Davina's POV:
The further I walked from City General, the more the initial shock began to morph into a gnawing unease. Every passing car seemed to slow a fraction too long, every pedestrian who glanced my way held my gaze for just a moment too long.
It was probably just paranoia, the lingering residue of the day's bizarre and unsettling events. But the feeling persisted, a prickling sensation on the back of my neck that whispered I wasn't alone. That someone was following me. Just as I was trying to rationalize my growing anxiety, my phone buzzed in my hand. It was an unfamiliar local number. Hesitantly, I answered.
"Hello?"
"Davina? It's Cecilia." Her voice sounded strained and composed.
"Cecilia? How did you get my number? What's wrong?" My heart lurched. Had something happened to my father?
"Look, I... I'm so sorry about what happened earlier," she said quickly, her words tumbling out in a rush. "My mother... she's just been under a lot of stress. It wasn't right of her to treat you like that."
A wave of conflicting emotions washed over me – a flicker of vindication mixed with a lingering hurt. "It was pretty awful, Cecilia."
"I know, and I told her so," Cecilia insisted. "Anyway... Malcolm.. your dad... calmed down a bit. And... he actually asked about you."
My steps faltered. He asked about me? After telling me to get out? "What did he say?"
"He... he didn't say much," Cecilia admitted. "But he seemed... regretful. He wants to apologize for how he acted. He thinks maybe... maybe things got off on the wrong foot. Would you... would you consider coming back to the hospital? Just to... clear the air?"
The idea was unsettling. Part of me wanted to run as far away from that place and my fractured family as possible. But another part, a stubborn flicker of hope or perhaps just a desperate need for answers, hesitated. "He really wants to apologize?"
"Yes," Cecilia affirmed, her voice sounding genuinely earnest. "Please, Davina. Just give him a chance to explain. Maybe... maybe we can all try to understand what's going on."
I chewed on my lip, the feeling of being watched still nagging at the edge of my awareness. But the possibility of understanding, of finally piecing together the fragments of my father's strange behavior, was a powerful lure. "Okay," I said slowly. "Okay, Cecilia. I'll come back."
"Thank you, Davina," she said, a hint of relief in her voice. "We'll meet you in his bedroom."
I hung up, a sense of weary resignation settling over me. Another trip to that sterile, emotionally charged place. As I changed direction, heading back towards the hospital, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was being observed.
I glanced over my shoulder, trying to be discreet, but the busy street offered no clear indication of who, if anyone, was paying me undue attention. A tall man in a dark jacket seemed to linger near a shop window, but he could just as easily be waiting for someone.
Despite Cecilia's call and the fragile hope it offered, the prickling sensation persisted. Someone was still watching me, their presence a silent, unseen weight adding to the already heavy burden of the day.
The sterile scent of antiseptic, which had offered a false sense of safety upon my return, now felt suffocating.
Upon entering the room, I realised Federica or Cecilia were not here. The room was dark. The silence deafening. I walked a bit closer to my father. The smell in the room was laced with the metallic tang of fresh blood. I glimpsed on my father’s bandages. His wounds seemed to be open again, fresh blood prickled. The fluorescent lights hummed with an almost predatory buzz as I edged further into the dimly lit room.
Malcolm lay still beneath the thin white sheets, his breathing shallow and uneven. A fragile sense of pity, a feeling I hadn’t expected, flickered within me. I went closer to him, trying to take a look on his wounds. My back now turned to the the curtain splitting the room in two.
Then the sound of steps turned my attention behind me. A shadow detached itself from the deeper gloom near the window. A man. He was taller than Nathan, with a lean, almost predatory build, stepped into the faint light filtering through the blinds. His face was sharp, all angles and harsh lines, his eyes dark and intense, locking onto me with an unnerving focus. He moved with a silent grace that spoke of coiled power.
A startled gasp escaped my lips. "Who are you?" The question hung in the sterile air, unanswered.
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The Stranger's POV:
The subtle shift in the room told me she was there. I let the shadows near the window cling to me a moment longer, observing, before detaching myself. It was time. As I moved into the sliver of light from the blinds, her gaze snapped to me. A gasp, soft and sharp, escaped her lips.
Davina. She was even more captivating than my sources suggested. Her eyes, wide with surprise and a flicker of fear, were a vibrant contrast to the sterile room. Her face, framed by what I could now see was a cascade of dark hair, held a delicate beauty, a vulnerability that only sharpened my intent. I felt a familiar, predatory hum deep in my chest. She was a prize, and I intended to claim her.
"Who are you?" Her voice, though trembling slightly, held an unexpected resilience. The question hung between us, but I offered no answer. Not yet. There was a silent power play unfolding, and I was in no hurry to reveal my hand. This was only the beginning.
Who is the stranger hiding in the shadows? What does he want from Davina?
Ezra's POV:The heavy doors of my office had clicked shut behind me that night, a sound that sealed her in, and, I realized now, sealed me out. In the days, weeks, that followed, the silence from Davina was a colder, more potent weapon than any scream. She was back in the penthouse, under my watchful eye, ostensibly safe. But safe from me? That was the question that clawed at me, day and night.She moved through the vast, opulent spaces like a ghost. Her initial terror had solidified into a chilling, unwavering resolve. She kept herself meticulously out of my reach. When I was in the living areas, she was in the library or the assigned office space I'd had set up for her. When I went to the gym, she would be gone, presumably in her room. Meals were a silent, agonizing ballet of avoidance. Her eyes, when they met mine, were devoid of the fire, the anger, the warmth that had once burned there. Now, there was only a stark, blank wall, or a flicker of revulsion she quickly masked.She was
Davina's POV The sting on my palm lingered, a sharp echo of the slap I’d given Ezra. My heart hammered, not from exertion, but from the raw, volatile storm raging inside me. I’d run from his office, the heavy doors slamming shut behind me, sealing in the acrid scent of his rage, the taste of his desperate, bruising kiss. Every nerve ending screamed, run, get out, never look back. But where? The club was a labyrinth, a cage he owned. I found myself stumbling back to the dressing room, the stale air thick with cheap perfume and unfulfilled dreams. I yanked the door shut, leaning against it, my chest heaving. The mirror reflected a stranger: wild eyes, tear-streaked cheeks, hair disheveled. This wasn’t me. This wasn’t the girl who just wanted to pay off a debt.
Ezra's POV:The searing pain on my cheek was nothing compared to the gaping wound Davina had torn open in my chest. Criminal. The word echoed, burning, twisting every attempt I had made, every sacrifice, into something vile. She hated me. She wanted to be free of me, and the world I moved in. And in my rage, I had pushed her further away, forced her hand, made her loathe me even more. The taste of her furious kiss still lingered, a bitter, tantalizing ghost, mockingly juxtaposed with the fresh sting of her slap.My hand dropped from my face. Anger, raw and consuming, coiled in my gut, needing an outlet. This volatile emotion, compounded by the simmering tension with my father and the looming Sokolov threat, had nowhere to go. My focus sharpened, narrowing on the most immediate, tangible problem. There had been reports from my men, whispers of a low-level crew trying to skim from one of my protection rackets, or worse, trying to leverage information they'd overheard about the recent De
Davina's POV:The doors to Ezra’s office loomed, dark and intimidating, a portal into the heart of my torment. Roy stood by, a silent, imposing guard, making it clear there was no escape. Ezra, somehow already inside, a shadow against the dim light, his presence filling the vast room. I felt like a lamb led to slaughter, my anger warring with a cold dread.With a defiant lift of my chin, I stepped inside, the heavy doors thudding shut behind me, sealing me in with him. The club's distant music was muffled here, replaced by a suffocating silence that pressed in on me. The air was thick with the scent of leather, expensive cologne, and a raw power that emanated from him.Ezra didn't move immediately. His eyes, dark and intense, scanned my face, a flicker of something unreadable in their depths – relief, perhaps, but also a possessive glint that made my skin crawl."Davina," he said, his voice low, a gravelly rumble that usually held a hypnotic quality. Now, it just grated on my nerves.
Ezra's POV:I took a breath, recomposing myself. Public confrontation was messy, unprofessional. It wouldn't win her back, it would only drive her further away. But I wouldn't let her simply vanish again.I walked towards the bar, feigning casualness, but my eyes were constantly on the dressing room door, waiting for her to emerge. The club was starting to fill, the music already building to its nightly crescendo. I ordered a whiskey, my gaze sweeping the room, calculating angles, anticipating her movements.When she finally reappeared, she was in her performance costume, a shimmering silver that caught the lights, accentuating every curve. She moved with a practiced grace, her expression carefully blank, betraying none of the turmoil I knew she felt. My gaze locked onto her, willing her to look at me, to acknowledge my presence.I watched her through the crowd as she made her way towards the stage, her path deliberately skirting around the area where I stood. She glanced over her sho
Davina's POV:The world slowly solidified around me, emerging from the soft haze of a deep, dreamless sleep. The suffocating heat was gone, replaced by a cool comfort that wrapped around me like a gentle caress. I stretched, my muscles protesting faintly, and opened my eyes. Devlin's room. The soft sunlight filtering through the curtains painted warm stripes across the wall.A quiet sigh escaped me. The crushing weight of betrayal was still there, a dull ache in my chest, but the sharp, stabbing pain had dulled, softened by the oblivion of fever. Oddly, though, a different sensation lingered. A phantom warmth, a faint, masculine scent that was both familiar and strangely comforting. I almost felt... I miss him. The thought startled me. How could I miss the man who had so thoroughly broken me?Devlin entered the room, carrying a fresh cup of tea. Her eyes softened as she saw me awake. "Davina! You're finally back with us. How do you feel?""Tired," I admitted, pushing myself up to a si