Aiden’s POV

I had just finished checking on Iris when I heard the nurse shouting, something about an explosion in the first-floor restroom. Panic surged in my chest. I knew Haven had headed in that direction earlier.

Without thinking, I took off down the hallway, boots thudding against the tile as smoke curled around the edges of the corridor. The air was thick with the scent of burning plastic and the high-pitched whine of alarms.

I forced my way through the smoke, ignoring calls to stop, shoving aside debris until I found her. Haven was dazed but conscious, crouched near the shattered sink, blood running in a thin line down her cheek. I pulled her into my arms, carried her out myself, refused help even as staff ran forward.

It was only after she was safe that I heard, Rue had been in there too.

The breath left my lungs. I rushed back in, the haze of dust and smoke blurring my vision until I saw her, half-covered in rubble, blood streaking her temple, her chest rising and falling far too weakly.

Her breathing was faint, but it was there. I carried her out too, this time with a knot in my stomach that refused to unravel.

Later, when she opened her eyes, I tried to explain. I wanted to tell her everything, that I’d been attacked by a rogue wolf that morning, that I hadn’t meant to be late, that none of it was intentional but when I reached for her hand, she pushed it away.

Her wounds were minor, the doctor said. But whatever bond we still had? It was splintering, cracking beneath everything we hadn’t said, and everything she had seen.

Rue’s POV

In the fog of medication and pain, voices drifted in and out, soft at first, then clearer, nurses whispering too close to my door, thinking I couldn’t hear.

“…Mr. Aiden hasn’t left Miss Haven’s side all night.”

“He carried her out himself, and wouldn't let anyone touch her.”

“She only had a scratch, but the way he looked like he thought he was losing her. That must be love.”

Their words sliced through the fog in my head. I turned my face toward the pillow, jaw clenched. My fingers curled against the sheets, weak but shaking.

Of course he’d stayed with her. Even when I was the one who had bled. Even when I was the one nearly buried under concrete. He hadn’t looked for me at first. He hadn’t reached for me.

I should’ve expected it by now. Should’ve stopped hoping for anything different. But I hadn’t. Some part of me still thought I mattered.

Not anymore.

By the time I opened my eyes fully, harsh light stabbed into my skull. The sterile scent of antiseptic flooded my senses, and a dull ache throbbed where the shrapnel had passed cleanly through. Lucky, the doctor had said. No vitals hit. Still, pain bloomed beneath the surface.

Iris.

I bolted upright, teeth gritted against the pain. The memory came rushing back, the explosion, the chaos, the smoke. My little girl, fighting to breathe, barely hanging on.

“Easy,” a voice said, deep and steady. “You’ll tear your stitches.”

Aiden stood at the foot of the bed, arms folded. He was calm and controlled as if nothing about this moment truly affected him. There was maybe a trace of regret in his eyes, but mostly, they were blank.

I remembered everything.

The blast. His body shielding Haven. The way his eyes had searched for only her, not once glancing in my direction.

“Iris,” I croaked. “Where is she?”

“They stabilized her,” he said after a pause. “But it’s temporary. She’s still critical.”

Relief hit me like a wave. Temporary was still something.

I ripped the IV out of my arm, ignoring the sting and the thin line of blood that followed. I needed to move. I needed to find a solution, not sit here waiting for another disaster to hit.

“Where’s my bag?” I asked, already climbing off the bed.

Aiden stepped forward quickly, grabbing my wrist. “Rue. Stop. You’re going to rip everything open.”

I yanked my arm back. “Now you’re worried?”

His jaw tightened. “I’m always worried.”

“No, Aiden,” I said, eyes locking onto his. “You were worried when Haven had a scratch. Not when your daughter was on the operating table. Not when I was nearly killed.”

“You don’t understand…”

“I understand everything.” I didn’t wait for more. I couldn’t. I left the room, my stitches tugging with every step, pain blooming beneath my ribs like fire. I didn’t care.

The hospital lobby buzzed with tension. Officers milled around, interviewing nurses, analyzing the damage. Tape cordoned off sections of the floor, glass and tile still littering corners of the hall.

Veronica and Sora sat like carved statues near the center of it all, high and mighty, their perfect outfits and disdainful eyes screaming that they still believed they were better than me. Their gazes found me immediately, lips curling, but I didn’t stop. I walked past them like they didn’t exist.

Aiden sat a few feet away, scrolling through his phone, oblivious. Until I slammed a stack of papers onto the table in front of him. The sharp smack echoed like a gunshot.

“Sign it.”

The silence was immediate and thick. Sora nearly choked on her drink. Veronica’s eyes widened, then narrowed. Aiden blinked, startled, as he stared at the papers.

His voice was slow, unsure. “What is this?”

“Divorce,” I said, my voice sharper than any knife. “I’ve signed already. You just need to do the same.”

Sora leaned into Veronica, whispering behind her hand. I caught enough, she’s bluffing, it’s a trap.

Aiden flipped through the pages, one brow twitching as he skimmed the clauses. His fingers tightened around the paper.

“And you’ve already signed it,” he muttered.

“She probably thinks it’ll get your attention,” Sora said with a scoff. “She’ll beg you to take her back by tonight.”

Veronica’s lips pulled into a cruel smile. “Check the wording carefully. She’s probably angling for pity.”

Their voices rolled off me like rain. I didn’t care what they thought anymore.

Aiden’s eyes returned to mine. “Why now?”

I met his gaze without flinching. “Because I’ve finally stopped lying to myself. Because I can’t keep pretending there’s anything left between us. And because my daughter deserves a mother who’s not constantly breaking just to survive her father’s indifference.”

He stared for a long second. Then, finally, he signed.

The pen scratched across the paper, slow and final.

“There,” he said, pushing it toward me. “Done. You’ll get the court copy next week.”

“I’ll send it to my lawyer,” I replied, folding my copy and tucking it into my coat pocket. The edges pressed sharp against my chest, like a blade I no longer feared.

As I turned to walk away, Veronica called out behind me, “You’ll regret this. You’ll come crawling back when you realize you have nothing.”

But she was wrong, I wasn’t losing anything, I proceeded to the receptionist to retrieve my bag and belongings.