A week had passed since Tesmee's return from Russia, and she was out for her usual evening jog. With her earbuds in, she moved to the intense beats of "Minefields" by Faouzia and John Legend. Lost in the rhythm, she didn't notice the black Mercedes-Benz speeding toward her. In an instant, the car door swung open, and a man jumped out, firing two shots as the vehicle sped away.
Tesmee crumpled to the ground, pain flooding her as blood poured from the wounds—one in her right arm and another in her lower abdomen. Gripping the injuries with a shaky hand, she tried to stop the bleeding, but the damage was too great. Her body trembled, but she managed to call one of her men, her voice strained as she relayed her location and condition.
Ten agonizing minutes later, her men arrived in a black Rolls-Royce, rushing to her side and quickly working to stabilize her.
They sped back to her residence, where her private doctor, Dr. Dharn, arrived with a medical team shortly after. The doctors worked for two hours, stopping the bleeding and bandaging her wounds. Once the immediate danger was handled, they carefully replaced the bloodstained sheets, and Tesmee drifted into a coma-like state, her body succumbing to exhaustion and the trauma.
Five hours later, Lorenzo arrived. He'd heard about the attack and came immediately to check on her. He entered the room, finding Tesmee still unconscious. Taking a seat on the couch, he leaned back, his mind racing. Who would dare attack her? His first instinct was Tyson, but something felt off. He studied her still form, calculating his next steps.
Lorenzo knew Tesmee's usual strength, her leadership, and her determination, but now she was vulnerable, and he couldn't ignore the weight of the situation. He couldn't allow this attack to go unanswered. So, he stayed by her side, determined to see her wake, to hear her thoughts, and to find out who was behind the attempt on her life.
As night turned to day, he kept watch, never once leaving her side. And then, as the first light of dawn crept in, Tesmee's faint groan broke the silence. Lorenzo's head snapped up, and he rushed to her side, his movements quick and precise. He helped her sit up, supporting her weak frame with his hands, a small sense of relief filling him when he saw the faintest glimmer of consciousness in her eyes.
Tesmee's gaze locked with his as she looked around, disoriented but awake. Her eyes were cold, calculating, full of the sharpness she'd always had. "How are you feeling?" Lorenzo asked gently.
She winced as she shifted, her voice steady but laced with a deadly edge. "I feel a bit of pain, but nothing I can't handle. And I'll be fine once whoever did this is buried."
Her words hit like a warning shot, the venom in her voice making it clear that whoever had orchestrated this attack would pay.
Lorenzo watched her closely, his brow furrowing. "Who do you think did this? Besides Tyson? You have plenty of enemies."
Tesmee's gaze grew distant as she thought it over, her mind quickly sorting through the possibilities. After a long pause, she spoke, her tone flat, "Right now, I only think of Tyson."
A thick silence filled the room. Lorenzo's expression remained unreadable as he took her words in. Finally, he broke the silence, his tone shifting to something more cautionary. "Tesmee, this is too dangerous. Even if Tyson's behind it—or if it's someone else—you can't afford to take risks. You need to stay protected. You need to be cautious."
Her sharp interruption cut through the air. "My men are not bulletproof, Lorenzo!"
Her words were fired with frustration, and for a moment, anger flashed in her eyes. She took a steadying breath, trying to calm herself. "I know that. But my men are the best. I trust them with my life. We need to find out who did this, not sit here talking about my fragility." She stared at him, a silent challenge hanging between them, and the unspoken understanding that this was far from over.
Lorenzo held her gaze, his voice softening. "I'm not saying you're fragile. We just have to be careful, that's all. We can't take chances."
Tesmee sighed, her tension easing slightly. She nodded curtly. "Fine. Can you pass me a glass of water? Let's talk once I've had a shower."
Meanwhile, at the Hale residence, breakfast was underway. The sound of clinking plates filled the air, a normal morning in the Hale household. Tywin, still a toddler, sat on his mother's lap, giggling as he played with his food. It was peaceful, warm, and intimate until Damon, Tyson's younger brother, casually broke the silence. "I hired a small team to take out Tesmee yesterday," he said, his voice indifferent but carrying an edge of excitement. "They shot her, but I'm not sure if..."
Before Damon could finish his sentence, Tyson's fury erupted. He shot to his feet, sending his chair crashing to the floor. With a violent motion, he hurled his plate across the room, shattering it. The sound of it breaking echoed through the house, freezing the room in shock. The family stared at Tyson in stunned silence, unsure of what to make of his reaction.