Adelina Rosenthal Petrova
I opened my eyes and found myself in the blinding white of a hospital room. The sterile air reeked of antiseptic and silence — the kind that felt too heavy, too still. For a moment, I thought I was dreaming. But then the dull ache in my temples reminded me I wasn't.
The previous few hours of my life were a big mess. A blur of screaming voices, shattered glass, and flashing lights. I tried to piece together what happened, but my mind felt fogged — like someone had dipped it in smoke and left only fragments behind.
My fingers clenched the sheets, nails digging into the fabric as panic slowly crawled into my chest. Where was I? Why did I feel like I'd been watched — hunted — even before I landed here?
The door clicked open, and I froze. The silhouette that entered wasn't unfamiliar.
"Adelina," a voice snapped — sharp, angry, and laced with concern.
Nikolas.
My brother stormed in, face pale with fury, his jaw clenched tight. His usual composed aura was cracked, raw. "Do you have any idea what you've done?"
"I—" My voice came out dry, hoarse. "What happened?"
"You were almost kidnapped." His eyes narrowed. "And you just disappeared. Do you realize how insane that is?"
Kidnapped?
A chill crept down my spine. I tried to remember — flashes of a dark street, a shadow trailing too close, the sharp screech of tires — and then nothing.
"Where's Dad?" I asked quietly.
"He's outside, threatening to shut down the entire city if anything else happens to you." Nikolas let out a sharp breath, running a hand through his messy black hair. "You've officially become his worst nightmare."
I looked away, out the window, as guilt crawled into my throat. But beneath that guilt… something else stirred.
I wasn't crazy.
I'd felt it for weeks — the sensation of eyes on me when I walked alone at night, the feeling of being followed in a crowded place, like I wasn't alone even when no one was in sight. I knew something — someone — was always there.
Watching. Waiting.
But the terrifying part?
I didn't feel fear.
I felt claimed. As if I already belonged to someone... someone I didn't even know.
It's always been like this. My life has never really been mine.
My father — Zane Petrova — treats me like I'm made of glass and gold, too fragile to survive a breeze, too valuable to let out of his sight. And Nikolas… my older brother is no better. He hovers, guards, controls. As if his obsession is a form of love.
To them, I'm not a daughter or a sister. I'm a possession. A secret they keep hidden away from the world.
They've always tried to protect me — from threats, from danger, from men, from life itself.
But no one ever asked what I wanted.
I hate the feeling of being trapped — of being caged in one place like a bird with clipped wings. That suffocation, that constant surveillance, that silent pressure to behave and obey… it's what drove me to move out of my father's mansion.
I needed space. I needed to breathe.
I found my own place, far enough from his watchful eye, close enough to still make him feel like he was in control. But of course, Nikolas just moved into the apartment next door. Because God forbid I ever be alone for more than a second.
Privacy? Freedom?
Those are just illusions in the Petrova family.
They say it's because of what happened to me before — my "accident."
But no one talks about it. No one explains it. They just walk on eggshells around me like I'm some ticking time bomb waiting to explode.
And maybe I am.
I don't remember it. Not all of it. Only pieces — sharp, broken shards buried deep inside my mind. A scream. Blood. Cold hands dragging me. Sirens. A voice whispering my name in the dark.
And then nothing.
Now, I live with migraines that tear into my skull like knives. And with them come flashes — dreams, maybe memories, maybe warnings. I don't even know what's real anymore.
But one thing is certain: I'm not safe. Not really.
Not from the world.
Not from the past.
And definitely not from whoever has been watching me from the shadows.
Sometimes, I wonder if people are watching me because of me… or because of my last name.
Petrova.
Maybe it's the name that paints a target on my back. After all, when your father is Zane Petrova, one of the most powerful and ruthless politicians in the country, you're not just a daughter. You're a symbol. A bargaining chip. A threat.
Or maybe it's because of Nikolas — my older brother, the golden boy of the Petrova family. Charismatic, dangerous, untouchable. He inherited our father's sharp mind and cold ambition, but with a charm that makes the world fall at his feet.
Girls practically melt in his presence, and men either want to be him — or stay the hell out of his way.
He's tall, with a sculpted jawline that looks like it was carved by gods who knew exactly what perfection should look like. Jet-black hair that falls just right, intense dark eyes that can read people like open books, and a gaze that can either warm you or make you feel like you're about to be destroyed.
People say I'm lucky to have a brother like him.
But they don't know what it's like — being protected so much that it feels like a prison.
Nikolas has a girlfriend now — Liana Kim. She's stunning, graceful, with a kind heart and a sharp tongue that even he listens to. She's the only one who treats me like I'm normal, not some fragile little ghost from the past.
She's like a sister to me… the only person who doesn't flinch when I mention the things I half-remember. The only one who doesn't lie to my face and tell me everything's okay when it's clearly not.
But still…
Even she doesn't understand why the shadows follow me.
Why I feel like someone is breathing down my neck every time I leave the house.
Why I wake up in cold sweats with whispers echoing in my ears — a name I can't remember. A scream I never fully hear.
And the worst part?
A part of me feels like... I know the one watching me.
And deep down, I think he knows everything about me.
I was still lost in thought — the white hospital walls doing little to silence the chaos in my head — when the door opened with a quiet creak.
My father stepped in.
Zane Petrova.
Even in the dull hospital lighting, he looked as commanding as ever. His sharp features were sculpted with discipline, every angle of his face carved by years of power and control. His neatly styled hair and tailored black suit made him look like he belonged in a boardroom or a battlefield — not by a hospital bed. The knot of his dark silk tie was tight, purposeful. His eyes scanned the room first… then landed on me.
The second our eyes met, the steel melted — just a little.
Behind him, my bodyguards followed in silence, lining up near the door like loyal shadows. They never spoke. They didn't need to. Their presence said everything.
My father walked toward me, his heavy footsteps softening only as he neared the bed.
He sat on the edge of the chair beside me, his eyes quietly studying the IV in my hand, the bandage on my arm, the fatigue on my face.
"You should've called me the second it happened," he said, voice low but filled with concern buried under control.
"I didn't want to worry you," I murmured, my throat dry.
"You're my daughter, Adelina." His gaze softened. "I worry the second you're not under my roof."
He reached out, gently brushing a strand of hair from my forehead, like he used to do when I was little. That small gesture… it reminded me I was still his little girl, even in a world that had hardened both of us.
No matter how dangerous he was to the rest of the world — to me, I was always treated like a princess.
Wrapped in silk, protected by shadows, raised in power.
But right now, I was lying in a hospital bed with bruised ribs and stitched skin — and yet, under his gaze, I'd never felt more guarded.
The tension had been building for days — maybe weeks — but that night, it all exploded.
FLASHBACK
"I said no, dad!" I shouted, voice trembling with fury as I pushed away the files he had dropped on the table. "I'm not like you. I don't want this... this lie-filled world of yours."
My dad stood there — expression unreadable, arms crossed, towering over me in his pristine black suit. Cold. Silent.
"You're a Petrova," he finally said, voice like a blade. "You don't get to choose normal. You were born for this."
"No," I snapped. "You chose this life. Not me."
He moved forward, but I was already storming past him. I didn't want to hear more. Not his commands. Not his reasons. Not the weight of our family name.
I left.
Anger boiling in my chest, I climbed into my car and told my driver to take me home — not the mansion. My real home. The one place that was still mine.
But peace didn't last.
As I stepped out of the car in front of my private house, the shadows moved. Before I could react, I was ambushed. Rough hands. Cold eyes. Strangers — or maybe enemies. I fought back, but I wasn't ready. My body slammed into the ground. Boots hit my ribs. A punch split my lip. I tasted blood. My limbs gave out, bruised and burning. Somehow, I stood. One step, then another. My vision was swimming, every breath like fire. I stumbled onto the road. Maybe I was running. Maybe I just didn't care anymore. I somehow fought but it was of no use they were still behind me chasing me, I turned to a dark alley and from there to main road.
And then… silence.
They were gone. Left me there like a broken doll.
Weak. Exhausted. Alone.
Suddenly a car speeded towards me, I stood there still ready to ask for help but my knees gave out and then—black.
This is the only thing I remember.
I don't remember the impact.Not the sound of the car screeching.Not the pain.Just... darkness.
For the first time in years, silence didn't scare me. It felt like peace. Like escape. Like freedom from everything I had tried so hard to run from.
But fate wasn't done with me.
Not yet.
Because somewhere in that darkness, I felt something warm.
A hand gripping mine.
A voice — deep, unfamiliar... trembling.
"Hold on."
And maybe… just maybe…It wasn't the end.
It was the beginning.
Of something darker.Something dangerous.Something I could never walk away from.