Chapter One
Harper
This was hands down the worst Valentine's Day of my life. No contest.
While everyone else got roses and chocolates, what did I get? A gun barrel pointed right at my face.
"Hands up, fat girl."
That black hole of a muzzle stared me down, steady as death.
I didn't dare move. Slowly, I raised my hands and looked at the man across from me.
He wore nursing home scrubs, but they clearly weren't his—the sleeves rode up his forearms, exposing tattoo-covered skin, and the collar gaped open where the buttons wouldn't close. He'd given up trying to fasten them.
I'd bet my life I'd never seen this guy at the facility before.
So when the hell did I piss off someone like him?
I scrambled through the past year in my mind—up at six every morning, rushing to the hospital to see Aiden, bouncing between his room and the nursing home, dragging myself home at night to pass out.
My social circle was pathetic. Just Aiden and patients. I didn't even have time to pick a fight with anyone.
"Look, sir, I don't know you," I forced the words out, though my voice shook so badly it barely sounded like me. "If you want money, I've got five hundred in cash—just got paid. That's everything I have, but you can take it. Just don't do anything crazy... I mean, killing me doesn't help you, right?"
The man snorted, clearly unimpressed. His eyes crawled over my chest with zero shame, making me feel stripped naked.
A sick mix of fear and disgust slithered up my spine. I hunched my shoulders instinctively, trying to hide my too-curvy body—even though I'd bought my scrubs a size up, my chest and hips still pulled the fabric tight. I'd always been ashamed of it, convinced those extra pounds were proof I ate too much.
"I don't give a shit about your money." He flashed a grin, his gaze lingering on my ass. "Nice ass though. Too bad I don't have time for that today." He licked his cracked lips. "I'm here for the old bitch. Take me to Olga Orlov."
Olga?
Olga Orlov lived in Room 302, a seventy-eight-year-old Russian woman who still carried herself like royalty. If there was anything remarkable about her, it was her legendary bad temper. She'd run off five caregivers before me. Some left in tears. Others just walked out. But for some reason, she tolerated me.
Why would this man want her?
But he wasn't interested in explaining. He lunged forward and cracked the gun barrel against my forehead. Pain exploded through my skull.
"Move! I know you're her caregiver."
Fear turned my knees to water. This man wasn't joking.
Was I going to die here?
Aiden's face flashed through my mind—my sixteen-year-old brother, the kid who'd spent most of his childhood in hospitals because of his congenital heart defect. He was still waiting for me toscrape together enough for his surgery. Waiting for me to keep my promise and bring him a blueberry cake.
And today was supposed to be the day I finally worked up the courage to confess. I'd been crushing on Olga's grandson Kirill for three months. He visited her every week, always bringing carefully arranged flowers, charming and elegant. We'd chatted in the hallway a few times—brief conversations, but enough to make my heart race and my face burn.
I'd stayed up all night finishing that handmade confession card, determined to give it to him on Valentine's Day.
I couldn't die here. I wouldn't.
"Okay, okay, just calm down." I raised my hands higher, trying to look harmless and stupid. "I'll take you to her. But we need to walk a bit... she's not in this building."
The man's eyes narrowed. "What?"
"Olga's difficult," I swallowed hard, buying myself time to think. "A few days ago, she complained the view outside her window was boring and threw a fit about switching rooms. The director caved and moved her to the luxury suite in the back building."
