After the Affair Falling into a Billionaire's Arms novel Chapter 55

**Clocks Lie To Hearts by Asa River Flint**

The man recoiled, his expression a mix of disbelief and fear. He had never anticipated that a woman could unleash such ferocity upon him.

Amidst the tension, a voice emerged from the shadows, muttering disdainfully, “Who cares if she lives or dies? We were paid to do a job. Even if she dies, we’re still going through with it.”

“Exactly! Let’s get this done!” The others snapped back to reality, their resolve hardening as they lunged forward, wrenching the knife from her desperate grip. In mere moments, she found herself completely overpowered, pinned helplessly to the bed.

A feverish wave of dread swept over her, mingling with the revulsion of countless hands tearing at her clothing, stripping away her dignity. She felt her strength waning, her will to fight dissipating like smoke in the wind.

Filthy, calloused hands crawled up her legs, one of them clutching a syringe, a sinister promise of what was to come. They were preparing to inject something vile into her veins.

A crushing wave of despair enveloped her, and tears streamed down her cheeks, hot and bitter. Even in the face of impending death, she resolved not to surrender to these men. With a heavy heart, she closed her eyes and bit down on her tongue, contemplating the finality of it all.

Just then, the sharp sound of a keycard unlocking the door sliced through the oppressive atmosphere. A thunderous crash followed as the door was flung open with a force that made the walls tremble. The men in the room froze, their expressions shifting from arrogance to alarm.

By this time, Louisa’s consciousness was slipping away. She lay there, utterly vulnerable on the bed, her hair a tangled mess, clothes in tatters, blood trickling from her wrist onto the pristine white carpet, staining it crimson.

Through the fog of her fading awareness, she could make out a group of figures standing in the doorway, forming a protective barrier.

In the center of that formation stood a tall, imposing silhouette. Although her vision was blurred, a name surged to the forefront of her mind: Julian. He had come for her, and a flicker of hope ignited within her.

With purposeful strides, he approached, shedding his jacket and wrapping it around her trembling body before gently helping her to sit up.

“Mr. Tudor,” she managed to whisper, her voice barely audible, a fragile thread of connection in the chaos.

“I’m here. I’m here,” he reassured her, his voice steady yet laced with urgency. In that fleeting moment, his usual air of elegance faltered, replaced by a raw, ice-cold intensity. Yet, despite the turmoil, his voice remained a warm balm, soothing her frayed nerves.

Words escaped her lips, and she collapsed into his embrace, surrendering to the safety he offered.

Julian held her close, his gaze sweeping over her. Her eyes were closed, heavy with exhaustion, her delicate features marred by tear-streaked trails. Her long lashes fluttered, a testament to her fragility, as blood continued to seep from her wrist. In that moment, she was a portrait of quiet desperation, an ethereal beauty shattered yet resilient.

A tightness gripped his chest as he hastily removed his tie, wrapping it around her bleeding wrist with a gentle urgency. “Don’t be afraid. I’m taking you away from here,” he whispered, his words a promise.

She nodded, trust evident in her eyes as he lifted her into his arms, cradling her against him.

By this point, Teddy’s men had successfully restrained all the attackers. Julian carried Louisa past Teddy, his voice cold as ice, “Handle this.”

“Yes, sir!” Teddy responded, his tone sharp and obedient.

Julian strode out with Louisa nestled against him, urgency propelling him forward. “Bob, get the car ready!” Her condition demanded immediate medical attention, and every second counted.

Bob, ever efficient, took the wheel while Julian settled in the backseat, holding Louisa close. The clean, refined scent of him enveloped her, instilling a sense of safety amidst the chaos. In her disoriented state, she instinctively pressed closer, seeking solace.

Displeased, she wrapped her arms around his neck, burying her face against his throat. The drugs had quickened her breathing, each warm exhale brushing against his skin like gentle kisses, igniting a fire within him that he struggled to control.

Julian’s own breath became uneven, a battle of restraint raging within him. He contemplated pushing her away, but the thought dissipated like mist in the morning sun. Instead, he opted to pat her head, his voice low and soothing, “Hold on. We’ll be at the hospital soon.”

The hospital they arrived at belonged to the Tudor Group, a sanctuary of sorts. Bob had called ahead, ensuring everything was prepared for their arrival. Julian carried Louisa into the operating room, his heart heavy with worry.

The procedure was swift, but the anesthesia kept her unconscious, a veil of darkness shrouding her. When she finally stirred, the night had descended, casting shadows across the room.

At first, she kept her eyes closed, listening to the rhythmic sound of pages turning nearby. Slowly, she opened her eyes, and her gaze landed on Julian, who sat elegantly on a nearby sofa, legs crossed, absorbed in reviewing documents.

Fragments of the previous night flickered through her mind like a broken film reel. He had saved her again—for the third time.

She longed to express her gratitude, but her throat felt constricted, each attempt to speak akin to a knife slicing through her.

Julian, sensing her movement, looked up, his expression shifting from concentration to concern. “You’re awake?”

Setting aside his papers, he approached her bedside, placing the back of his hand against her forehead. Relief washed over him as he noted her fever had broken.

As he began to withdraw his hand, she suddenly grasped it tightly in hers, a silent plea for connection.