His Unwanted Wife, The Nation's Hero

BANG! The heavy glass doors of Le Bernardin exploded inward. A storm of shattered safety glass and metal framing rained down onto the marble foyer. A man wearing a black ski mask and a heavy tactical vest stormed through the ruined entrance. He pumped the action of a 12-gauge shotgun and fired a blast straight into the crystal chandelier above. Glass shards rained down like deadly hail. Screams erupted from every corner of the dining room. Diners threw themselves onto the floor, knocking over tables and shattering expensive plates. Cilla's military instincts hijacked her nervous system instantly. She grabbed the back of Lena's collar and yanked her hard to the ground, pulling her behind a massive, load-bearing marble pillar. "Nobody move!" the shooter roared, his voice muffled by the mask. "Wallets, watches, jewelry on the tables! Now!" Jace and Carolyn were still standing frozen near the center of the room, completely exposed. Carolyn looked at the man with the gun. Her knees buckled. She collapsed onto the floor and let out a piercing, hysterical scream. She wrapped her arms around Jace's legs, sobbing violently. The shooter's head snapped toward the noise. "Shut up!" the gunman screamed, raising the heavy barrel of the shotgun and pointing it directly at Carolyn's head. Jace looked down the dark, hollow barrel of the weapon. His heart hammered against his ribs so hard it felt like it was breaking them. Pure, blinding panic took over his brain. The gunman's finger tightened on the trigger. He was going to make an example out of her. From behind the pillar, Cilla saw the angle. She saw the finger pulling back. She hated Jace. She despised Carolyn. But she was a soldier. She could not watch unarmed civilians get slaughtered. Cilla grabbed a heavy silver serving tray from a fallen cart next to her. She lunged out from behind the pillar. "Hey!" Cilla shouted at the top of her lungs. She hurled the silver tray like a frisbee. It spun through the air and crashed heavily into the gunman's shoulder. The impact threw his aim off. The shotgun blasted into the ceiling, sending plaster raining down. The gunman roared in anger. He pumped the shotgun, ejecting the spent shell, and swung the barrel directly toward Cilla. Cilla was caught in the open aisle. She immediately dove forward, sprinting toward the heavy oak table where Jace and Carolyn were cowering. She needed cover. As she slid toward the edge of the table, the gunman tracked her movement. Cilla reached her hand out. Jace was crouched right at the edge. If he just grabbed her wrist, he could pull her behind the thick wood in a fraction of a second. Jace saw her coming. He saw the gun pointing in their direction. In that microscopic fraction of time, Jace's survival instinct clashed with his misguided savior complex. He looked at Carolyn crying on the floor. Jace didn't reach for Cilla's hand. In a split second of pure panic, Jace made a choice. He didn't reach for her. Instead, he brought both of his hands up and shoved Cilla's shoulders as hard as he could, clearing a path for himself. He used that desperate burst of adrenaline to dive backward, completely covering Carolyn with his own body. The violent push threw Cilla off balance. She stumbled backward, completely exposed in the open aisle. BANG! The shotgun roared. A blinding, white-hot pain tore through the outside of Cilla's left bicep. The impact of the buckshot felt like a sledgehammer hitting her arm, the sheer, searing agony buckling her knees instantly. The force knocked her completely off balance, sending her crashing to the floor, her shoulder taking the brunt of the heavy impact against the marble. Blood immediately soaked through the sleeve of her blazer, dripping onto the pristine white tiles. Cilla clutched her bleeding arm. She gritted her teeth against the burning agony. She slowly lifted her head. Ten feet away, Jace was huddled behind the table. His arms were wrapped tightly around Carolyn. He was staring wide-eyed at Cilla, his chest heaving, his face pale with terror. He had pushed her into the line of fire to save the woman he loved. Cilla stared at his hands. The hands that had just shoved her toward death. The pain in her arm was excruciating, but it was nothing compared to the absolute, freezing void that swallowed her heart. Every single memory, every lingering thread of attachment, every ounce of humanity she had ever felt for Jace Hudson died right there on the floor. Her eyes went completely dark. The marriage was over.