All Chapters of The Heirmaker's Bride: Chapter 61 - Chapter 70

The man sat angled toward the street, shoulders broad even under his hospital robe, head lowered as if the weight of the world was pressing on the back of his neck. The nurses hovered near him like nervous birds, clearly not in control of the situation.Nikolai’s eyes narrowed.A wheelchair meant weakness.Weak men were usually easier to talk to.He glanced at the entrance again, at the cameras, the security guards, the locked doors.No way a kid walked into the ICU at midnight without someone stopping him.But a man in a wheelchair?A man already inside the hospital system?That was different.Nikolai adjusted his hood and walked forward calmly.The nurses didn’t notice him at first.They were too busy whispering in anxious tones.“…he shouldn’t be out here.”“…he’s going to cause another scene.”“…God help us if he gets worse...”Nikolai didn’t care.He walked straight up to the wheelchair man.From the side, the man looked like shadow and steel even sitting down. Like someone used

Damian’s eyes went dead cold.Nikolai’s voice sharpened into a blade.“I expected a scary mafia king,” he said. “Not a loser in a wheelchair.”That struck Damian hard.Harder than bullets.Harder than betrayal.Harder than grief.Because it wasn’t just an insult.It was a mirror.A tiny mirror held up by a child who didn’t fear him… showing Damian exactly what he’d become.Damian’s hands gripped the wheelchair arms until his knuckles went white.His voice came out low.“You little...”Nikolai cut him off again.“And don’t ever call my mummy again,” he snapped. “Unless you learn manners.”Damian’s lips curled.The softness vanished.The mafia boss returned in full, cold and predatory, eyes like storm clouds.“Everyone has a price,” Damian said, voice dangerous. “Even your mother.”Nikolai laughed.A short, insulting sound.“My mummy?” he scoffed. “You can’t even pay for your legs.”A nurse gasped loud enough to startle a bird outside.Damian’s face darkened.“She’ll come,” Damian said,

The elevator ride up was quiet.Not the comfortable kind of quiet either.The strange kind… where the air feels heavy because two people just survived something emotional and neither of them knows how to act normal again.Damian stared straight ahead, jaw tight, eyes cold again but not cruel. Not right now.Nikolai stood beside the wheelchair like a tiny bodyguard, hands tucked into his hoodie pockets, watching the numbers climb as if he was going to the top floor of a kingdom.When the doors finally slid open, the ICU corridor greeted them with sterile light and hushed voices.The nurses guided Damian back to his ward quickly, like they were afraid the air itself might offend him.They opened the door.Rolled him in.Adjusted the machines.Muttered medical instructions.And once everything was “perfect,” they left like frightened birds escaping a storm.The door clicked shut.And suddenly…It was just them.A boy.And a mafia king.Nikolai didn’t speak immediately. He just wandered a

Damian’s men moved like shadows with training carved into their bones.Nikolai slept in the arms of one of them, head tucked against the man’s shoulder, small body limp with pure child exhaustion. Not a single sound left him except the soft, steady rhythm of his breathing.To anyone watching, it would have looked harmless.But nothing about this night was harmless.The hospital corridor was quiet at that hour, the kind of quiet that made footsteps sound like gunshots. Damian’s men didn’t make noise. They timed every movement with the precision of men who’d infiltrated far worse places than a private hospital.Within minutes, they were outside.A black car glided up, already waiting, engine running.No headlights.No unnecessary attention.The back door opened and they slid inside.Nikolai shifted once, eyebrows twitching like he was about to wake, but one of the men adjusted him gently, murmuring something low in Russian, and the boy sank deeper into sleep.The car rolled through Ital

Morning in the ICU felt different.Not brighter.Not quieter.But… different.The nurses noticed it first.They entered Damian Blackwell’s ward like soldiers approaching a battlefield, braced for shouting, for cold fury, for something to shatter.Instead, they found him sitting in his wheelchair by the window, sunlight cutting across his face, jaw relaxed for once.He didn’t bark when they adjusted the IV.He didn’t glare when they checked his vitals.He didn’t snap when one of them accidentally tugged the blanket too hard.He just… let them.One nurse blinked in confusion.“Mr. Blackwell,” she said cautiously, “we need to check the incision sites.”Damian gave a small nod.“Do it.”No sarcasm.No threat.The nurse almost dropped the medical tray from shock.They worked quickly, quietly, stealing glances at him like they were watching a wild animal that had suddenly decided not to bite.Damian barely noticed.His gaze was turned toward the window, but he wasn’t seeing the city.He was