The bank was buzzing, but in a steady, almost boring way. Papers shuffled, pens clicked, and muffled conversations filled the air. I leaned against the counter, shifting uncomfortably, my hand resting on my swollen belly. Six months along, even standing for a few minutes felt heavy. Rafe stood beside me, posture straight, eyes on the teller as he handled whatever “rich man stuff” he always seemed to have.

I watched him, not the crowd. His sharp jawline, his restless fingers tapping against his thigh, the faint crease between his brows when he concentrated. For a moment, I almost forgot where we were. Just me, him, our baby — an ordinary day. Safe.

Then the doors slammed open.

The sound cracked through the room, followed by a scream. A man in a mask stormed in, a gun raised, and the calm shattered like glass under a hammer. My breath caught, my body freezing, my pulse instantly spiking.

Chaos erupted. People shrieked, shoved, scrambled. The crowd surged like a violent tide, and I was dragged away from Rafe in seconds, bodies pressing against me, cutting me off from him. My chest burned as panic surged.

Where’s Rafe? Where’s Rafe? The baby. The baby. Not safe. Not safe here.

I spun, eyes darting, tears already pricking. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. The noise roared around me, but all I heard was the frantic pounding of my own heart. And then—

Cold metal pressed against my temple.

The blood drained from my face. My body went rigid. A rough hand clamped down on my arm, dragging me back into a trembling chest. The gun pressed harder, my head tilting with its weight.

And across the room—Rafe.

His eyes locked on mine, and I saw his soul crack open. His face dropped in an instant, like the world collapsed under him.

“Stop!” His voice tore through the chaos, sharp and desperate. “She’s pregnant! Six months. With my child. Please, take everything, take me—just let her go!”

My breath came out in ragged gasps, tears spilling hot down my face. I couldn’t move. Couldn’t fight. The only thing tethering me was Rafe’s voice, the raw panic in it.

The man behind me shook — I could feel his fear. His grip was tight, desperate. He knew he was trapped. Sirens wailed outside, growing louder, sealing his fate. But the gun stayed firm, pressed against me, harder with every twitch.

Rafe took a step forward. My captor flinched. The barrel dug deeper into my skull. I sobbed, my whole body trembling.

And then — a shot cracked the air.

My scream ripped out, wild and broken, certain it was the end. My ears rang, my body jolted. But the gun slipped from me, the hand let go, and the weight behind me disappeared.

Strong arms yanked me forward, clutching me like I was the only thing keeping him alive. Rafe. His chest heaved against me, his face buried in my hair, one hand gripping the back of my head, the other shielding my stomach.

“You’re safe. You’re safe,” he whispered, his voice shaking, breaking. “I almost lost you. I almost—”

His words cut off, swallowed by the sound of police storming in, shouting orders. The robber was on the ground. It didn’t matter anymore.

Because in that moment, all that existed was his heartbeat crashing against mine, his arms shaking as he clung to me, and the truth that our calm had shattered — but we survived.