Page 22

21

Aithan

Minutes pass.

Then more.

I glance at my watch, irritation prickling at my skin. She’s been gone too long, and my mind is telling me that something’s wrong.

A cold, foreign sensation slithers down my spine as I push through the crowded room, making my way toward the hallway where the bathrooms are. The moment I turn the corner, I increase my pace, my heart slamming against my ribs.

As soon as I open the door, I see Yelena on the floor.

The midnight blue gown fans out around her. Her dark hair spilling over her shoulder, and half covering her face. Her skin is deathly pale, and her breathing shallow. Seeing her like this makes my blood turn to ice.

I’m at her side in seconds, my hands framing her face. “Yelena.” My voice is sharp, commanding. “Open your eyes.”

She doesn’t move.

My pulse roars in my ears as I tilt her head slightly, trying to understand what is happening. That is when I notice a faint red mark on the side of her neck and a half-filled syringe. Someone clearly dropped it in a hurry.

Poison-definitely poison.

The realization hits me like a freight train. Rage ignites in my veins, molten and deadly. Whoever did this is still in this house. Still breathing when they shouldn’t be.

Leon, ever my shadow, appears at my side, his expression darkening the moment he sees her. “What the hell happened?”

I lift her into my arms, my grip tight, unyielding. “Secure the premises. Find out who did this,” I growl, my voice like steel. “And bring them to me.”

Leon doesn’t hesitate. He nods once before disappearing down the hallway, already barking orders.

I turn, cradling Yelena against my chest as I move toward the exit, my entire world narrowing down to the fragile weight in my arms. She’s still breathing, but barely.

I swear on my life, whoever touched her—whoever dared to harm her will beg for death by the time I’m through with them.

And I won’t be merciful.

The steady beep of the heart monitor is the only sound filling the sterile white hospital room, a rhythmic reminder that Yelena is still breathing. That she’s still here. But the sight of her lying motionless, her porcelain skin pale against the stark sheets, makes something primal and violent claw at my insides.

I sit in the chair beside her bed, my elbows braced on my knees, hands clenched so tightly my knuckles turn white. I’ve stared at her since we got here, watching the subtle rise and fall of her chest, willing her to wake up. But she doesn’t.

The fear that I could have lost her gnaws at me, an unbearable weight that threatens to suffocate me. I was seconds away from losing her. If I had been a moment too late, she wouldn’t be here. She’d be gone, her body growing cold while I be left to hunt down the bastard who did this.

My jaw clenches as I think about what the doctors told me—the poison used on her wasn’t some common street toxin. It is slow-acting, excruciatingly painful, designed to paralyze before shutting down the body's systems. Whoever did this didn’t just want her dead. They wanted her to suffer.

A deep, guttural rage bubbles inside me. My hands flex, the need to break something—or someone—thrumming through my veins.

I scrub a hand down my face, exhaling sharply. I can still see it. The way I had found her, crumpled on the cold marble bathroom floor at the dinner party, her skin clammy, her breathing faint. The sheer terror that had bolted through my body as I scooped her up, shouting for Leon to call an ambulance.

I wasn’t used to feeling powerless. I don’t do powerless. But watching her fight for every breath in that moment had stripped me bare, had shattered something inside me that I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to put back together.

A part of me is locked in that moment. Reliving it and wondering what the other outcome would have meant.

I lean forward, resting my forehead against her hand, inhaling her scent—faint now, masked by the sterile smell of the hospital.

“Wake up, agápi mou ,” I murmur, my voice hoarse. “I swear to you, I’m going to find the bastard who did this. And when I do, they will pay slowly and painfully.”

The only response is the soft hum of machines and the low murmur of the nurses outside the door.

I lift my head and study her face. Even unconscious, she looks fierce. Strong. Alive.

And I will not let that change.

A sharp knock at the door pulls me out of my thoughts.

The doctor steps inside, his expression grim. “We found something,” he says, his voice low but firm. "The toxicologist will be with us shortly.

I stand immediately, my body wired with tension. “What did you find?”

He glances at Yelena briefly before returning his focus to me. “We got the lab results back. The content of the syringe is lethal rattlesnake venom. But it’s not just that. This was mixed with a stabilizing agent to make the effects last longer, ensure slow paralysis.”

My fists tighten. So this wasn’t just an assassination attempt. It was meant to be a message.

I shudder at the thought of what would have happened if I hadn’t gone looking for her when I did. My gut had screamed at me that something was wrong. The moment she didn’t return, I should have found her sooner. The thought rips through me like a dull blade, carving out guilt with every second that ticks by.

A little too late. Just a few minutes too late.

But even that stroke of luck had given us a chance. The syringe her attacker dropped had given the doctors a quick lead. Rattlesnake venom. The sick bastard had used a refined version, milked and weaponized. Yelena had woken briefly, just for a moment, but the agony had been unbearable.

Her lips had swelled, her tongue thick in her mouth as she choked on her own breath. The doctors had rushed to stabilize her, but soon after, she had slipped into a coma.

The door creaks open, and I snap my head up, my bloodshot eyes locking onto another doctor, who steps inside. He’s wearing a crisp white coat, his expression carefully neutral, but I can see the weight of the situation in his gaze.

"Mr. Vasilios," he says, his tone measured. "I am sure Dr. Colton has told you what we found. We will immediately start administering polyvalent immune fab. It is an Ovine anti-venom that should begin to neutralize the effect of the snake venom at once. We’ll monitor your wife closely, and include other treatment plans as we progress."

At his words, my body starts to vibrate with barely contained fury. "What the hell does that mean? Will she survive this?" My voice is low, lethal, laced with the threat of violence should he say something I don’t want to hear.

The doctor exhales slowly. "Yes, we believe so. We caught it in time, and her body is responding to the treatment. But rattlesnake venom is a complex toxin, and its effects don’t just fade instantly."

I clench my fists, my breathing harsh. "Explain."

He nods, stepping closer, his gaze steady despite the tension radiating off me. "When venom enters the body, it immediately begins to disrupt the blood’s ability to clot. This is why Mrs. Vasilios experienced excessive bleeding—internally and externally. The venom contains hemotoxins, which destroy blood cells and tissues, causing hemorrhaging and necrosis. That’s why she was vomiting blood and experiencing hematuria. The venom also triggered a severe drop in her blood pressure, which, combined with swelling in her throat and airway, made breathing difficult. The pain she felt was from the venom breaking down muscle tissue, leading to systemic toxicity."

I stare at him, my body rigid. The words slash through me, each syllable carving a deeper sense of helplessness into my bones.

"So what now?" My voice is quieter, but no less dangerous.

He motions towards Dr. Colton, who is already setting up IV lines. "We’re administering fluids to stabilize her blood pressure and prevent shock," the doctor continues. "The anti-venom is neutralizing the toxins, but the damage takes time to heal. She’s had hematological abnormalities, meaning her blood’s ability to clot has been severely impaired, but we will manage that with plasma infusions. The swelling in her throat will soon start subsiding, but the next twenty-four hours are critical. We need to ensure there’s no long-term organ damage."

I exhale sharply, my jaw ticking. "You said she’ll make a full recovery?"

The doctor nods. "We are optimistic, Mr. Vasilios. She is being treated in time, and her vitals are now stable. However, she will be weak for several days, and we’ll need to monitor her closely."

I rake a hand through my hair, pacing the small space beside her bed. "And the pain?"

"We're handling it," he reassures me. "She’s will remain sedated for now, but when she wakes up, she’ll likely experience muscle cramping and some residual pain. The venom attacks nerve endings, so some discomfort is to be expected. But the worst is over."

The worst is over.

I let out a slow breath, my eyes drifting to Yelena’s peaceful face. She doesn’t look peaceful to me. She looks fragile.

Weak.

The image of her lying on the cold, marble floor of that bathroom, the time her body started convulsing, her lips turning blue, flashes through my mind.

No.

My wife is not weak. She is a warrior, fierce and untamed. And someone dared to try to take her from me.

That is a mistake they won’t live long enough to regret.

I turn to the doctor. "Make sure she gets everything she needs. I don’t care what it costs. I do not want her to so much as wince in pain."

He nods. "Understood, sir."

As soon as the door closes behind them, I sink back into the chair beside Yelena’s bed. My fingers brush over her delicate hand, her skin cool to the touch.

"I swear to you, agapi mou ," I murmur, my voice raw, "whoever did this will pay in blood."

My mind is already racing, piecing together the puzzle. The timing, the method, the execution—it was well calculated and deliberate. This wasn’t just a message as I earlier thought; it was meant to finish her off.

I intend to respond with a loud clap back. Whoever tried to take my wife away from me just signed their death warrant.

The tension in the air is thick enough to choke on. My father has had the entire premises combed, but the attacker has vanished like smoke. How the hell did someone get past all our security? My jaw tightens as I listen to the report—nothing. No trace. No leads. Just a fucking ghost who nearly took my wife from me.

Leon stands beside me, scrolling through the CCTV footage on a handheld device. I watch his face harden with every passing second. The footage shows no one going in or out of the bathroom while Yelena was inside. Impossible. We both know that’s bullshit. Someone got to her, and now they’re gone.

Leon rewinds, fast-forwards, studies every frame. Then, suddenly, he freezes the screen. His eyes narrow. "The vent," he mutters, pointing at the ceiling panel just visible in the footage.

My blood runs cold. "They came through the fucking vent?" I growl, rage simmering beneath the surface. Leon nods grimly, his jaw set.

I slam my fist against the nearest wall. "Find out who the hell had access to the blueprints of that venue. I want names, Leon. Every single person who so much as looked at those plans."

Before Leon can respond, a hesitant knock sounds at the door. One of the doctors steps inside, his expression tense. My gut twists. I don’t like that look.

"Mr. Vasilios," he begins cautiously. "There's something else we need to discuss…..umm maybe privately?"

I brace myself. "Spit it out."

The doctor takes a breath, his gaze flicking between me and my father. "Some of the other results that came back earlier showed a high level of HCG your wife... she was pregnant."

"Was?"

He nods nervously. "The blood sample we took an hour ago showed a drop in HCG of about twenty-five percent. I'm sorry, but she lost the baby due to the poisoning."

Everything inside me stops. The room tilts. My heart pounds so violently it drowns out the rest of his words.

Pregnant?

I feel like the floor has just been ripped out from under me. I grip the edge of the desk so hard my knuckles turn white. The walls close in, suffocating me, but the only thing I can think about is Yelena lying unconscious, our child gone before I even knew it existed.

Leon exhales sharply beside me, but I can’t look at him. Can’t look at anyone. My mind is a roaring storm, my body stiff with barely contained sorrow. An emotion I haven't felt in over ten years.

A child. Our child. Another of my child gone before it even had the chance to register its presence.

I turn away from the doctor, breathing hard, trying to control the rage threatening to consume me. "Whoever did this," I grind out, my voice dangerously low, "must pay."

Leon nods once, his face just as dark as mine. "We’ll find them."