Then he saw her. A woman lay propped against a marble crypt, its surface stained dark by rain. Her coat was torn, her shoes lost, and her long dark hair clung to her face. Blood spread beneath her, diluted by rainwater that flowed toward the path.
She was heavily pregnant. She lifted her head with effort, her eyes locking onto him with fierce urgency. “Sir,” she whispered, her voice breaking, “the baby is coming.”
Thomas felt panic rise like a wave. He had never assisted a birth. He barely knew how to calm himself in a crisis, let alone someone else. Yet there was no one else here, and something in her gaze left no room for refusal.
“Try to breathe slowly,” he said, forcing steadiness into his voice. “I am here. You are not alone.”
Tears streaked down her cheeks as another contraction seized her. “Do not let my child die,” she pleaded.
He tried to call emergency services, but the screen showed no signal. The cemetery swallowed sound and connection alike.
Between gasps, she spoke again, her words uneven but deliberate. “My name is Evelyn Crosswell. I lead Crosswell Industries.”
Thomas stared at her, stunned. He recognized the name from headlines and business magazines left behind in his cab. She was one of the most powerful executives in the country, known for her ruthless discipline and strategic brilliance.
“And you are here,” he murmured, unable to understand.
“They betrayed me,” she said through clenched teeth. “My husband and the board wanted me erased. They wanted this child gone with me.”
Another scream tore through the night, echoing off stone and rain. There was no more time for questions. Thomas pulled off his jacket and spread it on the ground, ignoring the cold soaking into his clothes. He knelt beside her, speaking softly, guiding her breathing, holding her hand when the pain overwhelmed her.
“Stay with me,” he urged. “Hold on for your daughter.”
Moments blurred together in terror and determination until a sudden cry pierced the darkness, sharp and undeniable. A baby cried. Thomas collapsed to his knees, sobbing openly as he wrapped the tiny girl in his jacket. She was small and fragile, her skin slick with rain and blood, but she was breathing, alive, and furious at the world she had entered.
Evelyn smiled weakly, tears mingling with rain. She gripped Thomas’s wrist. “Thank you,” she whispered. “If I do not make it, promise me you will protect her.”