Page 47 of Dancing With Delusion

I take a drink of my whiskey. “Good things are worth fighting for.”

“Even if it destroys you? You’ve worked so hard to get here, and she could ruin it all.”

“My personal and business lives are completely separate. I can have both.”

“Really? So, where is she this evening?” she asks. “Men like you need a strong woman. She’s fallen at the first hurdle. Fuck, Dmitry, she’s having a breakdown and you’ve only been seeing each other for a few months. She can’t handle this life.”

I take a calming breath, unhooking her hand from my arm and leaning in close to her ear. “Vivian, do you know what I love the most about Victoria?” I don’t wait for her reply before adding, “That she isn’t from this world.”

“Love?” she repeats, sounding hurt. “You love her?”

I pull back, draining the last of my drink and placing the empty glass on a nearby table. “Very much so. In fact, what the fuck am I doing here when I could be with her?” I turn on my heel and leave.

Outside, I pull out my mobile and call Marshall back. “Boss,” he says, and I stiffen at the sound of panic lacing that one word. “I’ve been trying to get a hold of you. Nik should be with you any second. He’s picking you up and taking you to the hospital. It’s Victoria . . . she’s hurt.”

Nik pulls up and jumps out the car to open my door. “Hurt?” I repeat.

“Boss, we need to get to the hospital,” says Nik, guiding me into the car.

“Hurt how?” I ask Marshall.

“I found her with blood and . . .” His voice breaks with emotion. “Fuck, Dmitry, it’s bad. Really bad.”

I disconnect. My heart is slamming in my chest and sickness settles in the pit of my stomach. “What happened?”

“She cut herself,” says Nik, his voice void of any emotion as usual.

“Where were you?”

He turns slightly to look at me, his brow furrowed. “Downstairs.”

“Weren’t you checking in on her?”

“Of course, but she was asleep, so I left her alone for a couple hours.”

I ball my fists in anger. “I told you to check in.”

“Every ten minutes?” he spits, and I bristle at the tone he’s using. He sighs. “Sorry, Boss. It’s been a crazy half-hour.” I let it slide, putting it down to emotions, even though the cold bastard doesn’t usually have any.

The second he stops outside the hospital, I get out the car and rush inside. Marshall is pacing the emergency waiting room, and the second he sees me, he looks relieved. “Where is she?” I demand.

“Surgery.”

I frown. “What do you mean, surgery?”

“Boss, she hit an artery. There was blood everywhere,” he hisses. I stare at his blood-soaked shirt. “It’s lucky I went in when I did or she’d be . . .” His voice breaks again, and he leaves the sentence hanging.

It’s another hour before a doctor approaches us. “I’m Doctor Jenson. Are you related to Victoria?” he asks.

I nod. “Husband,” I lie.

“Follow me,” he instructs, and we go into a private room.

“Your wife sustained a very nasty cut to her lower left arm. It was so deep, it nicked the artery. Thankfully, we’ve repaired it, and she should make a full recovery.” I sigh in relief, lowering into a seat. “However, it’s clear this was self-inflicted. Were you aware of your wife’s self-harming behaviours?”

I scrub my hands over my tired face. “Yes. She’s receiving help.”

He gives a slight nod. “How?”

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