Chapter 36
NADIA
Kellerman’s been unusually polished ever since I flat-out refused to attend that dinner with the senator.
He’s too polished, as though overcompensating for something.
Then, as if by magic, the senator somehow ends up with my number.
I don’t need a memo to know where he got it.
Kellerman’s fingerprints are all over this.
It’s not the first time he’s crossed a line, but it’s the last straw. Whatever trust was left between us just died quietly in the corner. This little act of betrayal is the final curtain on an already strained relationship with my boss.
The first few calls are easy enough to ignore. I let them ring out, hoping he’ll get the message. But the man’s got persistence down to an art form.
Soon he’s leaving voicemails — smooth, deliberate, like he’s trying to reel me in by voice alone.
By the fifth one, my patience has bled dry. Frustration curdles into something sharper, and I decide it’s time to stop dodging and face this head-on.
When I finally call him back, he answers on the first ring, as though he’s been waiting, phone in hand, savoring the moment.
“Nadia,” he says, his voice smooth as silk. Every syllable is polished to a politician’s shine. “I was beginning to think you didn’t like me much.”
“You need to stop calling me,” I say. My voice is flat, clipped as I exercise every ounce of restraint.
He hums a laugh, low and knowing. “You’re making this unnecessarily difficult, Nadia. You should know, I don’t take rejection personally. But I do take it seriously.”
The arrogance in his tone crawls across my skin. He’s not listening - just talking, circling, trying to stake a claim where he doesn’t belong.
“Please stop calling me,” I repeat. My patience is fraying, one thin thread away from snapping.
His voice sharpens, the veneer slipping. “Be careful, Doctor. I can make your life as difficult for you as you’re making this for me.”
That’s when I stop listening. My pulse is in my ears, a steady, furious drum. I hang up mid-sentence and block the number without hesitation.
But he’s resourceful. By the time I leave the hospital Friday evening, my phone’s vibrating nonstop in my coat pocket - different numbers, same voice behind them.
I don’t even bother looking anymore, hoping he’ll just get bored and go away.
I just want to get home, wash the day off, and crawl into a silence that doesn’t breathe down my neck.
My breath ghosts in front of me as I climb the steps to my building, fingers stiff and numb while I dig for my keys. The hallway is half-lit, a stretch of peeling paint and humming fluorescents, the kind of place where even silence feels watched.
That’s when I feel it - the air shift, faint but undeniable. The prickle low in my spine, that primal warning that someone’s eyes are on me.
I turn.
The corridor stares back - empty, still, pretending innocence. Just the hum of the elevator motor far down the hall, and the exit sign flickering in and out like a dying pulse.
My hand tightens around the key. I tell myself it’s nothing. Just nerves, just the residue of too many late nights and too many calls from the wrong man. I force the key into the lock, twist until it catches, and push the door open.
The smell of my apartment greets me - clean linen, stale coffee, the faint scent of my perfume still clinging to the air. I step inside, close the door behind me, start to breathe.
Then - a voice cuts through the dark. Low. Familiar. Too close.
“Evening, Doctor.”
Michael.
Every muscle in my body goes rigid. He’s standing in the middle of my living room - sweat-slick hair plastered to his forehead, shirt half-open, eyes bright and glassy with the kind of madness that doesn’t fade once it finds you.
“Michael,” I breathe. My throat’s dry, the name scraping its way out. “What are you doing here?”
He laughs, a sound that’s all anger and venom. “What am I doing here?” His lips curl. “That’s funny. I’ve been calling you for weeks, Nadia. Weeks. You don’t pick up. What, too busy spreading your legs for your new boyfriend?”
The air leaves my lungs. “I don’t have—”
The back of his hand cracks across my face before I finish. The blow rings in my skull, white-hot and blinding. I stagger, slam into the wall, and the taste of iron floods my mouth.
“Don’t lie to me!” he bellows. His hand shoots out, locking around my wrist so tight the bones grind. “You think I didn’t see you with him? Did you think I wouldn’t find out?”
He yanks me forward, hurling me against the console table. The edge bites into my ribs; a picture frame crashes to the floor and shatters. The glass splinters scatter like like stardust. My eyes land on a jagged piece, but it’s too far for me to reach it.
“Michael, stop—”
He shoves me again, hard enough that the breath bursts from my lungs. “Stop?” he snarls. “You don’t get to tell me to stop. You don’t get to pretend I never existed.”
His hand finds my throat. It’s not tight at first - just enough to remind me who’s in control. Then pressure. Slow and deliberate. His thumb presses under my jaw until my pulse stutters. I claw at his wrist, nails raking skin, but he only tightens his grip.
The smell of him - stale cologne, sweat, and rage - coats my tongue. “Please,” I rasp, voice thin as wire. “You’re hurting me.”
He leans in close, breath hot against my ear. “Good,” he whispers. “Maybe now you’ll know how it feels.”
Then he throws me down. The floor rushes up, my lip splitting as I hit the ground. The world tilts. The copper taste fills my mouth, pooling thick and metallic. My head throbs as my vision swims. Somewhere, something inside me cracks - not bone, but the last piece of hope I was holding onto.
For a long moment, I just stare at his shoes, inches from my eyes. They blur. A drop of blood slides from my nose and darkens the floorboards.
And I think - so this is it. This is how it ends. Not in some sterile hospital room, not under bright lights or steady hands. But here, in the dark, at the mercy of a man who once promised to love me.
Maybe it’s what I deserve. Maybe this is the universe evening the scales, collecting the debt it never forgot - the one it started when it took Lucian.
The thought drifts through me like a raging fire. Warm and heady, almost merciful. I tell myself that if death comes now, maybe I can finally stop fighting. Maybe I can finally see him again.
And just before everything fades, I swear I hear it - the sound of the front door breaking open.
And someone roaring my name like it’s a sacred vow.