Mr. Jackson smiled calmly at the flashing cameras. "Pure rumor," he said with certainty. "And I assure you, those who spread such lies will be held accountable." The press conference officially began. In the crowd, the man in the baseball cap started to edge backward toward the exit—only to find two plainclothes officers blocking his path. "In a hurry?" one of them sneered. "You can explain that to us on the way." Meanwhile, inside the embassy’s medical wing, Sloane was propped against the headboard, watching the live broadcast on her tablet. Her face was pale, the bandages across her back forcing her into a half-reclined position. The door opened, and Lucas entered with a tray of medicine, his brows drawn tight. "The doctor said you got out of bed again?" Sloane quickly set the tablet aside and gave him a guilty smile. "Just for a little while. I wanted to see how the press conference went…" "A little while?" Lucas set the tray on the bedside table. "If your wound tears open again—" He stopped mid-sentence, gently lifting the blanket to check her bandages. Seeing no sign of bleeding, his shoulders eased slightly. From the tablet came Mr. Jackson’s steady, powerful voice. Lucas glanced at the screen. "Your plan worked perfectly." "It worked because of you," Sloane said, reaching for the glass of water. The movement tugged her wound, and she winced with a sharp hiss. Lucas was immediately at her side, steadying her. His touch was careful, but his tone carried quiet authority. "Lie down." He held the cup to her lips. "Why do you always end up like this?" Sloane took a sip, her lashes lowering. "It was an improvised plan… When the assassin showed up, I had to react fast." "Improvised?" Lucas’s voice dropped an octave. "You pretended to be poisoned, and you didn’t think to tell me? Do you have any idea what it was like—watching you unconscious, not knowing if you’d ever wake up?" His voice cracked; he turned toward the window, drawing in a slow, shaky breath. Sloane’s heart tightened. She pushed herself up, ignoring the pain, and wrapped her arms around him from behind. "I’m sorry… I didn’t have time to explain." Lucas turned and gathered her into his arms, careful to avoid her injury. "You always do this," he murmured against her hair. "You carry everything alone until it nearly destroys you." Sloane looked up at him, her guilt softening into warmth. "I really am sorry." "I don’t want an apology," he said quietly. His lips brushed her forehead, the tension in his voice melting into tenderness. "Next time, if you even try this again, I’ll lock you in the house myself." Sloane let out a quiet laugh, but the motion tugged at her wound and drew a sharp breath. Lucas instantly panicked. "You’re in pain? I’ll call the doctor." "No," she said quickly, catching his hand. "Just hold me. Take me back to bed." Lucas lifted her carefully, his movements slow and protective, as though she were made of glass. He laid her back down and sat beside her, fingers absently combing through her long hair. Sloane’s voice softened. "You already had the medicine plan arranged, didn’t you?" Lucas nodded. "Yes. Once we confirmed a mole inside the embassy, it was obvious they’d be watching our every move. So the ambassador and I set up a decoy route—let them think they’d intercepted the shipment. The real medicine was rerouted through my private channel and delivered safely." Sloane’s lips curved faintly. "You took a huge risk." Lucas met her gaze, eyes steady. "I wasn’t going to gamble with your life."