Page 32 of The Last Hope

But that was before my phone went off, signaling an emergency.

“Damn it,” I muttered, placing my tray on a cart before hurrying toward the emergency department.

I frowned at the sight of numerous men in black suits, their eyes scanning the room with dark, wary expressions.

“Selina !” Luca called, sticking his head out from behind a curtain.

I rushed to his side under the suspicious gazes of the new arrivals. As I reached him, I saw an unconscious man lying on a stretcher.

“I’ll handle this one—he’s hemorrhaging. Go check the next bay; it’s just some stitches,” my supervisor instructed, and I quickly moved to the indicated area.

“It’s fine, Alia, stop crying. I’m okay, it’s just a cut,” the man sitting on the bed reassured the young woman beside him, squeezing her hand.

He lifted his head as I entered, and our eyes met. Blood trickled from a wound on his cheek where a deep gash had opened. He froze when he saw me, his intense gaze locking onto mine in a way that made me uncomfortable. I quickly turned away, disinfecting my hands.

“Good evening, I’m Selina. I’ll be taking care of your wound, Mr.…?”

“Rasili,” he said, smiling as he extended his hand.

I hesitated for a moment before finally shaking it, but all I felt was coldness.

I woke up with a start, groaning at the pain shooting up my arm. I looked down at my son, still fast asleep against my side. Leaning down, I kissed his forehead before pulling back the covers and slipping out of bed. A shiver ran down my spine as I felt the cool air against my damp skin—I was soaked in sweat.

I made my way to the bathroom, grabbing my painkillers before returning to the bedroom to take them with a glass of water. I groaned again when I saw the empty bottle.

Cazzo.

I sighed, slipping on a thin cardigan over my tank top before heading for the door. I cracked it open and peeked into the dimly lit hallway, the soft glow from the floor-level LED lights casting long shadows. I closed the door quietly behind me and started down the white staircase leading to the ground floor, holding the box of pills close to my chest.

The cold marble under my bare feet made me shudder. I moved as silently as possible, my eyes darting around the dimly lit space.

In the kitchen, I set the medication on the counter, opened the fridge, and grabbed a bottle of water. I retrieved a glass from the dishwasher and quickly swallowed two pills, bracing myself against the counter with my free hand as I squeezed my eyes shut.

It’s okay. It’s okay.

I gripped the countertop harder, trying to ignore the pain.

Then, I felt it.

The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. I was being watched.

It was a skill I had been forced to learn over the last eight years—when I had been prey to a monster.

I straightened and slowly turned toward the second doorway leading to the living room, my body locking in place when I saw Nikolai Ivanov standing there. He was still dressed in his black shirt, the sleeves rolled up to reveal his muscular forearms, and his tailored dress pants.

His eyes traveled up the length of my bare legs, pausing on my cast, before finally meeting my gaze.

“You felt me watching you,” he said, crossing his arms and leaning his shoulder against the doorway.

I said nothing, staring instead at his feet clad in black slippers.

“Elif doesn’t like us walking around in our shoes. Once, she hit Roman with a wooden spoon—right on the knee. Very strategic spot.”

I laughed at the image of Elif chasing Roman through the house, brandishing a wooden spoon.

“You have a dimple on your right cheek,” Nikolai said suddenly, his deep voice startling me. I lifted my gaze and met his.

He straightened and began walking toward me, his movements slow and deliberate. I stepped back without even realizing it, but I didn’t get far—trapped against the counter.