Henry's POV...
Lucian got shot.
The news was already carrying it—breaking news flashing across every screen, every social media platform, every gossip site. The trillionaire Lucian Thorne, shot point-blank in broad daylight during a protest turned riot. The details were murky. The motive unclear. The fallout—unimaginable.
And now, here I was, driving like a madman toward his home—the sprawling, fortress-like estate outside the city. My hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly my knuckles were white, my heart pounding with a wild, reckless urgency I couldn't quite explain.
I wasn't panicking because Lucian was dying.
I was panicking because he might not.
Not yet.
The gates were already open when I arrived, guards in black tactical gear motioning me through without a word. I parked haphazardly, tires screeching on the gravel, and was out of the car before it fully settled.
