Chapter 48 Mikhail
MIKHAIL
The fluorescent lights of the emergency room burn my eyes as I carry Sophia through the automatic doors.
Her face is pale, twisted with pain, and there’s blood soaking through her nightgown. So much blood.
My hands shake as I hold her against my chest, and I’m shouting before I even reach the reception desk.
Once again, we’re at a hospital with Sophia in pain, looking like she’s bleeding out, and with our baby in danger.
My private doc is out of town today, of all days, visiting her mother who is sick, so I’ve no choice but to take her to a hospital.
A nurse is already appearing, fussing over Sophia when she sees the blood. “Sir, what happened?”
“She’s pregnant. Seven months. She started bleeding.” The words tumble out in a rush.
Within seconds, we’re surrounded by medical staff. They try to take Sophia from my arms, but I can’t let go.
I can’t release her to these strangers who might not understand how precious she is, how much she means to me.
“Mikhail.” Sophia’s voice is weak, her blue eyes finding mine. “Let them help me.”
I force my arms to loosen, and they transfer her to a gurney. I follow as they wheel her through a maze of corridors, my hand gripping hers like it’s the only thing keeping me tethered to reality.
They take us to a private room, and I’m grateful for the small mercy. A doctor enters, young but competent-looking, with kind brown eyes.
“I’m Dr. Chen,” she says, pulling on gloves. “Can you tell me what happened?”
Sophia tries to speak, but another contraction hits her. I watch helplessly as she curls into herself, her hand crushing mine with surprising strength. When it passes, she’s gasping for air.
“She’s been having complications.” My voice is rougher than I intend. “She’s been on bed rest, but now she’s bleeding and having contractions. Not the first time we’ve had medical help from her bleeding either.”
Dr. Chen’s expression grows serious as she examines Sophia, asking questions about her medical history, the pregnancy timeline, any previous issues.
I answer what I can, but there’s so much I don’t know. The guilt eats deeper at me.
“We need to do an ultrasound,” Dr. Chen says. “I need to check on the baby and see what’s causing the bleeding.”
A nurse wheels in the machine, and I move to stand beside Sophia’s head, my hand stroking her hair.
She looks up at me, and I see the fear in her eyes that mirrors my own.
“It’s going to be okay,” I tell her, even though I have no right to make that promise. “You’re both going to be fine.”
She nods, but I can see she doesn’t believe me any more than I believe myself.
Dr. Chen squirts gel on Sophia’s swollen belly and presses the ultrasound wand against her skin.
The monitor flickers to life, showing grainy black and white images that mean nothing to me.
I search the screen desperately, looking for something, anything that will tell me our baby is alive.
The room falls silent except for the soft whir of the machine.
Dr. Chen moves the wand, her brow furrowed in concentration.
The silence stretches, becoming oppressive, suffocating.
“I can’t find the heartbeat,” she says quietly.
The words hit me like bullets.
Sophia makes a sound, something between a sob and a gasp, and her hand finds mine again.
I grip it tightly, my own heart hammering so hard I’m surprised it doesn’t show up on the monitor.
“Keep looking,” I demand, my voice sharp. “It has to be there.”
Dr. Chen doesn’t respond, just continues moving the wand across Sophia’s belly.
Each second that passes without the sound of a heartbeat feels like an eternity.
I watch Sophia’s face, see the tears streaming down her cheeks, and I want to rage at the universe for putting us through this.
For making us love something so much only to threaten to take it away.
“Wait.” Dr. Chen leans closer to the monitor, adjusting something. “There.”
A quiet sound fills the room. Fast, rhythmic, beautiful. The baby’s heartbeat.
Relief crashes over me so intensely my knees nearly buckle.
Sophia sobs, but this time it’s with joy mixed with lingering fear.
I lean down and press my forehead against hers, my own eyes burning with tears I refuse to let fall.
“The baby’s position was making it difficult to detect,” Dr. Chen explains, her voice gentle. “But the heartbeat is strong. However, I am seeing some signs of stress. The placenta appears to be partially detached, which is causing the bleeding.”
“What does that mean?” Sophia asks, her voice trembling.
“It means we need to monitor you very closely. The baby is showing signs of distress, but nothing critical at this moment. We’ll need to keep you here for observation, possibly for the remainder of your pregnancy.
” Dr. Chen meets my gaze. “I won’t lie to you.
This is serious. But right now, both mother and baby are stable. ”
Stable. The word should comfort me, but it doesn’t. Stable isn’t safe. Stable isn’t guaranteed.
After Dr. Chen leaves to arrange for Sophia’s admission, I sink into the chair beside her bed.
My hands are still shaking, and I press them against my thighs to hide it.
I’m supposed to be strong.
I’m supposed to be the one who protects her from everything, including fear.
But I’m terrified.
“Mikhail.” Sophia’s voice pulls me from my spiral. “Look at me.”
I lift my head, and she’s watching me with those blue eyes that see too much.
That see past the pakhan, past the monster, straight to the man underneath who’s falling apart.
“I’m scared,” she whispers. “I’m so scared of losing our baby.”
The admission breaks something in me. I move to the edge of her bed, taking her face in my hands. “I know. I am too.”
“What if something happens? What if I can’t carry to term? What if—”
“Stop.” I press my thumb gently against her lips. “We’re not going to think like that. You heard the doctor. The baby’s heartbeat is strong. You’re both fighters. You’re going to get through this.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because I can’t lose you.” The words come out raw, stripped of any pretense.
“Either of you. I’ve done terrible things in my life, Sophia.
I’ve hurt people, destroyed families, built an empire on blood and fear.
But you and our baby, you’re my chance at something good.
Something pure. I can’t lose that. I won’t. ”
She reaches up and touches my face, her fingers tracing the line of my jaw. “Then stay with me. Don’t leave me alone in this.”
“Never.” I lean down and kiss her forehead, her nose, her lips. “I’m not going anywhere.”
A nurse comes in to move Sophia to a private room upstairs.
There’s not enough room in the elevator and, instead of waiting for another one, I take the stairs, my legs eating up the distance.
By the time I reach her floor, they’re already settling her into bed, hooking up monitors that will track both her vitals and the baby’s heartbeat.
The steady beep of the fetal monitor fills the room, and I find myself synchronizing my breathing to it.
As long as that sound continues, as long as that little heart keeps beating, there’s hope.
I pull a chair close to Sophia’s bed and take her hand.
She’s exhausted, her eyes already drifting closed.
The medication they gave her is taking effect, and I’m grateful she’ll get some rest.
“Mikhail?” she murmurs, half asleep.
“I’m here.”
“Promise me something.”
“Anything.”
“If something happens, if they have to choose…” She swallows hard. “Save the baby.”
My blood turns to ice. “Sophia, don’t—”
“Promise me.” Her eyes open, and the determination in them steals my breath. “Our baby deserves a chance at life. Promise me you’ll make sure they gets it.”
I want to argue, want to tell her that I can’t make that choice, that I won’t choose between them.
But looking at her face, seeing the fierce love already burning there for our unborn child, I know I can’t refuse her.
“I promise,” I whisper, even though the words taste like ash.
She smiles, satisfied, and her eyes drift closed again. Within minutes, her breathing evens out, and she’s asleep.
I sit in the darkness, listening to the dual rhythm of her heartbeat and our baby’s, and I’m faced with the most terrifying realization of my life.
I love them both more than I’ve ever loved anything.
More than my empire, more than my revenge, more than my own life. And there’s absolutely nothing I can do to guarantee their safety.
No amount of money or power or violence can protect them from this.
For the first time in twenty years, my complete my adult life, I’m completely, utterly helpless.