When the bleeding patient in Trauma Two turned out to be the billionaire ex who vanished without a trace, my professional duty collided with a desperate urge to let him bleed.

The deafening roar of the gunshot filled the room, followed immediately by the sharp, metallic clatter of a weapon hitting the floor.

I screamed, sprinting across the conference room toward my daughter.

"Mia!"

I threw myself over her small chair, wrapping my arms around her trembling body, pulling her tight against my chest as we tumbled to the floor behind the heavy mahogany table.

"Mommy! Mommy, they scared me!" Mia sobbed into my shoulder, her tiny arms wrapping around my neck with a desperate, crushing grip.

"I've got you, baby, I'm right here, Mommy's got you, you're safe," I chanted frantically, kissing her hair, checking her arms and legs for any sign of injury. She was shaking like a leaf, but she was unharmed.

Above us, the confrontation had reached its brutal conclusion.

Ethan had launched himself across the table, tackling Victor with a force that sent both men crashing through a decorative glass display case. Shards of glass rained down across the floor like glittering diamonds.

Victor swung his fists wildly, trying to regain his footing, but Ethan—driven by a primal, protective fury that ignored the agonizing pain of his freshly sutured chest wounds—pinned him to the ground with devastating efficiency.

With a sharp, cracking blow to the jaw, Ethan sent Victor sprawling backward.

Before Victor could recover, Marcus and the tactical team swarmed through the double doors, weapons drawn, zip-tying Victor’s wrists behind his back and hauling him roughly to his feet.

"You're done, Victor," Ethan breathed heavily, blood beginning to seep through the dark fabric of his hoodie around his surgical dressings. He leaned against the edge of the conference table, his chest heaving, his face pale as paper.

Victor spat a mouthful of blood onto the hardwood floor, laughing hysterically as the guards dragged him toward the exit.

"You think you've won, Ethan? The board will tear you apart! You're bleeding out on the floor right now!"

"Get him out of my sight," Ethan ordered coldly.

The heavy oak doors slammed shut, leaving us alone in the quiet wreckage of the conference room.

I sat on the floor, holding Mia tightly in my lap, trying to steady my own breathing. Mia slowly lifted her head, wiping a tear from her cheek with the back of her small hand, and stared past me at the tall, dark-haired man standing a few feet away.

Ethan stood there, looking down at us. His breathing was ragged, his hands trembling slightly, and a dark stain of blood was visibly expanding across the front of his black hoodie.

Mia tilted her head, her big brown eyes—the exact same eyes as the man looking down at her—studying him with childlike curiosity.

"Mommy," Mia whispered softly, pointing a small finger at Ethan. "Why does that man look like the picture in your silver locket?"

My breath caught in my throat. I had kept that locket hidden in my jewelry box for six years, but Mia had found it once while playing dress-up.

I looked up at Ethan.

Tears were shining unashamedly in his dark eyes as he slowly knelt down on the glass-strewn floor, ignoring the pain, stopping just a few feet away from us so as not to frighten her.

"Hi, Mia," Ethan said, his voice cracking with emotion, sounding more vulnerable than I had ever heard him in his life.

Mia blinked, looking back and forth between us. "How do you know my name?"

Ethan looked at me, a silent, desperate question hanging in his eyes.