Chap­ter 8: Bridget/Rhys start­ed with chaos that nei­ther of them could have pre­dict­ed. One moment, Brid­get had been stand­ing, and the next, she was flat­tened against the grass, shield­ed by Rhys’s sol­id body as gun­fire shat­tered the peace­ful night. Instinct took over, but fear gripped her chest like a vice, refus­ing to let go as screams echoed all around. Rhys’s calm orders to run and hide stead­ied her trem­bling limbs enough to move, even though the entire world seemed to blur. From the moment she saw the shoot­er, a ter­ri­fy­ing­ly ordi­nary man, to the sight of Rhys’s gun drawn with chill­ing pre­ci­sion, the night mor­phed into some­thing out of a night­mare. The real­i­ty that dan­ger could come so quick­ly and with­out warn­ing lodged deep inside her mind, replac­ing the evening’s ear­li­er light­ness with a raw, bit­ing fear that refused to loosen its grip.

Chap­ter 8: Brid­get stayed hid­den behind the tree, watch­ing help­less­ly as Rhys approached the armed man. Despite all log­ic scream­ing at her to stay still, she could­n’t tear her gaze away from the unfold­ing scene. See­ing Rhys put him­self between dan­ger and an inno­cent child stirred some­thing fierce inside her, some­thing that made it impos­si­ble to remain pas­sive. Mem­o­ries of her own loss, so vivid and par­a­lyz­ing, min­gled with the cur­rent hor­ror of the moment, mak­ing the past and present col­lide. When gun­fire erupt­ed again, time seemed to freeze, each sec­ond drag­ging painful­ly slow until she saw Rhys stag­ger but stay upright. Relief and pan­ic fought for dom­i­nance inside her, and the instinct to run to him over­rode every oth­er thought in her mind. She wasn’t just wor­ried about her safe­ty anymore—she was ter­ri­fied for him.

Chap­ter 8: Rac­ing to Rhys’s side, Brid­get found him already tend­ing to the downed shoot­er and the wound­ed father, who lay bleed­ing on the grass. A child clung des­per­ate­ly to his injured par­ent, and the scene pierced Bridget’s heart with bru­tal clar­i­ty. It wasn’t just about sur­vival any­more; it was about pro­tect­ing hope, love, and the bonds that teth­ered peo­ple to one anoth­er. Kneel­ing to com­fort the boy, she used every ounce of strength she had to project calm and reas­sur­ance, even though her insides were trem­bling. She saw a side of Rhys she had­n’t ful­ly glimpsed before—gentle, fierce­ly pro­tec­tive, and sur­pris­ing­ly ten­der when he reas­sured the child. As police arrived and demand­ed com­pli­ance, real­i­ty snapped back into focus, but the emo­tion­al impact of what had hap­pened left an invis­i­ble imprint that would linger long after the sirens fad­ed.

Chap­ter 8: Rhys endured med­ical checks and end­less ques­tion­ing from the author­i­ties, all while grow­ing increas­ing­ly frustrated—not for him­self, but for Bridget’s safe­ty. Watch­ing her ignore his order to stay hid­den had almost dri­ven him insane with fear, and though he masked it with gruff­ness, the depth of his con­cern for her could not be denied. Brid­get, equal­ly shak­en, con­front­ed him with the harsh truth of what it had felt like to believe he might have been shot. For a man so used to car­ry­ing bur­dens alone, hear­ing Bridget’s raw con­cern rat­tled the iron walls he usu­al­ly kept around his emo­tions. Her touch, light and care­ful against his ban­daged wound, spoke vol­umes more than her words ever could. In that moment, some­thing silent passed between them, a deep­er under­stand­ing that nei­ther dared name but both clear­ly felt.

Chap­ter 8: As they sat in the after­math, Brid­get gen­tly coaxed from Rhys a glimpse into his haunt­ed past—the guilt he car­ried from wit­ness­ing a friend’s death as a teenag­er and the vow it had etched into his soul. His con­fes­sion about stand­ing frozen while some­one he cared about died explained so much about the man he had become: the relent­less pro­tec­tor who would rather risk his life than allow his­to­ry to repeat itself. Brid­get, moved to tears she tried to hide, saw not just a sol­dier or a body­guard, but a man scarred by grief, regret, and a fierce sense of duty. She under­stood now why Rhys had been so deter­mined to save the child and his father that night. It was­n’t about hero­ism or glo­ry; it was about keep­ing a promise to him­self that no more lives would be lost if he could pre­vent it.

Chap­ter 8: Unable to hold back any longer, Brid­get stepped into Rhys’s embrace when he opened his arms, seek­ing com­fort in the steady strength he offered. The hug was awk­ward and brief by nor­mal stan­dards but mon­u­men­tal for them, break­ing down the final sliv­ers of pro­fes­sion­al dis­tance that had stub­born­ly per­sist­ed. In his arms, Brid­get felt safe in a way she hadn’t since her father’s death—anchored against a world that could change in a blink. Rhys, for his part, allowed him­self a rare moment of vul­ner­a­bil­i­ty, feel­ing the weight of his emo­tions shift slight­ly with her tucked close. Both of them knew real­i­ty would come crash­ing back soon—filled with roy­al duties, expec­ta­tions, and lines they shouldn’t cross. But for now, in the cool night air heavy with the scent of rain and gun­pow­der, they found solace in each oth­er, how­ev­er fleet­ing it might be.