Page 157 of Wicked Proposal
Maksim draws closer. “You have to choose, Yulian.” For once, his voice is quiet. Pained. “Either you end the contract, or you end Prizrak. There is no more time.”
Choose.Between Mia and my family. Her safety, or my revenge.
It’s an impossible choice. It’s absurd. It’s cruel.
But it’s the hand I’ve been dealt.
It was never going to end any other way.
48
MIA
After that Friday night with Yulian, the weekend flies by. When I get home from my early shift the next day, I spend the rest of my free time curled up on the couch with my kid, watching cartoons and guzzling popcorn, with the occasional trip to the park to pet other people’s dogs and play hopscotch with the potholes.
It’s the most relaxed I’ve felt in ages. It’sfun.It’s…
Missing something.
No, not “something.”
Someone.
I try to brush the thought away. Ever since Friday night, Yulian hasn’t been in touch. I’ve texted once to thank him again for everything, but he hasn’t replied. Not to that, not to the daily selfies, nothing.
He’s probably just busy. And maybe, just maybe, he’s feeling raw about what he shared.
Yulian doesn’t strike me as the type to ever have a heart-to-heart, least of all in a money-printing basement, under the whir of machinery, with the woman he hired to play girlfriend.
But is that still all I am to him?
I shake my head, force myself to think about literally anything else. What’s brewing between me and Yulian could be a love story or a recipe for disaster. Either way, I can’t afford to let it distract me.
Because today, I’m going back to work.
As I walk through the ER doors, my heart starts pounding against my ribcage. I keep stealing glances towards Bay C, half-expecting the curtain to move and reveal that razor-sharp smirk, those dark eyes filled with cruelty.
“Nurse Winters?”
Gwen’s voice snaps me out of my thoughts. “Y-yes?”
She pauses in front of me, arms crossed, considering. There’s a trace of impatience on her brow, but also concern. It dawns on me she might have called my name more than once before I finally heard her.
Shit. Great first day back, Florence Nightingale.
After what feels like interminable silence, Gwen sighs, “You’re wanted upstairs.”
“Upstairs?”
“Seventh floor.”
I blink. “Theadminfloor?”
“Unless they’ve been wheeled into the basement overnight, then yes. The admin floor.”
I’m used to Gwen being snappy and sarcastic, but today, something feels off with her. Like she isn’t just being mad at the world at large, but at something very specific.
On the off-chance that it’s me, I give the quickest nod in history and hurtle towards the elevator. I don’t even get changed first. Just bolt for the closing doors and squeeze in.
