<b>Chapter </b><b>158 </b>
<b>Niki’s </b><b>POV</b><b>: </b>
<b>“</b><b>The </b>centa has been detached from the uterus due to shock. We will need to perform an immediate C–section, or the mother’s life will also be in danger, along with the baby’s.”
I stared at the nurse. My world, which had already been reduced to a narrow, agonizing tunnel, now felt as though its walls were copsing in on me,
“Then what are you standing here for?!” The sound of my own voice felt foreign to me. Every ounce of my self–control, which I had so meticulously <b>honed </b>over decades of living a life of controlled chaos, shattered in that instant.
I could feel the eyes of other patients and staff on me, but I didn’t care. All that mattered was the woman–the very heart of my world–who was <b>trapped </b>behind that door, her life hanging in the bnce, and the fragile life growing inside her.
The nurse, whose name t now saw on his badge was Keith, didn’t flinch at my outburst. He simply moved with a practiced, efficient calm to the <b>reception </b>desk. He pulled out a consent form. “Rest assured, the operation is already underway. If you can please sign this consent form.”
I moved toward him, my body feeling heavy, as if I were still underwater. I gripped the pen, my knuckles white, but the tip danced erratically over the line, unable to form a single legible letter. I took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to steady the frantic beat of my heart, but it was no use. The shaking only worsened.
That’s when a presence came into the periphery of my awareness. A presence I knew, a presence I loathed, but one that was now tolerable.
“Give it to me. I’ll sign.”
Sergei. He was beside me in an instant, his shoulder brushing against mine.
“You… are?” Keith asked, looking up from the clipboard.
I clenched my jaw. But before I could voice a response, Sergei answered, his gaze fixed on the nurse.
“I am the patient’s father.”
Keith looked startled, his head shooting to me. Of course. Everyone at this hospital knew me. They knew Elena, and they knew herplicated family situation after Beatrix’s operation here. They knew that Elena’s father had died in a car crash. The question in his eyes was clear: What is this man’s ce?
“The biological father?” he confirmed.
To my utter surprise, Sergei didn’t seem put off by the statement. He simply nodded, his eyes never leaving Keith’s. He took the pen from my hand and he signed his name with a fluid, confident sweep of his hand.
Then, he did something that made me utterly baffled.
“He’s been shot in the shoulder.” He said as he pointed a finger directly at my right shoulder/
Keith’s eyes widened, and he immediately turned to me, his gaze sweeping over my body. My zer, which I had pulled on in a hurried attempt to hide the blood, was still buttoned. He couldn’t see the dark, blossoming stain on the fabric underneath, the blood that had long since dried and stiffened.
“I’m alright, Keith.” I sighed.
“If you want to die, do it somewhere away from my daughter. So that she doesn’t me me when she wakes up.”
Sergei’s words were like a p. He said it without a hint of emotion. He put the pen down and handed the paper back to Keith.
I red at him, a deep–seated rage beginning to boil in my stomach. “<b>I’ll </b>get treatment once my wife is out of danger. Otherwise, there <b>is </b><b>no </b>need<b>.</b><b>” </b>I <b>grit </b>
out. The pain in my shoulder, which I had been ignoring, red in protest, reminding me that I was not, in fact, “alright<b>.</b>”
<b>Chapter </b><b>158 </b>
Sergei <b>scoffed</b>, <b>in </b><b>obvious </b>disdain. He <b>didn’t </b>bother <b>to </b>respond. He <b>simply </b>turned <b>and </b>walked away<b>, </b>back <b>toward </b><b>the doors </b><b>of </b><b>the </b><b>emergency </b>room. <b>leaving </b><b>me </b><b>alone </b><b>with </b><b>my </b><b>fury </b>and a bewildered nurse.
<b>Keith </b><b>sighed</b><b>, </b>a weary, put upon sound like he’d been working a thousandte nights shifts and dealt with countless traumatized families<b>. </b>He put his hand on my good shoulder.
“Niki–er<b>, </b>sir.” He started off awkward, clearly used to being more frank with other people. That was the trend nowadays wasn’t it? With Gen pursed my lips. Not that his address of me mattered in such a situation. I couldn’t care less what he called me. It was just unusual.
“I understand. Your wife is the only thing that matters right now. But you can’t help her from here, and you certainly can’t help her if you’re not alive to <b>be </b>a father. You have to let us help you so you can be there for them when theye out of that operating room. Right now<i>, </i>your wife is being taken care <b>of </b>by the very best doctors in this hospital. You know that. It’s what she would want….” He voice trailed off.
I turned my head once again, my eyes drawn to the double doors where she had been wheeled through. I had walked into that hell with her<b>, </b>and now l was standing here, powerless, on the outside.
As much as she tried to act brave, as much as she put on that determined front, I knew she disliked hospitals. Why wouldn’t she? So much of her life <b>had </b>been a series of hospital visits, of being confined to sterile beds, of being poked and prodded, all because of her heart condition.
How much fear would she be feeling right now? Did she feel alone? Was she scared? The thought was a dagger to my heart. My fists clenched <b>again</b>. I <b>had </b>been so stupid. This realization–this gut–wrenching, bone–deep truth–had juste to me now, after so long, after so much.
I had let her roam around freely, convinced I was doing the right thing, the noble thing. I thought this was her freedom, her life, her work. <b>But </b><b>I </b>knew she was constantly visiting the hospitals, and I had done nothing. I had just watched her from a distance. I was a fool.
Now it all made sense. Someone–probably Sergei–had messed with the hospital records to misguide me into believing that she wasn’t going to the obstetrician, that she wasn’t hiding a pregnancy from me. The depths of his deception were staggering. He had been ying a long game, and I had walked right into it.
I had treated her like a ticking time bomb, a delicate ss sculpture that would shatter with a single wrong move. I had been scared, treating her like if ! did anything more–anything wrong, like forcing her to stay with me, forcing her to do her part of the contract just to make her stay with me–then she’d start hating me. I was terrified that once it was all over, she’d leave and nevere back.
But only now did I realize the foolishness of that fear. I would rather have her hating me for the rest of my life than not having her here with me at all. I would have taken her hatred, her fury, her resentment–anything–if it meant she was safe, if it meant I could be by her side.
Maybe if I had forced her to stay, then she wouldn’t have hidden this all from me. Maybe if I had been less of a coward, she wouldn’t have been taken by Dmitri in the first ce either. My inaction, born of fear and a twisted sense of love, was the very thing that had led us to this precipice.
That damn Dmitri. My phone had been lost somewhere on the way here. But I knew for sure that Andrey would have realized something was wrong by now. The silence from me, theck ofmunication, the sudden disappearance—it would all have raised red gs. Andrey was not a man who ever left things to chance.
As much as I wanted to be d that Dmitri was dead, to revel in the sweet, cold vengeance of his demise, I knew this was just the beginning of danger. Dmitri may have been a monster, but he was Andrey’s second son. Andrey had loved him ten times more than he’d ever loved me. I was a tool, a means to an end. Dmitri was the favored son, the one meant to inherit the kingdom. His death, by my hand or not, was a deration of war.
Which meant that even after Elena was out of danger here, she’d be targeted by him. She was the reason for this chaos, the object of my obsession. <b>She </b>was the key to my weakness, and Andrey would exploit it without a moment’s hesitation. He woulde for her, <b>not </b>out of personal hatred, <b>but </b><b>out </b>of a cold, calcting desire to punish me.
Which meant Keith was right. I needed to be there for her once she was out of danger. I couldn’t risk getting any weaker than I was right <b>now</b>. <b>The </b>thought of falling unconscious, of being in a bed/vulnerable and unable to protect her, was a terror far greater than any pain. I had to be <b>strong</b><b>, </b><b>to </b><b>be </b><b>her </b>shield, her fortress.
I unbuttoned my zer then, the movement stiff and painful. I pulled it off, the fabric rustling as it came away <b>from </b>my body. <b>To </b>Keith’s credit, he didn’t gasp or look surprised. He just stared at the dark, dried blood staining my shirt. The wound itself felt like a hot coal against my skin, the muscles <b>around </b>it seizing in protest.
“Now, let’s get you to a bed.” He said. He pulled me towards one of the curtained–off rooms.
SUN 17 AUT
<b>Chapter </b><b>158 </b>
I turned to
give the
emergency
Toom
Ungering look
As my hand
snaked down
to <b>the </b>
gun tucked in
my pants.
It was still there, myst post for the
defense.
Because in
case
something happened
to her?
In
case she
lost actually her
life? <b>I </b>would
much rather
shoot just
myself
With this
gum
than walk out of thre
hospital without
her.