Please Come Back, My Love novel Chapter 181

e Chapter 181

Elena: POV

The gunshot rang out like the end of the world.

For a split second, I watched Julian’s body jerk forward. Saw the exact moment the bullet tore through his shoulder, just below the collarbone. Saw the blood

spray in a crimson arc across the gray concrete.

Then he was falling.

Falling toward me.

My brain short-circuited. Completely fucking flatlined.

Because Julian Sterling-the man who’d spent three years treating me like a convenient body, who’d told me I wasn’t worth carrying his child, who’d forced

me to have sex with me less than twelve hours ago-had just thrown himself between me and a bullet.

“JULIAN!”

I caught him. Barely. His weight nearly took us both down. My knees hit the concrete hard enough to make stars explode across my vision, but I didn’t let

Couldn’t let go.

His blood was everywhere. Hot. Sticky. Soaking through my shirt, my hands, pooling on the rooftop beneath us. The metallic smell hit me like a punch to

the gut.

“Elena… His voice came out strangled. Weak. Blood flecked his lips. “You…okay?”

Was he serious?

“Shut up.” My hands pressed against the wound, trying to stem the flow. Blood pulsed between my fingers with each heartbeat. Too much blood. Way too fucking much. “Don’t you dare-don’t you fucking dare talk right now.”

The bald gunman was on the ground ten feet away. Unconscious. I’d kicked his skull hard enough to hear something crack-a sound that would probably

haunt my nightmares.

୮

The other two were zip-tied by hospital security who’d finally shown up, shouting into radios and securing the scene.

But all I could see was Julian.

His face had gone gray, lips colorless. Eves unfocused and glassy. Each breath came shallow and labored.

‘DOCTOR!” I screamed toward the hospital entrance, my voice cracking with desperation. ‘SOMEONE HELP!”

Footsteps pounded across the rooftop. Shouts echoed off the surrounding buildings. A trauma team burst through the rooftop access door, rolling two

gurneys and carrying medical bags.

“We have two patients, a paramedic called out, taking in the scene. ‘Gunshot wound and internal bleeding from the earlier incident.

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Chapter 181

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They moved with practiced efficiency. The first team went straight to Mom, who was conscious but pale, clutching her side.

“Elena… she whispered as they strapped her down, checking her vitals.

‘I’m here, Mom. You’re going to be okay. The words felt hollow, automatic. My focus kept drifting back to Julian.

Then the second team reached us. “Gunshot wound, left shoulder,” I gasped, my hands still pressed against the bleeding. Maybe hit the subclavian artery-1

don’t know-there’s so much blood-/

“Ma’am, we need you to step back,” a nurse said firmly, kneeling beside Julian with a bag of supplies.

‘No-

“We need space to work.” She was already cutting away his shirt, exposing the wound. “You can help by giving us reom.”

A different nurse tried to pull me away as they loaded him onto the second gurney. I snarled at her, my protective instincts flaring.

‘Ma’am, we need space-

I’m not leaving them!”

Julian’s good hand found mine as they lifted the gurney. His grip was weak-weaker than it should be-but desperate.

“Elena.” His eyes locked on mine, clear for just a moment despite the pain medication they’d already pushed. “Your mom…she’ll be okay…”

Then they were both gone. Racing through the hospital doors on squeaking wheels. Mom first, Julian right behind, both disappearing into the fluorescent-lit

chaos of the ER.

I stood there on the blood-stained rooftop. Frozen. Covered in his blood.

The ER was pure chaos.

They’d taken Mom into surgery first-emergency surgery to control the internal bleeding. Dr. Navarro, the pancreatic specialist Julian had somehow contacted mid-flight, personally scrubbed in.

contr

I caught a glimpse of him through the OR window, already in surgical gear, barking orders to his team about hemorrhage control and the complications of

operating on a pancreatic cancer patient.

Twenty minutes later, Julian disappeared into another operating room. Bullet removal. The attending surgeon-a tired-looking woman with kind eyes-tried

to explain the procedure.

Something about nerve damage, subclavian artery, potential complications. But the medical jargon blurred together into white noise.

I tried to follow both gurneys. Different nurses blocked me each time.

*Family waiting area is down the hall.

‘I need to be with them-

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Chapter 181

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Maar, you can’t go into the OR. But I promise, they’re both in the best hands.”

The best hands. Because Julian had made a phone call from thirty thousand feet.

I paced the waiting room like a caged animal. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting everything in harsh, clinical white. Sat down in an uncomfortable plastic chair. Stood up./Paced again.

My hands were still covered in his blood. Dried now. Rust-brown and flaking off in pieces when I flexed my fingers. I should wash it off. Should find a

bathroom and scrub until my skin was raw.

But I couldn’t make myself move.

Every time I closed my eyes, I saw it. That split second when the gun barrel steadied. When the bald bastard’s finger tightened on the trigger. When I

realized I was about to die.

When Julian moved.

He hadn’t hesitated. Hadn’t calculated the risk or weighed his options. Just moved. Threw himself between me and death without a second thought.

The same man who’d pinned me against a wall last night. Who’d forced my legs apart and fucked me while I cried. Who’d told me my body “belonged to

him.”

That man had taken a bullet for me.

I didn’t know what the fuck to do with that information.

An hour crawled by. Then another. The waiting room clock ticked with agonizing slowness.

My mother was still in surgery. Julian was still in surgery.

I was going insane.

Other families came and went. A crying woman clutching a toddler. An elderly man with worried eyes. Normal people dealing with normal emergencies. Not women whose complicated relationships had just taken a bullet to the shoulder.

Finally-finally-I saw a gurney being wheeled out of the surgical wing. Julian. Unconscious, pale as death, but breathing. The sfeady beep of monitors

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