Page 34 of Crystal Veil

“Get Dr. Pavlenko here now! And I want every inch of this house searched. Every camera reviewed. Every guard questioned. Someone is going to explain to me how this got past our security, or they're going to die trying.”

The Bratva doctor, Dr. Pavlenko, arrives within minutes. His demeanor is composed, but I see a hint of worry in his eyes.

I'm on the bed now, the sheets rumpled from the night before, the mattress dipped from the restless sleep of two bodies. The morning light has shifted now, creating longer shadows across the room. What started as a peaceful dawn has transformed into something sinister.

Dr. Pavlenko opens his medical bag with steady fingers. The tools inside gleam silver in the light. He works in silence while Renat paces behind, tugging on the ends of his hair.

“Describe what you felt,” the doctor instructs, his voice calm and professional. “Start from when you opened the envelope.”

My words come out stuttered, as I mumble about the scent, the immediate dizziness, and the way cold has spread through mybody like poison. He nods, making notes on a small pad, asking follow-up questions about timing and severity. His examination is thorough, checking my pupils, listening to my heart, and testing my reflexes.

“She's exhibiting early symptoms of neurotoxin exposure,” he announces quietly after fifteen minutes of tests. “A low dose. Rare compound. Possibly botanical in origin.”

Renat swears loudly and viciously in Russian. The sound echoes off the high ceilings, bouncing back at us multiplied and distorted. I've heard him angry before, but this is different. This is the sound of a man who has reached the absolute limit of his control.

I keep my eyes shut, partly from exhaustion and partly because I can't bear to see the expression on his face. The guilt is already eating at me. This happened because of me, because I'm here and I've brought danger into his world just by existing in it.

“It's not lethal?” he demands, his voice sharp enough to cut glass.

“Not at that dose. She'll need monitoring for seventy-two hours. Quarantine, to be safe. The compound could have delayed effects, and in her condition...” The doctor's voice trails off meaningfully.

Quarantine.The word sticks in my head like a thorn, sharp and persistent. Three days locked away while Renat handles the fallout from this attack. Three days of not knowing what's happening, who's being questioned, who's being eliminated. Three days of helplessness while others fight battles in my name.

Renat paces while the doctor draws blood and presses monitors to my chest. The cream envelope is now sealed inside a clearplastic bag, along with the note. But I can still smell the roses. The scent clings to my memory like smoke, refusing to fade. I'm not sure if it's real or if it's burned into my mind permanently.

The doctor's equipment beeps softly, monitoring vital signs that feel disconnected from my body. My heart rate is still elevated, and my blood pressure is higher than normal. The toxin, whatever it is, is working its way through my system like a slow-acting poison.

I catch the look Renat gives his men when they crowd the doorway. His eyes have a murderous glint. But underneath it all is fear, not for himself, but for me.

“Find out how this got through,” he tells them, his voice ice lethal. “Every camera. Every hallway. I want answers. I want faces. If any of you were sleeping on your job, you won't wake up tomorrow.”

He doesn't yell. The threat in his tone is absolute. These men have worked for him long enough to know when he means every word.

They scatter like leaves in a hurricane, each one understanding that their lives now depend on finding answers. The room empties except for the doctor, who continues his quiet work, and Renat, who watches me like a hawk.

I'm alone again within an hour, except for the doctor, who keeps scribbling notes and whispering into his phone. My head throbs with a persistent ache that pulses in rhythm with my heartbeat. My stomach rolls with waves of nausea that come and go without warning.

The silence is maddening, filled only by the soft sounds of medical equipment and the distant hum of activity throughoutthe house. Somewhere in the building, people are being questioned to identify and eliminate the threat. Phone calls are being made. Plans are being formulated.

But I'm removed from all of it, isolated by necessity and circumstance. The quarantine feels like a glass box. I can see out, but I'm unable to participate. I can't fight back. I can only wait and hope that the people I love will survive whatever storm is coming.

Renat eventually returns, his shirt sleeves pushed up. Dark crimson blood stains his bruised knuckles. The scent of blood follows him into the room, mixing with the lingering phantom of roses until I want to gag.

“Don't ask,” he mutters before I can speak, reading the question in my eyes.

But I don't need to ask. The blood tells its own story. Someone provided answers, whether willingly or not. Someone paid the price for letting this envelope reach me. The knowledge should horrify me, but instead I feel only morbid satisfaction. Whoever threatened my baby deserves whatever they received.

He sits at the edge of the bed, careful not to jostle me. The mattress dips under his weight, and I roll slightly toward him, seeking the comfort of his presence. He runs a hand through his hair, leaving faint streaks of blood in the black strands. For a moment, the rage in his eyes quiets when he looks at me. Then it burns hotter and darker than before.

“You're being moved to the west wing,” he announces. “Nobody goes in or out without my clearance. Not even Artur.”

The west wing. I know it by reputation. Reinforced walls, bulletproof windows, and a single entrance that can be sealedat a moment's notice. It's where Renat keeps things that matter most to him. Art worth millions. Documents that could topple governments. And now, me.

“I can still smell it,” I whisper, my voice thin and unsteady.

He looks at me sharply, his hazel eyes focusing with laser intensity.

“The paper. The perfume. Roses.”