“Ms. Caldwell, please hold still,” the doctor interrupts. He’s short, barely taller than the nurse, with sharp, dark eyes that flick between me and his tablet like he’s already deciding how much effort I’m worth. His beard is neatly trimmed, and his white coat looks like it came straight from the dry cleaners.
He doesn’t sit; just stands beside me, peering down. “Your ribs are bruised, not broken. Same for your shoulder—strained, not torn. You’ll need to rest, ice, and avoid anything that aggravates it.”
“Aggravates it?” I lift a brow. “Like breathing?” The nurse’s lips twitch.
“Ouch.” I bite back a hiss when he touches a particularly tender spot.
The oversized leather armchair feels like it’s swallowing me whole in this ridiculous suite, all crystal chandeliers and gold-trimmed everything. I try to shift, to sweep my tangled hair from my face, but my shoulder screams in protest.
“Nothing’s broken, yes?”
“Fortunately.” He straightens, adjusting those glasses with one knuckle. “Though you’ll need to ice it regularly. Nurse Heidi will show you how to wrap it.”
“Mommy, look! Pikachu caught the bad guy!” Elijah waves his chocolate-smeared hand at the TV, oblivious to my grimace as Nurse Heidi helps me lift my white top. The fabric pulls tight across my chest as I sit up straighter, and the pain flares sharp and immediate. I glance down at the mottled bruise curling under my collarbone, the edges deepening to black and blue like an ink stain spreading under my skin. It’s ugly, raw, but not as bad as it could’ve been. A reminder that things can always get worse.
“Mommy!”
I turn my head, biting back another wince. He’s cross-legged on the couch.
“That’s great, buddy,” I call, forcing a smile. My ribs protest the effort. “He’s the best, huh?”
Elijah beams, pride lighting up his little face. “Told you!” He turns back to the TV, completely absorbed, licking a smudge of chocolate off his fingers.
He doesn’t know the truth. I told him I fell. I made it sound harmless. His little hand had pressed against my arm earlier, his face scrunched with worry.
“Be careful next time,” he’d said, his voice so serious.
God, I don’t deserve him.
The doctor clears his throat, drawing me back. “We’ll leave detailed instructions with your security staff,” he says. “Leonid’s staff. Of course.
Because Leonid didn’t come himself. Not to check on me. Not to say anything.
I press my lips together as the nurse hands me an ice pack, her gaze brisk and practical.
“Keep this on for fifteen minutes, then off for fifteen,” she says. “Rotate like that.”
I nod, but my head’s already elsewhere. Leonid’s silence rings louder than her voice.
What the hell is he so mad about? Because I skied alone? Because I didn’t ask for his permission? Or does he know something I don’t? Were those men Ludis’s men? Fiona’s? Someone else entirely?
“Call if you experience any worsening pain,” the doctor says, already gathering his things. His voice fades into the background as my thoughts spiral.
The door clicks shut, and the silence is almost oppressive. I slump back in the chair. The ice pack pressed against my side is already losing its chill, and so am I.
Leonid didn’t even look at me after the mountain—just turned away, cold and silent, like I wasn’t worth the effort.
Goddamnit.
The door creaks open again, and my breath catches before I can stop it. For a split second, my chest flutters—
It’s him.
Get a grip, Clara. You’re not some lovesick idiot.
But it’s not Leonid.
“Don’t look so disappointed,” Maksim drawls, strolling into the room with all the grace of an unwelcome guest. His smirk is cocky, the kind that tells you he’s here for his own amusement as much as anything else.
