The first light of Miami dawn spilled across the penthouse suite, painting the walls in pale gold. Rose stirred, eyelids fluttering open to the soft hum of the city beneath her. The sheets felt cool against her skin, the scent of fresh linen mingling with the faint tang of salt from the breeze sneaking in through the balcony doors.
Her body ached in the familiar ways—the ghost of pain from the car hitting her still lingering, a dull reminder in her legs and shoulders—but overall, she felt… safe. For the first time ever since she got kidnapped, she felt the fragile comfort of being in a place where no one was hunting her.
Turning her head slightly, her eyes caught him. Nikolai was seated a few feet away on the sleek black chair by the desk, his posture rigid but relaxed, the soft glow of morning lighting the sharp angles of his face. His fingers moved across the surface of an iPad, scrolling, tapping, working with a focus that made him look almost… domestic.
He hadn't noticed her wake yet.
Rose's lips curved faintly. This was a strange kind of normal, the kind she hadn't realized she craved until now. She watched him for a long moment, the way his hair fell damp across his forehead, the faint crease between his brows as he read or typed or whatever he was doing, completely engrossed.
Then, he noticed. His head lifted slowly, eyes meeting hers, and a small, rare smile touched his lips.
"Morning," he said quietly, voice low but warm. "How'd you sleep?"
Rose lifted one brow, sarcasm already primed. "Oh, fantastic. I dreamt I was being hit by a car again and that you were lecturing me while I bled out. Couldn't have been better."
His grin widened, eyes sparkling with mischief. Without a word, he stood up from where he was seated and he walked over to her leaning forward and he pressed a quick kiss to her forehead.
Rose recoiled instantly, scrunching her nose and swiping at the spot. "Ew! What is that for?"
He chuckled softly, the sound deep and even, like a rolling rumble that made her chest tighten in a way she didn't entirely like… or perhaps didn't entirely mind. "To remind you that you're alive," he said, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. "And that I'm still here."
Rose groaned, rolling her eyes but unable to hide the warmth creeping into her cheeks. "Cheesy. Really, Nikolai?"
"Shoosh," he muttered, the edge of amusement in his voice softening as he straightened. He looked at her seriously now, and the amusement faded from his eyes, replaced by something watchful, protective. "Time to get you bathed."
Rose froze. Her eyes widened. "Excuse me?"
He inclined his head, his tone neutral, almost clinical. "You know… shower. Wash up. You need to be clean and rested. You've been through a lot, and I'm not going to let you sit in bed all day while your legs recover."
She blinked at him, unsure if she had heard correctly. "Wait—you're… bathing me?"
His jaw tightened just slightly, the faintest twitch of irritation brushing his features. "No, I'll help you. You can't walk properly yet, Rose. The car—getting hit—it affected your legs. You need to take it easy. I'll make it… manageable. But you have to do it."
Her shoulders slumped. She groaned dramatically, letting her head fall back against the pillow. "Ugh… fine. I guess I have no choice anyway."
"You do," he said, his voice softening. "You just… choose to be smart about it."
Rose lifted her head, meeting his gaze. There was no sarcasm in his eyes, none of the teasing that usually peppered their interactions. Just… concern. She blinked, swallowed, and muttered, "Yeah, okay. Smart. Got it."
He nodded once. The air shifted between them in the quiet room, thick with unspoken acknowledgment. He moved to the wardrobe and pulled out fresh clothes for her—soft, comfortable clothes meant for mobility, not style.
Rose watched him, letting a strange mixture of gratitude and embarrassment wash over her. There was a rhythm to his movements, practiced and precise, each motion measured but gentle. He returned to her side, crouching just enough to help her swing her legs over the mattress. His hands were steady, firm on her arms, holding her balance with the careful strength that reminded her just how many times she had come to rely on him without fully realizing it.
The wheelchair sat ready, waiting patiently as if it, too, understood the gravity of the moment. Nikolai helped her ease into it, adjusting her position and making sure the blankets didn't bunch under her legs. Rose exhaled a shaky breath, her eyes fixed on the faint glow of the city lights, now pale under the rising sun.
"I feel… ridiculous," she muttered, voice low, almost lost in the hush of the morning.
"You don't. You feel human. And that's exactly what you need to feel right now," he said simply.
She tried to argue, but no words came. Instead, she let him guide her to the bathroom, the wheels rolling quietly over the polished floors. The suite smelled faintly of linen and citrus soap.
Inside, Nikolai set up the space for her, adjusting the stool and shower seat with silent precision. He handed her the towel and toiletries, giving her space but keeping a steady, protective presence at her side.
Rose took a deep breath, her chest rising and falling as she processed the reality of the scene. She could feel the strength in him, his control over the situation, and despite herself, she felt safe. It was surreal—just days ago, she had been running from Leon, fighting for her life, unsure if she would even make it through the night. And now… here she was, in a luxurious penthouse, cared for by the very man who had once been a stranger with sharp eyes and sharper rules.
"You ready?" Nikolai asked, voice low but insistent.
Rose blinked at him, then nodded slowly. "Yeah… let's get this over with."
He gave her a small, approving nod, his fingers brushing hers briefly as he helped her adjust to the shower seat. "Good. Take it slow. I'm right here."
And in that simple declaration, she realized something she hadn't before: this was trust. Not blind, not naive, but hard-earned. He wasn't leaving her, not now, not ever—not after everything she had endured.
The water ran, warm and steady, and Rose let it cascade over her like a gentle reminder of survival. She leaned back slightly, eyes closed, listening to the quiet drip and the soft hum of the city outside. Nikolai remained by her side, quiet, unobtrusive, but alert. Every subtle movement of his fingers or tilt of his head was a tether, grounding her in the safety of the present.
She allowed herself a small, shy smile. For the first time in a long time, she felt… at ease.
And somewhere in the back of her mind, a question still lingered, unspoken: who had targeted her at the Halloween carnival, and why?
But for now, she pushed it away. For now, she let herself be cared for. Let herself be safe. Let herself simply… breathe.
And Nikolai, sitting there silently, attentive, unwavering, was proof that even in the chaos, even in the darkness, some constants could be trusted.