Chapter 6
CHAPTER SIX
Kira
The morning comes too fast. I don’t remember falling asleep, only that I kept turning the pages of his questionnaire over and over until the letters blurred. His handwriting is still in my head when I open my eyes.
I get up before the alarm. The air in the apartment feels heavy, like it’s still holding onto what happened last night.
My reflection in the bathroom mirror looks the same, but it doesn’t feel like me.
I brush my hair, put on my clothes, and tell myself that today I’ll pretend everything is normal.
That this thing with him is temporary. I can still be myself under all of it.
The automatic doors of the hospital hiss open, letting in the sharp sting of antiseptic and burnt coffee.
Someone laughs down the hall, too loud for this hour, and the vending machine hums like it’s part of the staff.
A janitor wheels his cart past me, nodding once, headphones in. The floor’s still slick from mopping.
I clock in, grab a pair of gloves from the box by habit, and nod to Maria at the station. She’s halfway through a muffin, eyes half-closed, the kind of tired only night shifts can give you.
“Morning,” she mutters.
“Barely,” I say, flipping through the first chart. The paper smells like sanitizer and exhaustion.
Somewhere down the corridor, a monitor starts beeping, steady and familiar as a heartbeat.
Work is the one place I can usually hide in. There’s no room for fear or attraction or men like him here. Just patients, vitals, and hours that blur together until it’s time to go home.
I’m halfway through helping Mrs. Novak, an eighty-two-year-old Alzheimer patient that keeps trying to convince me she’s ready to dance again, when I remember the trip to Sicily. My stomach twists. I can’t just disappear for days without lying to everyone I work with.
When I finish her medication check, I go straight to the administrative office. My boss, Dr. Collins, barely looks up from her computer when I knock.
“Morning, Kira,” she says. “You look tired.”
“Morning. I—uh—I wanted to ask if I could take a few days off.”
Her fingers pause on the keyboard. “Days off?”
“Just a few. Maybe a week.”
She raises an eyebrow. “You’ve never taken a week off in three years.”
I shift my weight, trying to sound casual. “I know. I just need to take care of something personal.”
“What kind of something?”
I hesitate. “Family,” I lie. “My brother’s going through a rough time.”
Her expression softens, but only for a second. “I wish I could approve it, but we’re short-staffed. You know how it is.”
“Please,” I say quietly. “I’ll make up the hours when I get back.”
She shakes her head. “You’re one of my best nurses, Kira. But right now, I can’t afford to lose you for a week.”
The words hit hard, even though I half expected them. “Right,” I say, forcing a small smile. “I understand.”
I leave the office before she can see the panic starting to rise in me.
In the break room, Lilly’s pouring herself coffee. She looks up the second I walk in. “Hey, stranger,” she sounds cheerful until she takes a closer look at me. “You okay?”
I nod too fast. “Yeah. Just tired.”
She hands me a cup anyway. “Is there something going on?”
I stir the coffee, staring at the swirl. “Just… family stuff. I might need to leave town for a bit.”
Her eyebrows knit together. “Is Lucas okay?”
I hate how easily the lie comes. “He’s not back yet and I don’t think I’m handling it that well, to be honest.”
“Kira,” she says softly, “you look like you haven’t slept.”
I take a sip of the coffee that tastes like guilt. “I’m fine, Lil. Really.”
She doesn’t believe me, but she lets it go.
The rest of the morning drags. I check charts, change IVs, smile for patients. Every time I look at my phone, the seconds feel heavier. By lunch, I can’t take it anymore so I step outside to the courtyard behind the ER entrance and dial his number.
He answers on the first ring. “Kira.”
I hate the way my name sounds in his voice, like he already knows what I’m about to say.
“I can’t come,” I tell him. “They won’t give me time off. I could lose my job.”
He’s quiet for a beat. “That’s unfortunate.”
“That’s not unfortunate, it’s my career.”
“You’ll come with me.”
“No,” I say, my pulse spiking. “I can’t. I’ll figure something else out. I’ll pay my brother’s debt somehow, but I can’t risk this.”
Still no reaction, just silence that stretches too long.
“Did you hear me?” I ask.
“I heard you,” he says finally. “Stay at work. I’ll take care of it.”
Before I can ask what that means, the line goes dead. I stare at the phone, heart pounding.
I end up outside longer than I mean to. The courtyard’s quiet except for the hum of traffic and the sound of someone’s radio bleeding through from the parking lot.
I sit on the low stone wall near the side entrance, unwrap the sandwich I packed this morning, and try to eat, though every bite tastes like sawdust.
My hands won’t stay still. I keep checking my phone, scrolling through messages that aren’t there, replaying his voice in my head. I’ll take care of it. What does that even mean?
By the time I finish the sandwich, the lunch crowd has already gone back inside. I stay a little longer, watching a delivery truck unload at the back gate just to avoid going in. I tell myself I’m giving him time to cool off, but really I’m trying to breathe before I face whatever comes next.
When I finally go back inside, nearly forty minutes have passed.
Something feels wrong the second I walk in.
The nurses at the station are whispering, their voices low, eyes flicking toward the administrative wing.
I force myself to keep walking, to focus on the next patient, Mr. Kim, who always tries to feed me candy from his bedside drawer.
I spend half an hour talking to him about his granddaughter, anything to forget that call.
Then, when I step out of his room, I see him.
Artyom’s standing by my boss’s office door, talking to Dr. Collins like they’re old friends. The sight knocks the air out of me. He looks completely out of place in this sterile hallway in his dark suit and that cold focus in his eyes.
My stomach drops.
He catches sight of me before I can move. The faintest hint of amusement touches his mouth. I feel my pulse jump.
I walk toward them slowly, trying to keep my voice steady. “Dr. Collins?”
Dr. Collins beams when she sees me. “Kira! I was just speaking with Mr. Morozov.”
I look at him again. “Mr. Morozov?”
He slides his hands into his pockets. “We were discussing hospital funding,” he says. “It seems I’ve been overdue for a visit.”
I blink. “Funding?”
Dr. Collins nods enthusiastically. “Mr. Morozov is one of our main sponsors. He’s been instrumental in our cardiac wing expansion.”
Of course.
I feel my face heat. “You’re a sponsor,” I repeat, because my brain refuses to catch up.
He watches me, calm as ever. “Something like that.”
Dr. Collins smiles politely between us, clearly trying to fill the silence. “Kira, I had no idea the family matter you mentioned was actually a trip with your fiancé.” She laughs lightly, flustered. “You should’ve said so! We’ll manage fine while you’re away.”
I blink. “My… fiancé?”
She gestures toward him. “Mr. Morozov explained everything. I hope the two of you have a safe trip.”
“Thank you,” Artyom says smoothly, shaking her hand before she can ask more.
“Thank you,” I say, though the words feel foreign.
By the time we step out into the hall, my pulse still hasn’t caught up.
“You told her we’re engaged?”
He doesn’t even slow down. “It’s the story, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, but you didn’t have to—”
“I did,” he says simply. “You said they wouldn’t give you time off. Now you have it.”
I stare at him, half grateful, half furious. “You can’t just walk into my job and—”
He looks over, calm as ever. “Kira, it worked. Don’t make it a big deal.”
I laugh under my breath. “You don’t even understand what you did. My boss thinks I’m—she thinks we’re—”
He steps closer, voice low. “She thinks you’re mine. Which, for now, you are.”
The words land somewhere deep in my chest, hot and unwanted. I take a step back. “You can’t say things like that.”
“I can say whatever’s true.”
I don’t know if it’s the way his voice drops when he says it, or the way his eyes hold mine like he’s daring me to argue, but something inside me stirs—anger, heat, something that shouldn’t be there.
We start walking toward the parking lot. His car is waiting, same black monster from yesterday. I fall into step beside him, trying not to think about how tall he is, how quiet his movements are, how he seems to take up more space than he actually does.
His shoulder brushes mine once, barely there, but enough to make me aware of every inch of space between us. I hate how easy it is for him to take over the air around me, how my pulse keeps adjusting to his rhythm instead of mine.
He opens the car door for me and waits. I don’t thank him, I just get in.
The drive is quiet, the city stretched out in grays and yellow streetlights, everything dull except for him. He doesn’t talk, doesn’t look at me, but I feel him there, steady and unreadable, carrying that same calm certainty that makes me want to push until he finally cracks.
I glance out the window, trying to pretend the silence doesn’t bother me, then check my phone. No messages. The last one from Lucas is still the same—three words sent a week ago that don’t mean anything now. I got this.
I type out a quick text anyway, Are you okay?, then delete it before hitting send. What’s the point? If Artyom can’t find him, what chance do I have?
The thought makes my throat tighten. He’s still my brother. For all his mistakes, I can’t stop picturing him somewhere out there, hurt or scared, maybe already past the point of being saved.