55. -54-
Nina
Throwing the keys into the golden porcelain bowl in Dorian’s entry hall, I realized that he wasn’t home. His red Jaguar was parked outside, so I assumed he would be inside, but the house was exactly as I left it.
Dorian’s blue T-shirt, which I wore during the day, was thrown over the armchair.
The fallboard on the piano was open because I tried to forget about my problems with playing, and papers were scattered across the desk and floor.
The dirty plate with a leftover sandwich sat abandoned on the carpet, and a glass of unfinished wine balanced on the armrest. It was a mess, but when Lucas called, I rushed out, hoping for news about Giovanni and my dad.
There was no news. Lucas was just worried about me. And after thoroughly checking every room, my suspicions were confirmed. Dorian hadn’t returned yet.
Sighing, I cleaned the living room and sent my missing husband a few text messages, but he didn’t reply.
After one hour, I was pissed. After two hours, I got anxious and started replaying the day, knowing I had pushed him away, but he was at work, and I needed time to process everything.
But when he didn’t call or text after three hours, I dialed Lucas’s number.
“Get me access to the hospital cameras,” I commanded in a rough voice, opening the laptop in Dorian’s office. “Please,” I said, much more gently.
“Nina,” Lucas exhaled. “Don’t stalk him now. Wait until he calls.”
“What?” My forehead wrinkled in confusion. “Why would I wait? What happened?”
“You don’t know?” Lucas sounded genuinely surprised. “You haven’t seen the news?”
“No!” I barked. “What is it?”
“It’s Malin,” Lucas replied, the background noise telling me he was in his new hacking den. The buzzing of computers and servers was unmistakable. “He had a terrible motorcycle accident. It’s everywhere. On TV, on the internet, on social media. Everywhere.”
“What?” I exhaled, rapidly tapping on the keyboard. “Is he okay?”
Lucas’s response was lost in the shock the first article I’d found caused.
My ears buzzed as I stared at the smashed motorcycle, the cracked helmet near the broken wheel, and the mangled front end of the truck.
Red and blue emergency lights illuminated the wreckage while paramedics surrounded two stretchers on the asphalt.
One patient was completely hidden behind a cluster of medics and equipment.
The other lay motionless beneath a thermal blanket.
I leaned closer, but it was impossible to see which one was Malin. What was possible, though, was to know that no one just walked away from a crash like this. I scrolled through more pictures, but they all showed the same. Total carnage. I didn’t have time to waste.
“I need to go,” I said into the phone, running toward the door.
“Nina!” Lucas yelled, but I was already grabbing the keys and sprinting toward the car.
Dorian needed me.
Half an hour later, I slipped through the back entrance of Dorian’s hospital.
Reporters swarmed the front like vultures, so I avoided them altogether.
Considering the news coverage, I expected panic, police, maybe even a crowd of worried relatives.
Instead, a composed middle-aged woman sat behind the reception desk while nurses stood in the middle of the lobby, exchanging charts and chatting as if nothing extraordinary happened.
“This entrance is closed, Miss,” the receptionist called out to me. “Emergency is this way.”
I ignored her and walked right up to a tall woman with a severe expression, glasses, and a perfectly styled afro. Dressed in a navy pantsuit, she stood in the center of the lobby like a general overseeing a battlefield. Her eyes narrowed the moment she spotted me.
“Can I help you?” the hospital’s CEO, Jessica Ryan, asked, turning toward me.
“Where’s Dorian?” I fired back, ready to run to the elevator. I had the blueprints of this place memorized. I just needed the location because Lucas hadn’t found him on camera.
“You mean Dr. Zhumagulov?” Jessica arched an elegant brow, scrutinizing me.
“Yes,” I confirmed impatiently. “Where is he?”
Jessica’s expression didn’t change.
“I’m afraid I can’t disclose the location of our employees,” she replied smoothly. “Especially not when they’re currently working.”
“Working?” I echoed incredulously. “His brother almost died.”
“And Dr. Zhumagulov is exactly where a trauma surgeon should be after an accident,” she said, waving to the nurse standing a few feet from us.
My teeth clashed, my heart racing.
“Listen. I don’t have time for this. I need to see my husband.”
“Your what?” Jessica blinked, and the nurse beside us gaped at me, mouth hanging open.
“My husband,” I repeated. “Nina Zhumagulov. Pleasure to meet you.”
“Interesting,” she murmured, studying me closely. “Dr. Zhumagulov neglected to mention he had a wife.”
“Dr. Zhumagulov neglects to mention a lot of things,” I retorted. The corner of Jessica’s mouth twitched.
“That is very true,” she said, nodding as she unlocked her phone. “But I still need to confirm your words.”
I exhaled exasperatedly, bouncing on my feet while she called someone. It took only a few seconds, but for me it felt like an eternity until she finally said where Dorian was.
The fifth floor. VIP section.
The elevator, the walls, the stairs, everything was just a blur as I hurried there. Dorian converted an entire corner of the ICU into a secure unit for high-profile patients. Two security guards stood nearby, dressed in black suits that screamed Zhumagulov.
They didn’t stop me. Maybe Jessica had warned them, or perhaps they simply assumed that anyone walking out of the executive elevator belonged there. Either way, I wasn’t about to correct them.
Carefully, I pushed the door open. The room was quiet.
Machines beeped steadily in the background while soft lights illuminated the spacious intensive care suite.
Malin lay motionless in the hospital bed, surrounded by enough equipment to keep a small spaceship operational.
Tubes disappeared beneath blankets, bandages covered part of his head and one arm.
For the first time since seeing the photographs, the reality of what happened settled heavily in my chest. Malin looked… human.
My gaze shifted from the bed to the man sitting beside it.
Dorian hadn’t noticed me. He sat slumped in the armchair, elbows resting on his knees, staring at the floor between his shoes.
His surgical scrubs were stained with dried blood, dark circles shadowed his eyes, and his usually neat hair looked as though he’d spent hours dragging his hands through it.
My heart broke. This wasn’t the confident surgeon who drove me insane. This was just a concerned brother.
Slowly, I stepped inside and closed the door behind me. The click finally pulled him from his thoughts, and he lifted his head.
Time stopped as our gazes met.
“Nina?” Dorian whispered as if he couldn’t believe I was really there. I crossed the room in record time, sat on his lap, and hugged him tightly. His arms wrapped around me, his face buried in my neck, and he exhaled a deep, shaky breath.
He was trembling. The mighty surgeon who saved lives daily was barely holding it together in my embrace. My heart broke all over again. Dorian wasn’t untouchable after all.
“How did you get here?” he asked after maybe a minute of hugging the life out of me. Pulling away, I looked into his devastated face.
“By your car,” I replied, trying to lighten the mood at least a little. “It’s amazing.”
He exhaled something that could be widely interpreted as a laugh, nuzzling his face into my neck.
“You know what I mean, you menace,” he whispered. “Mom and Zyon are in my office, waiting. But you’re here.”
“Well,” I sighed, knowing I had crossed a line with Jessica, but I didn’t care when he was at stake. “I may have told your boss that I’m your wife.”
Nothing. No yelling how dare I? No reproach. Just silence.
“Did you hear me?” I asked carefully, running my fingers through his hair.
“I did,” he mumbled.
“And?” My teeth sank into my lower lip while I awaited something, anything. This non-reactive Dorian scared me.
“I’m her boss.” The words were so quiet I barely heard them.
“What?” I glanced into his swollen, bloodshot eyes.
“Technically, I’m Jessica’s boss,” he explained, his sad look searching my face.
“That’s what bothers you?” I blinked in confusion, pondering that maybe he was too tired to have any type of conversation.
“You are my wife, so what else should bother me?” The brief flicker of flirty Dorian I knew so well warmed my chest even more than his words. But the moment was interrupted by a startling, loud yell from a machine beside Malin’s head.
Dorian winced and pushed me off his lap. His gaze jumped between the monitors and numbers as he mumbled something under his breath. Two nurses burst through the door a second later, one of them harshly pushing me out of the room.
I stared at the closed door, my heart violently crashing against my ribcage.
Fuck! What if Malin dies?