WHEN THE WAR IS PERSONAL
Emily sat at the edge of James’s hospital bed; her fingers still laced through his.
His grip was weak, but his blue eyes burned with fury, with determination—even as his body fought to recover.
Even half-conscious, James Sterling was already planning their next move.
“Tell me everything,” he murmured, voice rough from exhaustion.
Emily exhaled, glancing at Liam, who stood against the wall, arms crossed, watching. Waiting.
So, she told him.
Everything.
Margaret’s escape.
Olivia’s betrayal.
The bullet wound in her side.
The knife wound in his.
James’s jaw tightened. His free hand curled into a fist.
“Olivia played us,” he muttered.
Emily nodded.
James let out a sharp breath, his frustration bleeding through his features.
“She was my friend too,” Emily
