Saved By The Ruthless Rival Don

Ellie POV

The painkillers blurred the edges of the world into a soft haze, but the throbbing agony in my arm and the stitches in my head were sharp anchors to reality.

I was discharged two days later. I didn't bother going home. I went straight to the private airfield where Julian Croft’s jet was waiting.

Chloe drove. We didn't speak. There was nothing left to say.

But we never made it to the tarmac.

A convoy of black SUVs swarmed the access road, cutting us off. Thorne security.

My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird.

Marcus stepped out of the lead vehicle. He looked impeccable, as always—suit tailored, hair perfect—but there was a dangerous tightness around his eyes.

He walked to my window and tapped on the glass.

I rolled it down three inches.

"Where do you think you're going?" he asked. His tone wasn't worried. It was annoyed. Possessive. Like I was a set of keys he had misplaced.

"Away," I said. "I have business to attend to."

"With Croft?" He sneered. "I heard his men scraped you off the pavement. You're making us look weak, Ellie. Consorting with the enemy."

"You left me bleeding in a parking lot to carry your mistress who had a twisted ankle," I said. My voice was flat. Dead.

He flinched. Just a fraction. "Izzy was in shock. She's fragile. You... you're tough, Ellie. You always handle yourself."

"I'm tough?" I laughed, a dry, humorless sound that scraped my throat. "Is that why you left me to die?"

"Stop being dramatic," he snapped. "I knew security was there. I knew they'd get you. Izzy needed me."

Another car pulled up. Izzy.

Of course.

She hopped out, favoring her right foot slightly, wearing a tracksuit that cost more than my entire car.

"Marcus, baby, don't be too hard on her," she called out, limping over. She looked at me with wide, fake-sympathetic eyes. "Ellie, I was so worried. Are you okay? I told Marcus we should send flowers."

"I don't want your flowers," I said. "I want you both to move your cars."

"We just want to make sure you aren't doing anything stupid," Izzy said, leaning against my car door. "Like leaking family secrets to Croft."

"Get away from my car," I warned.

"Or what?" She smirked.

She signaled to one of Marcus's men, a brute named Victor.

Victor nodded.

"Marcus," I said, looking at my husband. "Tell her to back off."

Marcus looked at Izzy, then at me. "She's just concerned, Ellie. Maybe you should come back to the house. We can discuss your... retirement from the business calmly."

"No."

Izzy whispered something to Victor.

Suddenly, Victor’s car, which was parked perpendicular to us on the slope of the road, began to surge forward.

"Oops," Izzy said.

The heavy SUV picked up speed. It was heading straight for the passenger side of my car.

"Ellie, get out!" Chloe screamed.

We scrambled.

I fumbled with the door handle with my bandaged arm. White-hot pain shot through my shoulder.

I stumbled out onto the wet grass just as metal screamed against metal. My car was shoved sideways, skidding toward the embankment that led down to the icy river below.

I lost my footing on the slick mud.

I tumbled.

My head hit a rock. The world spun violently. I slid down the steep bank, clawing at the grass, but my injured arm was useless.

I hit the water.

It was freezing. A shock to the system that stole the air from my lungs instantly.

I thrashed, trying to find the surface, but the current was strong. The water was dark and heavy, filling my nose, my mouth.

I saw a blurred shape on the bank above. Marcus.

"Help!" I tried to scream, but water rushed in.

He stood there. He looked down.

"If you hurt Izzy, I will destroy you!" he shouted.

He thought I did this? He thought I caused the crash?

He wasn't reaching for me. He was threatening me.

I sank.

The cold numbed the pain. The darkness wrapped around me.

*So this is it,* I thought. *Died by the husband I served, drowned by the mistress he chose.*

My blood from the reopened wounds swirled in the water like red smoke.

I stopped fighting.

Then, a hand grabbed my collar.

Strong. Firm.

I was hauled upward, breaking the surface, gasping for air that burned my throat.

I was dragged onto the muddy bank.

I coughed up water, shivering violently.

I looked up.

It wasn't Marcus.

It was a man with eyes like storm clouds and a jaw set in granite.

Julian Croft.

He looked at me, soaking wet and shivering, and then he looked up at the road where Marcus stood watching.

Julian didn't say a word to me. He just took off his coat and wrapped it around my shoulders.

It was heavy. It was warm.

It smelled like safety.