The sterile chill of the hospital clung to the air like an invisible fog. White walls, sharp with disinfectant, hummed faintly under the fluorescent lights. Machines beeped in steady rhythms, reminding her she was alive—though her body still ached from bruises and stitches, and her heart thundered with the aftershocks of the night before.
Nikolai stood by her bedside, broad shoulders filling the space with a gravity that seemed out of place in the bland sterility of the room. His hands were in his pockets, but his eyes—cold, storm-colored eyes—were locked on her, sharp and unyielding. She avoided his gaze, staring at the faint cracks in the ceiling tiles instead, though she could feel the weight of his presence press against her skin.
Finally, he exhaled through his nose, as if reaching a decision.
"I'm going to speak to your doctor," his voice was calm, clipped, deliberate. "Tell him that there is no need for you to stay here any longer. I'll arrange for a private physician. Someone competent, someone who will come to you."
Her lips parted, instinctively ready to protest—hospitals at least felt normal, safe, familiar. But nothing about her life had been normal since...well since forever. She bit her tongue, remaining silent, watching as he adjusted the cuff of his dark suit jacket and turned toward the door with that fluid, predatory stride.
The door clicked shut behind him, and for the first time since waking, she was alone.
The hallway was quiet, the muffled chatter of nurses echoing from further down the corridor. Nikolai's shoes clicked against the polished floor, each step purposeful, his expression unreadable but simmering with restrained impatience.
He found the doctor—a middle-aged man with weary eyes and a clipboard tucked under one arm—outside the nurses' station.
"Doctor," Nikolai's voice cut through the corridor, commanding attention.
The man turned, startled for a second before recognition dawned. He straightened his posture almost instinctively, his professional composure faltering under the intensity of Nikolai's gaze.
"Ah, Mr. Ivanov," the doctor said carefully, tone polite but cautious. "We're still monitoring her. The injuries—"
"She doesn't stay here." Nikolai's words were final, absolute. "You will discharge her today. I'll be bringing in a private physician to continue her care."
The doctor blinked, thrown by the sharpness of the demand. "Mr. Ivanov with respect, she needs observation for at least—"
Nikolai stepped closer, voice dropping into something darker, edged with steel. "I'm not asking for your opinion. I'm telling you how this will proceed. Finalize the discharge. She leaves today."
The silence between them was heavy. The doctor swallowed, adjusting his glasses. The man knew better than to argue further. With a clipped nod, he muttered, "Very well. I'll prepare the paperwork."
"Good." Nikolai's gaze lingered a beat longer, a silent warning not to push him again, before he turned and walked back toward her room.
When Nikolai returned, the papers were already being processed, nurses moving briskly in and out of the room with quiet efficiency. She watched them with faint detachment, her fingers fiddling with the edge of the blanket, the reality of leaving pressing in.
"You're being discharged," Nikolai said, voice even as he stood near the window, hands folded behind his back. His reflection in the glass looked like a shadow cast over her.
Her brows furrowed slightly. "Already?"
"Yes." He didn't elaborate, but the finality in his tone made it clear there would be no discussion.
Minutes blurred into half an hour, forms signed, monitors removed, IVs gently taken out. It all felt mechanical, as though she was being quietly ushered out of one chapter of her life into another.
Finally, Nikolai pulled out his phone and called Alexei. His voice was low but firm as he gave instructions:
"Bring her clothes. Something comfortable. We'll be leaving in twenty minutes."
The twenty minutes felt longer. The silence stretched between them, broken only by the faint shuffle of nurses outside. She tried not to look at Nikolai too long—tried not to notice the way he stood so still, a force of control in a world that seemed to be slipping through her hands.
When the door opened, Alexei entered with a small garment bag draped over his arm. His expression was brisk, efficient, but his eyes flickered with concern as they landed on her. He handed the bag to Nikolai without a word and gave a curt nod before stepping aside.
"Thank you," Nikolai murmured, almost dismissively. Alexei left, closing the door behind him.
Nikolai unzipped the garment bag, pulling out a soft pair of black leggings and an oversized cashmere sweater—simple, but comfortable. He set them neatly on the bed beside her.
"Change," he said.
The word hung between them, awkward, thick with unspoken tension.
Her throat tightened. She shifted uncomfortably, hands curling in the sheets. He must have sensed it, because after a moment of silence, he added quietly, "I'll help you."
The air grew heavier. Her heart stumbled.
He helped her sit up, moving slowly, careful not to strain her injuries. His fingers brushed against her skin occasionally, and each accidental touch sent a ripple of warmth and unease through her. Neither of them spoke. The silence was almost suffocating, filled with the weight of things neither dared put into words.
When she was finally dressed, she sat back against the pillows, her eyes fixed firmly on the floor. He adjusted the sweater slightly, smoothing the fabric against her arm, his touch fleeting but oddly gentle.
A nurse wheeled in a wheelchair, the rubber wheels squeaking softly against the tile. Nikolai dismissed the nurse with a nod, then bent down, slipping one arm behind her back and the other beneath her knees.
Her breath caught as he lifted her carefully, lowering her into the wheelchair with ease. His nearness, the warmth radiating off him, unsettled her in ways she couldn't name.
Once she was seated, he positioned himself behind the chair, his hands gripping the handles firmly, and pushed her down the corridor.
The hallway stretched endlessly, nurses and visitors glancing at them as they passed, she swore she heard one talking about how handsome Nikolai looked.
The automatic doors slid open with a hiss, and cool evening air rushed in. The outside world felt jarring after the sterile confines of the hospital—alive, chaotic, free.
One of Nikolai's sleek black cars waited at the curb, polished and gleaming under the streetlights. Alexei stood by the car opening the door as they approached.
Nikolai helped her up again, his hand steady against her back as he guided her into the leather seat. The scent of expensive cologne and leather wrapped around her, cocooning her in a world that felt both foreign and suffocating.
Once she was settled, Nikolai circled the car and slid in beside her. The driver started the engine, Alexei taking the seat in the front. The doors shut, sealing them inside the quiet hum of the vehicle.
The city lights blurred past the windows as the car glided smoothly onto the road. Silence stretched, but it wasn't awkward—it was heavy, contemplative, like the calm after a storm.
She leaned her head back, closing her eyes briefly, drawing in deep breaths. It all felt surreal. Hours ago, she had been fighting Leon, uncertain if she'd live to see another sunrise. Then—chaos, headlights, the shattering impact of a car.
Christian.
He hadn't meant to save her. He hadn't meant to hit her at all. But fate was cruel and strange, weaving its web in ways no one could predict.
She turned her head toward Nikolai, her voice breaking the silence.
"What happened to Leon? And his men?"
Nikolai's jaw tightened, the muscle twitching as his hand curled into a fist on his knee. His eyes darkened, voice edged with something lethal.
"They've been found." He paused, his tone dropping lower, cold as steel. "And I will make them regret touching you."
Her breath hitched, a shiver crawling down her spine—not from fear of him, but from the certainty in his words. There was no doubt in his tone. No hesitation.
She nodded slowly, turning her gaze back to the window, the blur of lights reflecting against the glass. For the first time in days, she allowed herself to exhale fully, the weight of survival settling over her like a fragile cloak.
The road stretched ahead, and though the silence returned, it felt different now—no longer empty, but filled with something unspoken.