Divorced, But Queen - Chapter 394: Chapter 394

The car pulled up outside the film studio. Aria shrugged on her jacket, making sure every trace of blood was hidden.
"Aria..." White Fox's voice was thick with worry and something deeper, almost unspoken. "You can't keep being this good to people. Not anymore."
Aria glanced at him with a wry smile. "You're the only ones who think I'm 'good.' Most people just see me as cold and heartless. Even my own family thinks that way."
She closed the car door and headed toward the hotel without looking back.
White Fox watched her retreating figure, a single tear sliding down his cheek.
Aria had finally managed to carve out an ordinary life for herself—she couldn't afford to let him drag her back into danger.
As soon as her silhouette vanished, White Fox started the car and drove straight to the nearest hospital.
On the way, his phone rang. It was Curtis.
Instantly, White Fox was on guard. "Mr. Kelley."
"You failed your mission?" Curtis's tone was chillingly calm, as if he'd known all along.
White Fox hesitated only a second. "Yes. Russell's tough."
"If he were easy to kill, I wouldn't have sent you. How'd you get away?" Curtis asked.
He was alone on this job—yet Curtis already knew he'd escaped within just two hours.
Curtis thought, 'Did he have someone inside Wolfshade Syndicate? Or was he in cahoots with Russell?'
"Aria saved me," White Fox admitted.
Aria pressed the elevator button, then texted Vanessa to let her know she was safe.
Filming had run late, so Vanessa was probably still at work herself.
Aria didn't mention being injured; this was something she could handle on her own.
"Aria."
A familiar voice called her name, breaking the silence in the nearly deserted hotel lobby.
The air felt strangely hushed, except for the slow, steady footsteps coming up behind her.
Aria slid her phone away and turned. "Didn't feel like going out tonight?"
Owen shrugged. "Already walked around enough."
As he got closer, he caught a faint metallic scent.
His gaze traveled over her face, then stopped—his brow furrowed sharply. "You're hurt."
There was no point hiding it. "Just a scratch," Aria replied softly.
But under the bright lights, Owen saw the blood soaking her collar—a deep, jarring red.
Her lips were pale. Too pale.
She must've lost a lot of blood, and the wound hadn't been treated.
If she wasn't at the hospital, it could only mean one thing: a gunshot.
Owen's heart sank. Inside the elevator, he hit the button for the fifth floor, ready to ask if she had supplies for wound care, but was interrupted.
"Wait!"
A delivery guy rushed in, apologizing, reaching for the fifth-floor button—then saw it was already lit.
Aria had ordered first aid supplies and medicine on the way here. She called out her phone number and room.
The delivery man double-checked and handed her the bag, but Owen was quicker, taking it from him.
Once the doors closed, he pressed the lock button and said quietly, "It's your shoulder, right? You won't be able to treat it yourself. Let me help."
Aria glanced down, automatic resistance in her voice. "I can handle it."
It was a front-facing wound; all she needed was a mirror to dig out the bullet herself.
The elevator went silent, the air heavy, until the doors chimed open on the fifth floor.
Owen strode ahead, then turned and blocked the doorway, repeating firmly, "Let me help."
Aria didn't argue this time. "Alright."
She hadn't brought her room card, so she typed in her passcode.
Owen set the supplies on the coffee table and quickly shrugged off his own jacket.
Aria sat on the sofa, hesitated, then slowly started unbuttoning her jacket with her right hand.
Her left arm hung uselessly at her side, so every movement was awkward and slow.
Owen didn't wait. He bent down, gently helped her out of her right sleeve, then slid the jacket off.
Beneath, her shoulder was wrapped in layer after layer of gauze, blood already seeping through.
One look told Owen she'd only done this to keep from bleeding out.
Owen thought, 'She must have traveled a long way to get here.'
He carefully removed the jacket and knelt at the coffee table, quickly laying out all the supplies. His hands were sure as he disinfected both his own hands and the tools, then picked up the scissors. "I'm going to cut the bandages first."
"Go ahead," Aria said.
The sharp snip of the scissors echoed in the room, every cut beating in time with Aria's heart.
She was suddenly aware of how often she'd run into Owen lately, almost like fate was pushing them together.
Layer by layer, the gauze fell away, revealing a black T-shirt soaked in blood. Blood started to well up again, fresh and vivid.
Owen's hands shook, just for a second. But he kept going, voice steady. "I'm starting now."
Aria arched an eyebrow. "Okay."
Owen carefully cut the neckline open and gently peeled the shirt back.
When the wound was finally exposed to the air, his pupils contracted.
Her shoulder was a mangled mess of raw flesh and swelling, blood still oozing. It was nothing short of brutal.
"We need to clean it. This'll hurt," Owen warned, but he didn't slow down, rinsing the wound from the edge inward, barely caring that her shirt was getting soaked.
His brow furrowed into a hard knot. "I'm using anesthetic."
"Alright," Aria replied.
He numbed the area, then handed her a flashlight. "Hold this."
She complied, and he worked quickly, carefully searching for the bullet.
His movements were efficient and gentle. Suddenly, he tweezed out a tiny, bloodied fragment. He paused. "What's this?"
Aria glanced over, remembering the moment Russell had ground his hand into her wound. "Glass. From Russell."
Owen's eyes darkened. "Russell did this?"
"Yeah," Aria said simply.
Owen's grip tightened unconsciously as he fished out another shard.
The bullet had missed anything vital, but it was lodged deep.
He could guess how it happened. Straight-on shot.
She must have pulled the trigger herself. The wound had clearly been crushed afterward, too.
His lips pressed into a hard line, anger flickering in his eyes.
All his focus was on the wound—he didn't notice the slight tension in Aria's posture, the way her body stiffened under his touch.
Despite the anesthesia, Aria felt Owen's breath, warm against her neck, close and constant.
It tickled and made her flush a little with heat.
She swallowedm grateful her Adam's apple wasn't prominent, so maybe he wouldn't notice.
The scalpel grazed her skin. Owen looked up. "Does it hurt?"
Aria's gaze fell into his worried eyes.
Her heart skipped, and she softened her voice. "No."
The anesthetic wasn't fully working yet; it hurt, but she could bear it.
Blood still oozed. He had to work fast.
The air felt colder, the whole atmosphere tighter, even though his hands were gentle and his focus absolute.
Beneath it all, there was a fury in his expression that even his tenderness couldn't hide.