Chapter 5

MISHA’S POV

The first thing I registered was the low, steady beep of a monitor and the sharp, clean scent of antiseptic. Hospital. My body felt heavy, limbs slow to respond, as if someone had poured lead into my veins while I slept. I forced my eyes open.

Nikolai sat in the chair beside the bed, sleeves rolled to his elbows, watching me with the same unreadable calm he had worn in the alley. And standing just behind him, pale and tight-jawed, was Ken.

For a single, disoriented second I thought I was still dreaming. Then the memory of his voice on the phone,soft, post-orgasm, telling Katya he loved her while calling me nothing,slammed back into place with perfect clarity.

I sat up so fast the monitors spiked.

“You,” I breathed.

Ken took an automatic step forward, concern already arranged on his face like a mask he had practiced. “Misha, thank God. When I got the call I—”

“Get out.”

Nikolai’s gaze flicked between us, assessing. He spoke first, voice even. “He was the last person you spoke to before you collapsed. Your phone showed the call. I contacted him so someone who knew you would be informed.”

The explanation only sharpened the rage. Nikolai had called the man who had just finished fucking my stepsister and declaring me worthless. He had brought the betrayal into the room while I was unconscious and defenseless.

Ken tried again, softer now, the voice he used when he wanted me to fold. “Baby, I don’t know what you think you heard, but we can talk about this. You scared the hell out of me. I came as soon as….”

I swung my legs over the side of the bed. The IV tugged; I ignored it. “Don’t call me baby. Don’t come near me. Get the fuck out.”

“Misha, you’re not well. The doctor said….”

“I said get out!”

I shoved the thin blanket aside and stood. My legs trembled, but fury kept me upright. Ken’s eyes widened. He glanced at Nikolai as if expecting the other man to intervene, to restrain the hysterical woman. Nikolai did not move. He simply watched, one eyebrow slightly raised, as though the scene interested him more than it concerned him.

Ken lifted both hands, placating. “You’re confused. You had an asthma attack. You don’t know what you’re saying.”

I took a step toward him. Then another. “I know exactly what I heard. I know exactly what you and Katya were doing while I was standing on a sidewalk trying not to fall apart. You laughed when she asked about me. You said I was nothing. So get out of this room before I make you.”

He still didn’t leave. That was his mistake.

I closed the remaining distance and shoved him hard in the chest. He stumbled back a step, surprise flashing across his face. I shoved him again, harder, driving him toward the door.

“Misha, stop….people can hear….”

“Good. Let them hear.” My voice rose. “Let everyone know that Ken, the perfect fiancé, has been screwing my stepsister and planning how to discard me. Get out!”

He tried to catch my wrists. I twisted free and pushed him through the doorway into the corridor. A nurse at the far desk looked up sharply. Ken’s face had gone red with a mixture of anger and embarrassment.

“You’re making a scene,” he hissed.

“Then leave.”

I kept advancing. He kept retreating. Every time he opened his mouth I cut him off with another shove or another demand that he disappear. The corridor stretched ahead of us. I didn’t care who watched. I didn’t care that I was still in a hospital gown or that the IV pole trailed behind me like an accusation. All I could see was the man who had smiled at me over dinner tables and whispered forever while already belonging to someone else.

We reached the elevator bank. Ken finally planted his feet and grabbed my shoulders.

“Enough. You’re sick. You’re not thinking straight. When you calm down we’ll talk.”

I laughed in his face, the sound raw. “We are never talking again. You don’t get to manage me. You don’t get to decide when I’m calm enough for your convenience. You lost that right the second you told Katya I was nothing.”

His grip tightened. For a moment I thought he might actually shake me. Then Nikolai’s voice cut through the hallway, quiet but absolute.

“Take your hands off her.”

Ken’s head snapped toward the doorway of the room we had left. Nikolai stood there, hands in his pockets, expression cold. He had not raised his voice. He did not need to.

Ken released me as if the contact had burned him. He looked between the two of us, calculation replacing the earlier concern. Whatever he saw on Nikolai’s face made him step back.

“This isn’t over,” he said to me, low.

“Yes,” I answered. “It is.”

He turned and walked toward the elevators. I watched until the doors closed on him. Only then did the adrenaline begin to drain, leaving my legs unsteady and my lungs tight again.

Nikolai crossed the corridor in three long strides and caught my elbow before I could sway.

“Back to the bed,” he said. Not a request.

I let him guide me. The fight had taken more than I had to give. When he settled me against the pillows and checked the IV line with unexpected efficiency, I stared at the ceiling and tried to slow my breathing.

“You called him,” I said after a moment.

“I did.”

“Why?”

“Because your phone showed he was the last person you spoke to. I assumed he mattered.” Nikolai’s tone remained flat. “Clearly I was wrong.”

I closed my eyes. The image of Ken and Katya tangled together flashed behind my lids. The sound of his laugh. The casual cruelty of the word *nothing*.

When I opened them again, Nikolai was still standing beside the bed, watching me with that same assessing stillness.

“You chased him out of a hospital corridor in a gown,” he observed. “Impressive. Reckless. But impressive.”

I turned my face away. “I don’t need your commentary.”

“You’ll get it anyway.” He pulled the chair closer and sat. “Rest. The doctor will be back soon. And when you’re stronger, we are going to discuss the fact that you pretended to be Sasha Reza, collapsed in my arms, and then tried to throw a grown man out of a medical facility while still attached to an intravenous drip.”

I looked at him then, really looked. There was no mockery in his expression. Only interest. And something harder beneath it that I could not yet name.

“Why are you still here?” I asked.

Nikolai leaned back in the chair, completely at ease.

“Because,” he said, “I haven’t decided yet what to do with you.”