Page 122 of Beautiful Agony

He pauses in his examination. "Your daughter is fine, Mrs. Stravinsky. The ultrasound showed normal fetal movement and heartbeat. You managed to protect her remarkably well."

Relief floods through me, making my eyes burn with fresh tears. Larina is safe. All those kicks I blocked, all that pain I endured—it was worth it. She's alive.

But there's another life I need to know about.

"My husband," I croak out. "Where's Vadim? Is he...?"

The doctor's face grows carefully neutral. "I'm not at liberty to discuss other patients' conditions at this time, Mrs. Stravinsky."

Ice forms in my veins. "Please," I beg, trying to sit up despite the stabbing pain. "He was stabbed. There was so much blood. I need to know if he's?—"

"Mrs. Stravinsky, you need to remain still," he cuts me off firmly. "You've sustained serious injuries that require immediate treatment. I cannot discuss anything else right now. Not when I don't have any idea about what is going on."

Tears stream down my face as monitors beep steadily around me. Why won't they tell me about Vadim? The last time I saw him, he was so pale, so cold in my arms.

"Doctor Osborn?" A nurse walks in. "There's someone here to see Mrs. Stravinsky."

"Send them in." He nods.

My heart leaps for a moment, hoping against hope. But it's not Vadim who walks through the door. It's Demyon. His usually bright expression is gone, replaced by something dark and grim that settles in my stomach like lead. I can see it in the tight clench of his jaw, the way his shoulders slump ever so slightly forward.

Fresh tears spring to my eyes.

"Vadim," I choke out. "Please tell me he's alive. They won't tell me anything."

"The only thing they'll let me know is that he's in surgery." Demyon takes my hand, careful of the IV lines. "The doctors are doing everything they can."

A sob rips through me, sending bolts of agony through my ribs. "This is all my fault. I insisted on walking the runway. He didn't want me to. If I hadn't been so stubborn..."

"Stop that," Demyon says firmly. "You couldn't have known what would happen."

"Everyone warned me!" My voice breaks. "And now Vadim might die because of me. Because I thought I was being so clever..."

"Lacey, listen to me?—”

"No," I cut him off, tears streaming down my face. "You don't understand. He tried to tell me it was too dangerous. He wanted me to stay safe, to protect Larina. But I wouldn't listen. I was so determined to help end this. And now..."

Demyon squeezes my hand. "This isn't your fault. Kirsan is the only one to blame."

But I can't stop the guilt crushing my chest, worse than any physical pain. The image of Vadim's blood spreading across the catwalk haunts me. The way his eyes found mine before they closed. The desperate way he tried to reach for me even as he fell.

"I can't lose him," I whisper. "I can't."

My phone shakesin my trembling hands hours later as I scroll through the interviews Megan has released, hoping to distract myself from the worry gnawing at my mind.

Each interview tells a story of survival, of hope rekindled. Each woman's face shows a different tale of rescue, but they all share the same gratitude towards Vadim and Svoboda.

"He gave me back my life," one says through tears.

"I thought I would die there," another whispers. "But then his men came..."

The testimonials blur together as fresh tears stream down my face. My ribs scream in protest with each shuddering breath, but I can't stop. This is what we fought for. What Vadim has been fighting for all along.

Then I see the final video.

The thumbnail shows Vadim staring at the camera, his expression serious but open. My heart clenches at the sight of him, healthy and whole, so different from how I last saw him bleeding out backstage from the catwalk.

My finger hovers over the play button. Part of me isn't ready to hear his voice, knowing he might never speak to me again.

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