The warmth of her mother's touch lingered on Anastasia's skin, a comforting anchor in the swirling chaos. As Catherine left the room, Anastasia felt a surge of resolve harden within her. This wasn't just about her reputation, or the engagement with the Yuni family. This was about something far bigger – the wellbeing of her chosen family.
She made a silent promise to herself, a vow etched into the very core of her being. She would protect them. All of them.
Her five older brothers – powerful, influential men each with their own flaws and vulnerabilities – deserved to have a happy, stable life free from unnecessary drama and betrayal. Her younger brother, the innocent and cherished blood bank, deserved to be shielded from the harsh realities of their world and treated with kindness and respect.
The nagging feeling of forgetfulness vanished the instant Casper's frantic warning pierced through Anastasia's thoughts. Vladimir. Her little blood bank. The villain she was tasked with keeping from spiraling into darkness.
"Host! Host warning! Your little blood bank, Vladimir is getting beat up!" Casper shrieked, his digital form flickering with urgency.
Anastasia's composure shattered. Vladimir Rossi, the brooding, complex antagonist of the novel, was being targeted. And if he became a true villain, it would not only jeopardize her own plans but also threaten the fragile stability of the Marcani family.
Without a second thought, she abandoned her apple juice and rushed out of the house, leaping into the sleek sports car that served as her mobile command center. The engine roared to life as she sped through the city streets, her mind already strategizing a rescue plan.
As she screeched to a halt, abandoning the car haphazardly, Anastasia was already sprinting towards the commotion. But her haste proved disastrous. An elderly man, frail and unsteady, stumbled and fell directly in her path. He clutched his chest, his face contorted in pain.
The world seemed to slow as Anastasia instinctively reached out, but it was too late. The man had already hit the ground. A collective gasp rippled through the gathering crowd, followed by a wave of accusatory murmurs.
"Did you see that? I think that little girl pushed the old man!"
"Youngsters nowadays…" another voice grumbled.
Anastasia felt a surge of icy fury at the blatant injustice. She hadn't touched the man! Yet here she was, instantly branded as the culprit.
Ignoring the rising tide of hostile stares, Anastasia knelt beside the fallen man, her professional instincts overriding her frustration. She quickly assessed his condition, her fingers deftly checking his pulse. Her medical knowledge, gleaned from countless hours studying ancient texts and forgotten healing arts in her previous life, kicked in. She could sense it – a heart problem, not critical but severely restricting his breathing.
Without hesitation, she reached into her bag and retrieved a small case containing her acupuncture needles. The crowd's murmurs intensified, laced with suspicion and disapproval.
"Call the ambulance!" Anastasia snapped, her voice sharp and commanding, cutting through the chatter. She wiped a bead of sweat from her forehead as she carefully inserted the needles into specific points along the man's meridians, attempting to regulate his breathing and ease his discomfort.
"Can she really do it? What if she makes it worse?"
"So what? She has someone to clean up her mess, don't you see how she's dressed?" a cynical voice retorted, gesturing to Anastasia's expensive attire.
"I saw it, she didn't bump him but is trying to save him," a muffled voice declared from behind a surgical mask.
Just as the situation threatened to spiral out of control, a middleaged man pushed through the crowd and approached Anastasia, his face etched with concern.
"Let's do this together," he offered, his voice calm and reassuring.
"I'll handle the breathing support, while you press on the chest."
Anastasia bristled at the unsolicited instruction. She was perfectly capable of handling the situation herself. However, time was of the essence, and arguing would only delay their efforts.
She simply nodded, focusing her attention on the task at hand. The man, who introduced himself as Leo Smith, was surprisingly competent, his movements precise and efficient as he administered rescue breaths. Anastasia maintained steady pressure on the man's chest, following the established CPR protocol with unwavering precision.
"The ambulance is here!" someone shouted, and the medics rushed forward, their movements swift and professional.
"Thankfully we didn't waste any time," one of the medics said, relief evident in his voice.
"You did the CPR perfectly."
Anastasia offered a curt nod, her expression unreadable. She was indifferent to praise, focused solely on ensuring the man's wellbeing.
Leo Smith looked at Anastasia with a mixture of admiration and curiosity.
"You followed the right standard procedures, and your technique was truly wonderful."
"Same to you, thanks for your help, you must be a doctor," Anastasia said, her voice cool and detached.
"Yes, you've got good eyes," Leo replied with a smile. "Own a psychiatric hospital. My name is Leo Smith."
"Nice to meet you Leo Smith," she responded politely, already turning her attention away from him. The encounter was pleasant enough, but Anastasia had more pressing matters to attend to – namely, finding Vladimir.
"Oh yes and thank you for speaking for me," Anastasia added, acknowledging the guy with a face mask defense against the accusing crowd.
"Well I just telling the truth and…" the guy began,
"Wait, my name is Felix Snow," the guy who spoke up for Anastasia but she was already gone.
The moment Anastasia vanished, Felix Snow felt a peculiar sense of disorientation. He'd been about to introduce himself properly, to perhaps even exchange numbers with the enigmatic young woman who had so effortlessly saved the elderly man's life. But she was gone, swallowed by the bustling city crowd as if she'd never been there at all.
"Oh my goodness, there you are! The director has been looking for you!" a frantic voice called out. It was Felix's manager, Sara, pushing her glasses up her nose with a worried expression. "He's been tearing his hair out!"
Felix turned to face Sara, his brow furrowed in confusion.
"Did he fire that stupid actress who keeps throwing herself at me?" he demanded, his voice laced with annoyance. The actress in question had been a constant source of irritation, relentlessly pursuing him despite his repeated rejections.