CHAPTER 171: THE NEVER-ENDING NIGHTMARE

The rhythmic beep of the heart monitor echoed softly in the room, the only sign that Emma Adams was still holding on. Pale and unmoving, she lay surrounded by tubes, machines, and the sterile scent of antiseptic. Her father, Morris Adams, sat beside her, gripping her hand like a man grasping the edge of a cliff.

He hadn’t slept. The grief in his eyes was a storm of rage and regret.

A soft knock on the glass door broke the silence. Detective Maira stepped in, followed by Officer Rao, both of them somber.

Morris looked up with bloodshot eyes. "Any news?"

Maira spoke gently, "We’re sorry to disturb you, Mr. Adams... but we need to talk."

Morris stood slowly. "If this is about Grayson, I already heard. Dead. Hung like a criminal. And now I’ve lost my only damn witness."

Maira nodded. "And that’s exactly why we’re here. We believe his death was not a suicide. It was silencing. And we believe your nephew, Alex Adams, is responsible."

Morris stiffened, as if someone had struck him across the face.

"No," he breathed. "No, he’s reckless, arrogant, cruel... but murder? He’s still my blood."

Rao stepped forward, voice firm. "And Emma is your daughter. Wouldn’t she deserve your loyalty more than a bloodthirsty cousin?"

Morris turned to the bed. His hand gripped the rail tighter. "I never wanted this to happen. Emma..."

Maira’s voice was low. "She tried to warn someone before her accident, didn’t she?"

Morris didn’t answer directly, but his silence was heavy with truth.

Maira continued. "We know she was trying to get to Jean Kingsley. We believe Alex followed her. The wreck was staged. Your daughter almost died, Mr. Adams. And she may still not wake up."

His knees buckled slightly, and he took a seat.

"We’re building a case," Rao said. "But if Alex disappears now, we’ll lose everything. We need your cooperation."

Morris looked at them, voice trembling. "Do whatever it takes. Find him. But don’t let anyone know I helped you."

Maira gave him a curt nod. "We’ll keep you out of it. But understand... this may be the last time anyone in your family has a choice."

As the detectives exited the room, Morris turned to Emma once more. He leaned in, whispering to her pale, sleeping face.

"I’m sorry, my little girl... I should’ve protected you sooner. From them... from me."

___________________________

The dining room was dimly lit, the soft clinking of cutlery echoing in the heavy silence. The once warm meal between them had gone cold, uneaten. Logan sat at the head of the table, gaze lowered, while Jean toyed with her food, barely tasting a bite.

She couldn’t take the quiet anymore. Her heart was restless, the day’s chaos ringing in her ears. Finally, her voice broke through the stillness.

"Why do you think Alex would try to harm Emma?"

Logan didn’t answer right away. He set his fork down gently, leaned back in his chair, and looked at her... straight in her eyes.

His voice was low, but sharp with certainty.

"Because he thinks he can."

Jean blinked, confused. Logan continued, his words slow and careful.

"Because your family believes they are above consequences. They use money to clean blood from their hands and bury truth with power." He leaned forward, eyes burning with intensity.

"Jean, no family has such vicious intentions as much as yours..." His jaw tightened. "And I really need you to tell me... what exactly did they do to you?"

The question hung in the air, piercing through the last wall she was trying to hold up.

Jean dropped her gaze. Her fingers clutched the edge of the table. A lump formed in her throat. The words wanted to come out, but years of fear, trauma, and silence had woven a gag too tight to remove.

Logan didn’t press again right away. He saw the tension in her shoulders, the flicker of panic in her eyes. His voice softened.

"You don’t have to give me the whole picture. Just... start somewhere. I need to understand why you’ve been carrying this pain alone. Why did you never ask for help?"

Jean’s lips parted, then closed again. Her hands trembled.

"I tried once," she whispered. "But no one believed me. And the people who were supposed to protect me... they were the ones I needed protection from."

Logan’s breath caught.

"Jean..."

She shook her head, the tears now burning in her eyes.

"You won’t look at me the same if you know it all. And I... I can’t afford to lose what little peace I have left."

There was so much more she wanted to say. About that night. About Tyler. About her parents. About the baby. But the words stayed buried.

Logan leaned back again, jaw clenched, hands balled into fists beneath the table.

He didn’t say it aloud, but he was thinking it.

Whatever peace Jean thought she had... her family was trying to take that from her too. One piece at a time. And Logan wasn’t going to let them win. Not again.

__________________________

The house was silent.

Jean sat alone in the dark living room, knees drawn up to her chest, arms wrapped tightly around them. She hadn’t changed out of her dinner clothes. She hadn’t moved since Logan gently said goodnight and disappeared down the hallway.

He didn’t press her again.

He always knew when to give her space... and yet, space was the last thing she needed right now.

Her chest rose and fell, painfully shallow.

Logan wanted answers.

The world was closing in.

Emma was fighting for her life in a hospital bed.

And Alex... he was out there. Breathing. Watching. Waiting.

A storm was building inside her, clawing at the walls she had so carefully built. All it needed was one crack... and the crack came in the form of a single whisper.

"Why did you do it, mom?"

Her voice trembled, so soft that the shadows themselves seemed to lean in to hear.

"Why did you let them take him?"

The sob burst out of her like a dam breaking.

Her shoulders shook violently as she pressed her palm against her mouth, trying to muffle the sound. But it was no use. Tears streamed down her cheeks, hot and relentless, blurring the living room into a smear of shadows and memory.

The cold metal table. The clinical white walls. The sound of her heartbeat, hollow and terrified. The doctor’s words. The signature on the paper that wasn’t hers. The life inside her that was taken... without her will.

Her cries turned into gasps, and then into silence again.

She wanted to scream.

She wanted to rip her skin apart and crawl out of the body that remembered every inch of pain.

"I didn’t even get to hold him..."

The whisper barely escaped her lips.

She rested her forehead on her knees, curling tighter into herself like she was trying to disappear.

She was terrified Logan would hear. That he’d come out and find her like this... ugly, broken, unlovable.

But deep down... she also wished he would.

Because tonight, she was drowning in the kind of loneliness no silence could fix.

__________________________

Sunlight filtered softly through the sheer curtains, painting warm golden patterns across the bedroom floor. The room was still, calm... the kind of hush that comes after a night of chaos, like the world had hit pause to let her breathe.

Jean blinked, slowly waking.

She wasn’t on the living room couch anymore. She was in bed... her bed. And she wasn’t alone.

Logan’s arm was draped securely over her waist, his hand resting protectively against her stomach as if he’d anchored himself to her in sleep. She felt the even rise and fall of his chest behind her, steady and warm, like a shield against everything trying to hurt her.

Her eyes welled up again... but this time it wasn’t just grief.

It was confusing. Guilt. Safety. Something dangerously close to affection.

She remembered the night before. Every aching sob. Every gasp. Every time she whispered into the dark with no one to hear her.

But someone had.

Logan.

He must have found her.

He didn’t say anything. Didn’t ask. Didn’t demand answers or force comfort down her throat. He simply... picked her up and held her?

As if that was enough.

Jean slowly turned her head, careful not to wake him.

His face was soft in sleep... younger somehow, more vulnerable than the Logan the world knew. His brows weren’t furrowed. His lips weren’t curled into a smirk. He looked... peaceful. As if holding her gave him peace.

Her gaze drifted down to his hand still holding her, and her heart ached.

Why are you so good to me? Why now? Why does this feel like something I’ve always wanted... and yet can’t allow myself to keep?

She swallowed hard and looked back at the ceiling.

She didn’t know how long she could keep pushing him away.

Because the truth was, last night... for the first time in a long time... she didn’t wake up from a nightmare alone.

And that scared her more than the nightmare itself.