Page 25

The sharp scent of antiseptic jolts me awake, and my senses struggle for clarity.

I blink, squinting at the harsh lights above.

The room sways like a carousel, and shapes blur.

Sterile walls, beeping machines, and starched sheets scratch my skin—I’m in a hospital.

How did I end up here?

My mind struggles to find an answer.

Charlie Letvin’s face flashes in my memory—his hands shoving me into a van.

Trapped, terrified, praying for a rescue.

Then Mark, like an avenging angel, burst in, his eyes blazing with fury as he fought to reach me.

“Quinn, you're safe now.” Lara's soothing voice pulls me back. I turn to see her beside my bed, her kind eyes filled with relief. She gently takes my hand.

“Lara,” I croak, throat dry.

“What happened? How long was I out?”

“You've been unconscious for a few days. The doctors had to sedate you to help you heal after... what that monster did.” Her voice trembles. “But Mark saved you, Quinn.”

I nod weakly, the trauma rising in my chest.

A sudden, terrifying thought hits me. I clutch my stomach in panic. “The baby! Lara, is my baby okay?” I try to sit up, heart racing.

Lara gently presses me back down. “Shh, rest.”

“Please, tell me,” I beg.

Lara sighs, her voice steady. “There was some bleeding and uterine trauma, but the baby is fine. Strong heartbeat. You're both going to be okay.”

Relief washes over me, and I slump back with tears streaming down my face. “Thank God,” I whisper.

Lara smiles warmly. “Congratulations. It's not ideal, but it's wonderful news.”

“I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner,” I murmur, guilt twisting my stomach.

“Hush,” she says, squeezing my hand. “You have nothing to apologize for. You're both safe. We’ll get through this together.”

“Thank you,” I breathe, exhaustion taking over.

But then my eyes snap open, a new thought jolting through me like an electric current. “Mark,” I rasp. “Where is he? Does he...does he know?”

Lara's expression softens with understanding. “He knows, Quinn. The doctor informed him during a routine update after they checked on you when you were first admitted.”

I swallow hard, my heart hammering against my ribs. “How did he react? Was he angry? Upset?” My voice cracks on the last word, betraying the depth of my fear.

“Oh, Honey.” Lara brushes a strand of hair from my forehead, her eyes full of compassion. “He was worried sick about you. He stayed by your side for days, refusing to leave until our brothers practically dragged him out to get some rest.”

I blink, trying to process this information through the haze of medication and exhaustion. “He stayed with me?” I whisper, hardly daring to believe it.

Lara nods, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “He did. I've never seen him like that before, Quinn. He was so focused on you, so desperate for you to be okay. It was like nothing else mattered.”

I feel my heartbeat ramp up in speed. The idea that he might want this baby...it's almost too much to comprehend.

The road ahead is far from clear, but for the first time since I woke up, I feel at peace. “Okay,” I whisper, meeting Lara's steady gaze. “Okay.”

***

The door opens, and my heart leaps as Mark steps inside. His usual polish is gone—hair tousled, a shadow of a beard on his jaw. But it's his eyes that stop me—haunted, raw.

“Quinn,” he breathes, my name falling like a prayer.

In a heartbeat, he's by my side, his large hand enveloping mine. “You're awake. Thank God.”

His touch is tender, desperate, making my chest tighten.

“I'm okay,” I rasp. “You know about the baby...?”

A knock interrupts, and the doctor enters. Sensing the charged air, her warm smile flickers between Mark and me. “Ms. Desmond, Mr. Zolotov,” she greets, calm and professional. I have updates on your condition and the baby.”

My heart races with dreadful anticipation. What’s the news? Will this be too much for Mark? His hand tightens around mine, an unspoken promise that he’s here.

The doctor checks her chart, expression neutral. “Both you and the baby are stable. The bleeding has stopped, and we’ve prevented further complications.”

Relief floods me, nearly stealing my breath. Our baby is safe. That’s all that matters.

I study Mark, watching his reaction. His brow furrows, his eyes widen slightly as the doctor confirms our baby’s health. And then, a smile—small but unmistakable—tugs at the corners of his mouth. Pure joy.

It’s a revelation. The notorious playboy, the arrogant Bratva boss, is now a man who is awestruck by the miracle inside me. In that moment, something shifts within me. Maybe he really wants this baby. Wants us.

As the doctor leaves, Mark turns to me, his expression softening. My heart pounds. This is it. The moment of truth.

“Mark,” I whisper, voice raw. “Talk to me. Please.”

He’s silent, his gaze fixed on our joined hands. After a long moment, his eyes meet mine, intense and steady.

“I mean what I’m about to say, Quinn,” he says, voice low, rough. “I’m here for you and the baby. No matter what happens, I’m not going anywhere.”

“Oh, Mark,” I whisper, tears welling.

“I wish you'd told me sooner you were pregnant. Is that why you ran?” he asks.

“Partly,” I murmur.

He nods, acknowledging my truth. “I know I didn’t make things easy, didn’t say what I should have when I should have shouted my feelings from the rooftops in sheer joy. But I’m willing to do anything to prove I’m here—for you, for our child.”

I search his face, finding only sincerity. “I know,” I whisper.

He reaches out, fingers grazing my cheek. The tenderness makes my breath catch. I lean into his touch, letting myself feel this moment of connection, of safety.

***

Over the next few days, as I recover in the hospital, Mark will be a constant presence at my side. He will bring me prenatal vitamins and ensure I take them religiously. When I shiver from the hospital's overzealous air conditioning, he will tuck an extra blanket around me, his hands lingering on my shoulders.

And when the bland hospital food becomes unbearable, he sneaks in a pizza from my favorite place. “Just don't tell the nurses,” he whispers conspiratorially, with a playful grin on his face.

These small gestures, these moments of care and attention, tell me I made the right decision to call him that day, Charlie Letvin took me. Here’s a man who wants to build a life with me and be a father to our child.

I know it’s not going to be easy. We have a lot of baggage and many obstacles to overcome. But as I watch Mark doze in the chair beside my bed, his hand resting protectively on my belly, I feel a flicker of something that feels dangerously like hope.

Maybe we can do this. Maybe we can find our way to each other, to that family I always dreamed of having. It's a terrifying thought, but also an exhilarating one. And for the first time in a long time, I'm ready to take that leap of faith.

***

As the day of my discharge approaches, I find myself growing restless, eager to leave the confines of the hospital room. Mark senses my impatience and gently squeezes my hand. “Just a little longer, Quinn.”

I nod, knowing he's right, but the need for normalcy, for a sense of control, itches beneath my skin.

As I watch Mark carefully pack my belongings, double-checking with the nurses to ensure we have all the necessary prescriptions and instructions, I feel a wave of gratitude wash over me. He's been my rock through all of this.

When the final paperwork is signed and I'm officially discharged, Mark insists on pushing me out of the hospital, despite my protests that I'm perfectly capable of walking. “Humor me,” he says with a wink, and I can't help but roll my eyes, a smile playing at the corners of my mouth.

As we exit the hospital doors, the sunlight warming my face, I take a deep breath, savoring the taste of freedom. Mark's hand finds the small of my back, a reassuring presence as he guides me towards the waiting car.

“Ready to go home?” he asks, his eyes searching mine.

Home. I look at Mark, the man who has proven time and again that he's willing to fight for me, for us, I realize that home isn't a place but a feeling.

“Ready,” I say, my voice steady and sure.