Chapter seventy-seven

Aaron leaned against the hospital wall in the waiting room, his nostrils filled with the sharp smell of antiseptic. Behind him were Grant and Clayton waiting with him. He was full of misery; he prowled the confines of the room restlessly.

No matter how he tried, Aaron couldn’t get the picture of Helen lying on the ground, in her blood, out of his mind. She had looked so pale and fragile, her eyes closed and her face paper white. He had fallen to his knees beside her, not minding the scuffle and shots going on behind him, and a low sound had exploded from his chest. Her name had echoed in his mind, but he hadn’t been able to voice it.

Seeing her take the bullet meant for him had been a nightmare and he still hadn’t recovered. He didn’t expect ever to recover. Cold, piercing agony filled his chest.

He prayed in his heart, really prayed that she would be fine. They had a one-year-old son and he couldn't bear raising him alone.

Never again. Heck! never again. He was a billionaire now
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