Lost in Wine, Lost in Love

Until today, these men were brothers.

They were the ones who helped the Hayes family get this far.

After today—bridges are bridges, roads are roads.

I won’t feed men who eat our bread while bowing to another name.

I don’t know how long I killed before going numb; my arms were slick with blood—

some theirs, some mine.

A black van stopped in front of me.

Instinctively, I raised my blade to kill.

Then I saw the driver was one of our own.

Everything in me gave out. I collapsed into the seat.

My lieutenant steadied me, hesitating. “Are we still going to St. Mary’s Hospital?”

That hospital—Adrian had built it up for me years ago.

He’d gathered the world’s best specialists in wrist injuries—

all because I once said, “My hand hurts.”

The internet always joked that St. Mary’s was better at plastics than rehab.

I never believed it.

Now I finally had my answer.

I turned away decisively, watching the city blur past the window.

“No. Summon the best doctors in Newport City to Newport General Hospital.”

“From now on, Hayes business is done by the Hayes.”

Eyes closed, I endured the searing pain in my hand.

Adrian kept calling, tireless.

I hung up each time, and he found another way to reach me.

At last, I answered, impatient.

“What—calling to tell me your darling isn’t out of surgery and I should pay with my life?”

“Don’t trouble yourself, Adrian. I’m not pathetic enough to rush over and watch you fawn over another woman.”

On the other end came his roughened breathing—

then the screech of brakes. A black Porsche fishtailed to a stop at the intersection,

blocking my route to Newport General completely.

Adrian shoved open his door and strode toward me.

“Coco, get out.”

“I’ve assembled the best medical team. Your men can’t come.”

“You—come with me alone.”

I looked at him with scorn, as if he were a stranger.

He was the one who put a hole through my right hand.

He was the one who blocked me from getting treatment at my own front door.

And now he wanted to perform “devotion” in front of me?

Or am I that cheap—

the kind of woman who knows he has someone else in his heart and still cripples herself to climb toward him?

I let out a cold laugh, rolled up the window, and said, flatly,

“No need, Mr. Cole. I’ll handle my own affairs.”

“As for you and Clara—wait for me.”

“What the Hayes are owed, the Hayes will take back.”

The driver slammed the accelerator.

We rammed the Porsche without hesitation and sped toward Newport General.

Adrian stood beneath the streetlamp in a black coat, hands bloody,

stiff as a post.

After surgery, when I woke from anesthesia,

my lieutenants had already compiled a list of those who’d defected to Adrian.

“Miss, please review.”

“We’re monitoring Adrian—he’s still at the hospital. No movement.”

On the big screen, Adrian and Clara were perfectly visible.

They tried to block my view, but I insisted on getting out of bed and staring at the feed.

On screen, Adrian was holding Clara fresh out of surgery.

He touched her gruesome wound with aching tenderness.

“Clara, the doctors said you’ll be fine.”

“For me—bear with it a little longer, okay?”

Clara’s face was pale; hatred swam in her eyes.