"Angel!" Tryson called out, his voice laced with urgency as he sprinted toward her.
His heart pounded against his ribs, eyes frantically scanning her trembling form. She was on her feet, but barely.
His breath hitched when he saw it—dark red streaks of blood trailing down her leg.
In that moment, logic deserted him.
"Try—Tryson," Angel choked out, her voice breaking as he reached her.
The second he was close enough, she threw herself into his arms, clinging to him as though letting go would mean losing everything.
Her face was buried in the crook of his neck, her fingers trembling against his skin.
"Tryson, my baby..." she sobbed, her body wracked with panic.
Tryson tightened his hold on her, his hand stroking soothing circles against her back.
"Shh… I've got you. Everything's going to be okay," he murmured, his voice steady despite the storm raging inside him.
But Angel—Angel was unraveling, and Tryson knew this wasn't just fear. It was the sheer terror of losing something precious.
He didn't waste another second.
Wrapping an arm around her waist, he swept her into his hold and rushed into the elevator.
The moment he stepped into the main corridor, the household staff froze, eyes widening at the unusual sight of their usually composed employer moving with such desperate urgency.
The elevator doors slid open just as they reached them, and Karina, one of the senior maids, gasped in horror.
"Ma'am—" she stammered, her gaze locking onto the crimson stain spreading across Angel's thighs.
Panic surged through Karina, but she didn't need to be told what to do. Without hesitation, she dashed ahead, shoving the front doors of the house open before Tryson even had to ask.
"Thank you, Karina," Tryson said breathlessly, barely slowing as he carried Angel outside.
He reached his car in seconds, settling her inside before jumping behind the wheel.
"What happened?" Ana's voice rang out as she stepped onto the porch, her gaze fixed on the car speeding away.
Karina stood frozen for a moment, staring at the house as if trying to process everything. Slowly, she turned toward Ana, her expression heavy with sorrow.
She lowered her head slightly, her voice thick with disappointment and sadness.
"Ma'am… I think Miss Angel may have had a miscarriage," she whispered, the weight of the words pressing down on her chest.
Meanwhile, Tryson sped down the road, his grip on the steering wheel tightening with every second that passed.
The hospital estate was finally in sight, but his mind was only on Angel.
He stole a glance at her—she sat in the passenger seat, her body stiff, her face pale. She barely moved, except for the way her hand rested protectively on her stomach.
Silent tears slipped down her cheeks, her breathing uneven, her lips pressed together as though trying to contain the pain—both physical and emotional.
Tryson's heart clenched at the sight. A deep ache settled in his chest, knowing there was nothing he could do to take away the agony she was feeling.
"Angel..." His voice was soft, but the lump in his throat made it hard to say anything more.
She didn't respond—just kept staring down, her fingers still cradling her stomach as though she could will away the pain.
Tryson exhaled sharply, forcing himself to stay composed. He reached for her free hand, squeezing it gently, his warmth pressing against her cold fingers.
"Don't worry," he said, his voice steady, even though his heart was breaking for her. "You're going to be alright. I promise."
Tryson ran through the hospital corridors, his breath uneven, his pulse hammering in his ears.
Angel lay on the stretcher ahead of him, her body writhing with pain. A low, agonized groan slipped past her lips, her face contorted in discomfort.
Fear clawed at his chest.
His mind screamed with the possibility that this—all of this—could be his fault.
Was he the reason she was losing their baby? He didn't know. But as he followed the stretcher, his heart pounded with silent prayers, desperate pleas that everything would be okay.
He skidded to a stop the moment the medical team wheeled Angel into the emergency room. The doors swung shut in front of him, cutting him off.
He stood frozen, his hands clenched into tight fists at his sides.
Then, without thinking, he slammed his knuckles against the cold hospital wall. His forehead pressed against the surface, eyes squeezed shut as an unbearable weight settled over him.
What if she never forgives me?
The thought gutted him, sending a fresh wave of despair crashing through his chest.
The idea that Angel might hate him—that she might blame him for this—was a pain unlike any he had ever known.
His spiraling thoughts were interrupted by the sudden buzz of his phone vibrating in his pocket.
He exhaled sharply, yanking it out without glancing at the screen. Annoyance flickered across his face as he saw the caller ID.
"Not in the mood to speak with you," Tryson muttered, his voice flat, his thumb hovering over the end-call button.
But before he could cut the call, the voice on the other end spoke.
"You wouldn't even consider that I'm back in the country? And that I'm heading straight to your house?"
Tryson froze. His grip on the phone tightened as a deep frown settled over his face.
What the hell?
"Heading toward my house?" Tryson repeated, his voice strained with exhaustion.
He ran a hand through his disheveled hair, exhaling sharply. "Jude, can we talk later? Right now, I'm not in the right headspace. I'm in a really tight dilemma."
Jude's voice immediately sharpened with concern. "Oh my God, what's going on? You're not at the house?"
Tryson swallowed hard, his throat tightening as he forced the words out. "Jude, I'm at the hospital." His voice wavered. "It happened just moments ago… Angel—"
The moment he said her name, a raw, hoarse pain seeped into his voice. Jude caught onto it instantly.
He didn't need to ask to know something was terribly wrong. But he needed Tryson to say it—to confirm the dread creeping up his spine.
"Tryson… what happened?" Jude pressed gently.
Tryson shut his eyes, gripping the bridge of his nose as if trying to keep himself from falling apart.
"Jude, she was bleeding," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "And right now… I don't know what's happening. I don't know if the baby—if her baby—" He paused, his breath catching.
"I'm just waiting here, silently, but Jude… I'm scared. The thought of losing the baby is going to break me. And Angel… she'd never want to see my face again if anything happens to her child."
His voice cracked.
Tryson clenched his jaw, lifting a hand to his mouth as the tears that had been threatening to spill finally broke free.
He tilted his head down, squeezing his eyes shut, willing himself to keep it together.
Still leaning against the wall, he kept the phone pressed to his ear, trying to steady his breathing.
"Tryson," Jude's voice softened. "Send me the address and the permission slip—I'll be there in a few minutes."
At those words, Tryson slowly lifted his head, his gaze locking onto the emergency room doors.
The red light above them still glowed ominously, signaling that they were still inside, still fighting for Angel and the baby.
His eyes burned with emotion—pain, fear, but most of all, hope.
Just one chance. That's all I need.