“No,” I say, my pulse spiking. “I can’t. I’ll figure something else out. I’ll pay my brother’s debt somehow, but I can’t risk this.”
Still no reaction, just silence that stretches too long.
“Did you hear me?” I ask.
“I heard you,” he says finally. “Stay at work. I’ll take care of it.”
Before I can ask what that means, the line goes dead. I stare at the phone, heart pounding.
I end up outside longer than I mean to. The courtyard’s quiet except for the hum of traffic and the sound of someone’s radio bleeding through from the parking lot. I sit on the low stone wall near the side entrance, unwrap the sandwich I packed this morning, and try to eat, though every bite tastes like sawdust.
My hands won’t stay still. I keep checking my phone, scrolling through messages that aren’t there, replaying his voice in my head.I’ll take care of it.What does that even mean?
By the time I finish the sandwich, the lunch crowd has already gone back inside. I stay a little longer, watching a delivery truck unload at the back gate just to avoid going in. I tell myself I’m giving him time to cool off, but really I’m trying to breathe before I face whatever comes next.
When I finally go back inside, nearly forty minutes have passed. Something feels wrong the second I walk in. The nurses at the station are whispering, their voices low, eyes flicking toward the administrative wing. I force myself to keep walking, to focus on the next patient, Mr. Kim, who always tries to feed me candy from his bedside drawer.
I spend half an hour talking to him about his granddaughter, anything to forget that call.
Then, when I step out of his room, I see him.
Artyom’s standing by my boss’s office door, talking to Dr. Collins like they’re old friends. The sight knocks the air out of me. He looks completely out of place in this sterile hallway in his dark suit and that cold focus in his eyes.
My stomach drops.
He catches sight of me before I can move. The faintest hint of amusement touches his mouth. I feel my pulse jump.
I walk toward them slowly, trying to keep my voice steady. “Dr. Collins?”
Dr. Collins beams when she sees me. “Kira! I was just speaking with Mr. Morozov.”
I look at him again. “Mr. Morozov?”
He slides his hands into his pockets. “We were discussing hospital funding,” he says. “It seems I’ve been overdue for a visit.”
I blink. “Funding?”
Dr. Collins nods enthusiastically. “Mr. Morozov is one of our main sponsors. He’s been instrumental in our cardiac wing expansion.”
Of course.
I feel my face heat. “You’re a sponsor,” I repeat, because my brain refuses to catch up.
He watches me, calm as ever. “Something like that.”
Dr. Collins smiles politely between us, clearly trying to fill the silence. “Kira, I had no idea the family matter you mentioned was actually a trip with your fiancé.” She laughs lightly, flustered. “You should’ve said so! We’ll manage fine while you’re away.”
I blink. “My… fiancé?”
She gestures toward him. “Mr. Morozov explained everything. I hope the two of you have a safe trip.”
“Thank you,” Artyom says smoothly, shaking her hand before she can ask more.
“Thank you,” I say, though the words feel foreign.
By the time we step out into the hall, my pulse still hasn’t caught up.
“You told her we’re engaged?”
