From Mob Princess to Mugshot Photographer novel Chapter 86

**Chapter 10**

He stood resolutely, a bastion of defiance against the encroaching bodyguards who advanced like a wall of shadows. Their towering figures loomed ominously, yet he remained immovable, a statue forged in determination. The atmosphere crackled with tension, and it felt as though time itself had paused, holding its breath. Eventually, they had no option but to physically seize him and drag him away, a testament to the helplessness that engulfed the moment.

Just as he was on the brink of being taken from my sight, an urgent impulse surged within me, compelling me to call out to him, my voice piercing through the chaos that surrounded us.

He turned his head, confusion flickering across his features, swiftly replaced by a glimmer of hope. A smile dared to break free on his lips as he exclaimed, “Nina, is that really you? Have you finally come to your senses?” His voice, a blend of disbelief and joy, reached me like a lifeline.

“I have one more wish,” I replied, my heart racing under the weight of my request, each word feeling like a stone dropped into a still pond, sending ripples of emotion through the air.

“Tell me, Nina! Whatever you desire, I promise I will make it happen,” he urged, his eyes sparkling with eager anticipation.

Drawing a deep breath, I felt the gravity of my words settle heavily between us. “For my funeral, I hope you won’t be there,” I stated, my voice steady, yet my heart felt as if it were fracturing with every syllable.

The light that had danced in his eyes moments ago dimmed instantly, replaced by a heavy shroud of despair. The flicker of hope he had clung to extinguished, leaving an aching silence that enveloped us both.

From that day forth, even though his voice faded from my world, I felt his presence lingering just beyond the threshold of my hospital room. I envisioned him there, day after day, a silent sentinel watching over me, even as I lay confined within the prison of my own body.

Later, when Ewan paid me a visit, I summoned the last vestiges of my waning strength and implored him, “Please, take me away from here. I know my time is limited, and I cannot bear the thought of spending my final days trapped within these sterile walls, devoid of life and warmth.”

Ewan’s eyes mirrored a profound sorrow as he regarded me, and after a moment that stretched into eternity, he finally nodded, his agreement a bittersweet balm against the anguish of my confinement.

The following day, while Cedric was preoccupied downstairs, lost in a phone call, Ewan seized the moment, his determination palpable as he whisked me away from the hospital.

In the quiet solitude of the car, Ewan shared news that sent chills down my spine: Cedric had severed ties with Fiona upon learning of my illness. She had been blindsided by the abruptness of his decision and, in a fit of desperation, had threatened him, declaring that if he left her, she would terminate the pregnancy.

To her utter disbelief, Cedric had responded with chilling indifference. He simply instructed his assistant to take her to the clinic for the abortion, his demeanor as cold as ice.

Fiona, caught off guard by his ruthless disregard, panicked during the car ride. In a moment of sheer desperation, she attempted to escape, trying to leap from the moving vehicle while the assistant was momentarily distracted. The attempt ended in catastrophe as she tumbled onto the pavement, resulting in a miscarriage and severe fractures to her legs.

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