Rose floated somewhere between shadow and light. Her body was a map of aches, every nerve buzzing faintly like a distant storm. At first, she didn't remember who she was or why pain had settled into her bones like an old tenant. Only fragments flickered — trees rushing past her, her breath tearing through her chest, the thunder of footsteps behind her, headlights blinding her vision, then the world slamming into her body with merciless force. And then—voices.
Now, slowly, her eyelids parted.
A wash of sterile brightness met her. The ceiling was white, seamless, interrupted only by the steady circle of a light fixture. The faint hiss of air conditioning hummed in the background. Somewhere nearby, a machine beeped rhythmically, the sound both steady and fragile, like the heartbeat of the room itself.
She tried to move. A sharp groan escaped her before she could stop it. Her ribs stabbed her from the inside, her legs throbbed as if someone had taken a hammer to her bones, and her throat felt raw, scorched dry. She winced, her body resisting even the effort of sitting up.
"Oh my God—you're awake."
The voice was warm, rich with both relief and worry. Rose turned her head, though the movement made the room tilt briefly.
It was a woman. She looked to be in her thirties, her fiery red hair tied loosely at the nape of her neck, strands falling across her pale, freckled face. Her blue eyes were sharp yet softened as they studied Rose. Relief washed over her features, but so did guilt.
"Hey, hey—take it easy," the woman said, leaning forward slightly. "You've been through hell."
Rose licked her lips, but her throat was sandpaper. Her voice came out hoarse. "Who…who are you?"
The woman gave her a small, apologetic smile. "My name is Karen. And, honey—I am so sorry. Argh, my son here is such a reckless driver. When I saw you hit that road, and then the car—" She shook her head, a hand pressing to her chest as if replaying it all over again. "I thought he killed you."
Rose followed her gaze to the other side of the room.
A man sat slouched in a chair, elbows braced on his knees. He looked up at the mention of him, and Rose's eyes sharpened. His hair was dark, tousled, and his jaw carried a faint stubble that suggested restless nights. His blue eyes mirrored Karen's, but his youth carried them differently—broader, more intense. He didn't look old enough to be Karen's son. Brother, maybe.
Rose raised a brow, skeptical, but Karen continued before she could ask.
"Go on," Karen said, shooting him a sharp glance. "Apologize properly."
The man groaned, standing reluctantly. "Uhm…yeah." He scratched the back of his neck as he walked toward the bed. "I'm sorry. For, you know…kinda almost killing you out there." His lips twisted in a sheepish half-smile. "I promise it won't happen again. And don't worry—your hospital bills, everything—it's covered."
Karen rolled her eyes, exasperated. "Covered, he says. As if that makes up for nearly ending her life."
Rose blinked at him, still trying to piece together her thoughts. "Oh…uhm, it's okay," she whispered, unsure of how to respond.
Karen's attention snapped back to her, worry crowding her voice. "The doctor ran some tests while you were out. They said there was…something in your system. A sedative. And, honey, the dress you were wearing… I can't stop wondering—what were you running away from?"
Rose's stomach clenched. Her fingers twisted in the thin hospital blanket, eyes lowering. Silence stretched, fragile and suffocating.
Karen's voice softened. "Don't be scared. No one's going to hurt you here. I made sure of it. I've restricted this floor—only the medical staff are allowed through." She leaned closer, her red hair slipping over her shoulder. "You're safe."
Safe. The word was foreign on Rose's tongue. She didn't know what safety meant anymore.
She whispered, "Thank you."
Karen brushed it off gently. "So tell me, sweetheart—what happened?"
Rose's throat bobbed. The words were heavy, reluctant, but hiding them felt impossible. "I… I was kidnapped," she admitted softly. "Your son—" her eyes flickered toward the man "—actually saved me. If it weren't for you both, I don't know if I'd have made it out."
Karen's eyes glistened, her mouth tightening. "Oh, honey. Don't say that." She cast a sideways glance at her son. "If you call him a hero, I'll never hear the end of it."
"I kinda was," the man muttered under his breath.
"Shut up, Christian," Karen snapped automatically.
He smirked, retreating a few steps as if enjoying the exchange.
Then Karen's phone buzzed loudly on the bedside table. She groaned, snatching it up with a huff. "Who the hell is it now?" Her thumb swiped across the screen, irritation written across her face. "What is it?"
On the other end, a man's voice replied, "Ma'am, there's someone here. He says he knows the girl."
Karen's eyes narrowed. "What's his name?"
"He says…his name is Nikolai."
Karen paused. She turned slowly toward Rose. "Honey…do you know anyone named Nikolai?"
The name struck like a bell inside her. Rose's heart jolted, her eyes widening, flooding with sudden heat. "Yes," she whispered, her voice breaking with relief. "Yes, I know him."
For the first time in what felt like forever, hope lit her face.
Karen studied her, then nodded to the phone. "Okay. Let him in."
---
Minutes passed.
Rose's pulse wouldn't settle. Every second dragged, stretching unbearably long. Her body ached, but the anticipation eclipsed the pain. She couldn't stop staring at the door, waiting for it to open.
And then—
The handle turned.
The door eased open, and in walked the man who had haunted her thoughts, her fears, her hopes.
Nikolai.
He stopped the moment he saw her, his breath visibly stolen. His eyes—stormy, fierce, lined with exhaustion—locked onto her like nothing else in the room mattered.
For a beat, silence swallowed everything.
Then he moved. Fast, urgent.
He was at her side in seconds, crouching down, his hands hovering as if afraid to touch her and break her fragile body. His voice came out rough, low, reverent.
"Rose."
He whispered it, as if speaking louder would shatter the moment.
Tears pricked at her eyes, her lips trembling. The dam inside her cracked, words spilling out with raw hurt. "You bastard," she whispered. "Why did it take you so long to find me?"
His eyes squeezed shut, pain flashing across his face. "I'm so sorry," he rasped. His hands finally cupped her cheek, gentle, trembling. "Oh my God, Rose—I'm so sorry. I should have protected you. I should never have let this happen."
Her tears slid silently down her cheeks, her chest heaving.
"You okay?" he asked, his voice breaking under the weight of it.
She swallowed hard, her throat still raw. "Better," she whispered.
His forehead dropped against hers, his breath shaky, as though he'd run through fire just to reach her.
For the first time since her nightmare began, Rose let herself breathe.