Hired Husband

As Harry Montana's car screeched to a halt, his security detail sprang into action, barking orders amidst the chaos.

"Get Mr. Montana out of the car, now!" one of the guards shouted, his voice strained with urgency.

Harry, adrenaline pumping, felt a surge of panic as he saw the glint of rifle scopes in the distance. "What's happening?" he demanded, his heart pounding in his chest.

Another guard, his eyes scanning the surroundings, replied sharply, "We're under attack, sir! We need to move, now!"

With bullets whizzing past them, the security team formed a protective shield around Harry, their training kicking in as they ushered him out of the car and towards cover.

"Stay low, sir!" one of the guards yelled, his voice muffled by the cacophony of gunfire.

Harry winced as a bullet grazed his arm, sending a searing pain through his body. "I'm hit!" he gasped, clutching his wounded arm with blood soaking his black suit.

"We'll get you out of here, sir!" another guard assured him, his voice unwavering despite the danger.

Despite the chaos, Harry's trust in his security detail remained steadfast as they fought to keep him safe amidst the deadly onslaught.

As the firefight raged on, Harry watched in horror as one by one, his loyal security team members fell to the ruthless precision of the assassins' gunfire.

"No, no, stay with me!" Harry cried out, desperation creeping into his voice as he witnessed the grim reality unfolding before him.

But despite their valiant efforts, the relentless barrage of bullets proved too much, and soon, the once formidable wall of protection lay shattered, leaving Harry exposed and vulnerable.

With adrenaline coursing through his veins, Harry knew he had to act fast. Ignoring the pain throbbing in his injured arm, he made a split-second decision to abandon the safety of the car and make a run for it on foot but the gun fire was way too much for him to make such such an attempt.

He quickly ran and heed by one of his cars which had been pierced all over with bullets. His eyes were soaked with both fear and anxiety as he held his bleeding arm wondering how he was going to make it out of this alive.

Suddenly, the gunfire seized. Harry was surprised. He quietly lifted his head and took one look ahead, he gasped at what he saw, they were about to send an RPG his way.

“No, no, this cannot happen” he cried out with urgency.

As the RPG detonated, consuming Harry's car in a blazing inferno, chaos erupted all around him.

With the deafening roar of the explosion ringing in his ears, Harry's instincts kicked in, propelling him into action.

Despite the searing heat, Harry spotted a nearby manhole cover, its metal surface glinting faintly in the dim light. With no time to spare, he dashed towards it, his heart pounding in his chest.

With a desperate heave, Harry managed to pry the heavy cover open, revealing a dark, narrow passage beneath. Without hesitation, he lowered himself into the darkness below, the acrid stench of sewage assaulting his senses as he disappeared into the depths.

As he navigated the labyrinthine tunnels beneath the city streets, Harry's mind raced with a thousand thoughts.

He was on the route to assume his role as the new CEO of his late father’s company when he fell victim to an attack.

Navigating through the tunnel, he let out a deep sigh, his hand clasping his bleeding arm. He was certain the assassins presumed him dead, given the ordeal he'd endured. He was equally certain that the media frenzy surrounding his supposed assassination was reaching a fever pitch, fueled by his wealth and celebrity status. The entire city was likely abuzz with speculation and shock at the news of his alleged demise.

Amidst the chaos of his situation, he mulled over the identity of his assailants and, more importantly, the motives behind their attack. Did they act alone, or were they merely pawns in a larger scheme? He couldn't shake the haunting thought that the same individual responsible for targeting him might also be implicated in his father's untimely demise. As he surveyed the dismal confines of the tunnel, the urgency of his predicament weighed heavily on his mind. How could he possibly endure, with each passing moment bringing him closer to the brink of oblivion?

With each passing second, his strength waned. Sitting quietly in a corner, his breaths labored, he hastily removed his suit, tearing the fabric at the site of the gunshot wound to fashion a makeshift tourniquet.

Gritting his teeth, he struggled to summon whatever strength remained within him. The tunnel offered scant visibility, and remaining until nightfall posed the risk of succumbing to his injuries before finding an escape route.

"I must find a way out," he muttered, his throat parched and eyelids heavy. Every movement was an effort, compounded by the loss of blood.

Summoning every ounce of determination, he rose to his feet and pressed on in search of an exit, mindful to avoid the same street where he had narrowly escaped death at the hands of ruthless assassins.

As darkness crept in, Harry grappled with the uncertainty of how much longer he could endure before succumbing to unconsciousness, potentially meeting his demise within the confines of the tunnel, never to be discovered. "I refuse to meet my end in this forsaken place," he repeated as a mantra, his resolve unyielding.

A surge of relief flooded him upon discovering an escape route. Drawing a deep breath, he mustered the last of his strength to crawl out of the manhole onto the desolate street, grateful for the cloak of solitude. With a determined effort, he sealed the manhole and sought refuge in a secluded enclave, biding his time until darkness provided cover.

His gaze fell upon the cracked screen of his cherished Rolex, a poignant reminder of happier times and the love of his mother who had gifted it to him. Tears welled in his eyes as he contemplated the anguish his mother would endure upon receiving news of his demise. Their family had already weathered devastating losses—their radiant sister Aphrodite, and their father—and now, he teetered on the precipice of death.

Blinking back tears, Harry steeled himself for the next step. As night descended, he navigated a desolate alleyway.

Coming to a halt before an iron door, he pounded on it with what little strength remained, before succumbing to unconsciousness.

Seconds later, the door creaked open, and Doctor Stephen emerged, his astonishment evident as he laid eyes on Harry sprawled before his doorstep, his arm stained with blood. Having heard the news of Harry's supposed assassination earlier, Doctor Stephen's disbelief was palpable. "How on earth is he still alive?" he muttered incredulously, quickly checking Harry's pulse to confirm his suspicions.

Kane paced the hospital lobby with restless energy, his frustration palpable. "If I get hold of that maid, I swear I'll strangle her."

Mirabel placed a calming hand on his shoulder. "The police are already on it, Kane. Let’s just pray your father pulls through."

"I don’t care if the police are involved or not. The moment I lay eyes on her, she'll meet her end," Kane insisted vehemently.

Harry averted his gaze, his hands buried deep in his pockets.

Just hours earlier, his father had summoned him to his study, only to start foaming at the mouth and collapse before he could speak. Harry's suspicions fell on the glass of juice on the desk; it seemed likely someone had poisoned him. Whatever his father had wanted to discuss must have been urgent. He was never one for idle chatter; always a man of few words, preferring peace and quiet.

"Ah, there you are, doctor," Kane exclaimed as he approached the weary-looking physician emerging from the emergency ward, br