Please, somebody help. My mama’s dying. The little girl’s scream cut through the
frozen Las Vegas night like a knife. Thorne Ashford had just stepped out of his Rolls-Royce. Phone pressed to his
ear, discussing business when small hands grabbed his coat with desperate strength. He looked down, irritated. A
child maybe 5 years old, tears streaming down her face, barefoot on the icy pavement of Fremont Street. My mom is
having the baby. Please, mister. She’s bleeding so much. Something about those eyes, storm grey eyes that mirrored his
own with a haunting intensity, made his heart stop. He shouldn’t follow her into that alley. He had enforcers waiting
three blocks away. A war to plan, an empire to protect, but his feet moved anyway. Then he saw her collapsed
against a brick wall, legs trembling, face twisted in agony, blood pooling
beneath her. Ruby Lawson, the woman who’d vanished from his life six years ago without a trace. The only person
who’d ever made him feel something real, and now she was here giving birth in a frozen alley, while his daughter, a
daughter he never knew existed, begged strangers for help. Hit that like button, share this with someone, and
subscribe because what happens next will blow your mind. But here’s what you need to know. Ruby disappeared 6 years ago
for a reason. And the baby she’s delivering right now, it’s not Thorns. Thorne’s phone slipped from his hand and
clattered onto the bloodstained pavement. But he didn’t hear it. Couldn’t hear anything except Ruby’s
screams tearing through the night and the sound of his own heart hammering against his ribs like it was trying to
break free. His CEO brain, the part of him that made million-dollar decisions in seconds that never froze under
pressure, kicked in with brutal efficiency. He yanked his phone back up with shaking fingers and dialed, his
voice coming out in sharp, clipped commands that cut through the chaos. Miles, get the SUV to the alley behind
the old liquor store on Fremont now and bring Doctor Chen. I don’t care if you
have to drag him out of surgery. Tell him it’s a priority one emergency and he moves or he’s done. He didn’t wait for
confirmation, just ended the call and turned back to Ruby. This woman who’d haunted every whiskey soaked night for
six years now collapsed and bleeding out in front of him. Thorne ripped off his $15,000 Armani suit jacket without
hesitation. The expensive fabric that had been tailored perfectly to his frame, now nothing more than something
to keep her from dying on frozen concrete. He knelt beside her, his knees hitting the icy pavement, and pressed
the jacket beneath her trembling body, his hands shaking so badly he could barely function. And God, there was so
much blood. Too much blood pooling dark and wet beneath her. Ruby’s eyes fluttered open for just a second. And in
that second, he saw everything. Terror and shame and pain and something else. Something that looked like relief mixed
with absolute devastation. Her hand shot out with shocking strength for someone in her condition and grabbed his collar,
her nails digging into the fabric of his white dress shirt, leaving small crescent of blood. Victoria,” she
gasped, her voice barely above a whisper, but filled with venom he’d never heard from her before. “Your
mother?” She locked me. She had them. They hurt me. “They,” but another
contraction ripped through her body before she could finish. And her whole frame arched off the wall. The scream
that tore from her throat, making Thorne’s blood run cold in a way that no amount of violence in his line of work
ever had. The little girl, June, God, his daughter June, was crying so hard
she could barely breathe. Her small body shaking with sobs. And Thorne wanted to comfort her, but he couldn’t let go of
Ruby. Couldn’t stop trying to keep this woman alive. The sound of an engine roaring down the alley made him look up.
And Miles’s black SUV skidded to a stop. The door flying open before the vehicle had fully stopped moving. Doctor Chen, a
thin man in his 50s who’d patched up more bullet wounds for the Ashford family than he cared to count, jumped
out with his medical bag, his face going pale when he saw the scene. Premature labor, severe blood loss. “We need to
get her to the suite now,” the doctor said, his professional calm barely masking his concern. And Thorne didn’t
need to be told twice. He slid his arms under Ruby’s body, one beneath her knees and one supporting her back, and lifted
her as gently as he could, feeling how light she was, too light, like she hadn’t been eating properly for months.
And the thought made rage build in his chest alongside the fear. Ruby’s head lulled against his shoulder as he
carried her to the SUV, her breathing shallow and rapid, and he could feel her blood soaking through his shirt, warm
and sticky against his skin. Miles had already opened the back door, and Thorne climbed in carefully, keeping Ruby
cradled against him as doctor. Chen got in on the other side and immediately began checking her vitals. June stood
frozen on the pavement, her storm gray eyes, eyes that were undeniably his own,
wide with terror, and Thorne’s voice came out rougher than he intended when he said, “Get in, sweetheart. Your
mama’s going to be okay. I promise.” The little girl scrambled into the SUV, her bare feet leaving small prints of blood
on the leather seats, and she pressed herself against Thorne’s side, her small hand clutching his arm with desperate
strength. Miles gunned the engine, and they tore out of the alley, the SUV’s tires screeching on the icy road as they
headed toward the Crimson Crown. “Are you my daddy?” June whispered, her voice so small and broken that Thorne felt
something crack inside his chest. and he looked down at this child, this beautiful, terrified child with his eyes
and Ruby’s delicate features, and knew with absolute certainty that she was his, that Ruby had been carrying his
daughter when she disappeared. “Yes,” he said, the word coming out and raw. “Yes,
I am, and I’m going to keep you and your mama safe. I swear it.” Miles’s phone buzzed, and he answered it on speaker,
his voice tense. “Boss, we’ve got a problem.” Volkov’s men just hit the
warehouse on Third Street. They’re moving on our territory now. The team’s asking for orders. Thorne looked down at
Ruby, unconscious in his arms. At June pressed against his side, at the baby that was coming, whether they were ready
or not. And he made a decision that would change everything. “Handle it,” he told Miles, his voice cold and absolute.
“Take whoever you need. Do whatever’s necessary. I’m not leaving them.” Miles’s eyes met his in the rearview
mirror, shock flickering across his second in command’s face. Because in 10 years, Thorne had never, not once, put
anything before the business, before the empire, before the war. Understood.
Boss, Miles said quietly. And Thorne knew that this moment, this choice, was
going to cost him. But as Ruby’s hand weakly grasped his shirt and June’s tears soaked into his sleeve, he
realized he didn’t care about the cost anymore. The SUV slammed into the private parking garage of Crimson Crown,
