

His face went pale. For a moment, just a moment, I saw horror in his eyes.

"Caroline," he breathed. He took a step toward me.

"Sir! We have to evacuate! Gas leak! Secondary explosion imminent!" A security guard grabbed Blake’s arm.

"My wife," Blake said, pointing at me.

"We have her, Sir! You need to get Miss Whitfield out, she's having a respiratory event!"

Ariana was gasping, clutching her chest, playing the role of the dying swan to perfection. "Blake... I can't breathe..."

Blake looked at me. I was conscious. I was bleeding, but I was looking at him with clear, dead eyes.

He looked at Ariana, who was hyperventilating.

"Get Caroline out," Blake ordered the guard. "Now!"

Then he scooped Ariana up into his arms and ran for the exit.

He left me.

Again.

The guard dragged me out. The pain was excruciating, dragging my broken leg over the debris. I bit through my lip to keep from screaming his name.

I was loaded into a separate ambulance. Alone.

As the doors closed, I saw him on the sidewalk, checking Ariana’s pulse, completely ignoring the stretcher being wheeled past him.

I closed my eyes. The physical pain was nothing compared to the clarity.

The ledger in my mind updated automatically.

*Minus twenty points.*

*The chandelier fell.*

*He became her shield.*

*I became the casualty.*

*Total Score: 10.*