The doctor's voice cut through my thoughts, his eyes darting to the cigarette in my hand. I crushed the unlit stick between my fingers. For once, I played by the rules.
"Talk." I looked up at him. He shifted his weight, uncomfortable under my gaze.
"Miss Sterling got lucky." He pulled down his mask, forcing a nervous smile. "Just superficial wounds and soft tissue bruising. She tumbled down the stairs, but miraculously, nothing's broken. As for the fetus..."
My heart clenched. That kid was still fragile.
"The baby's fine too. The mother was traumatized, showed some signs of threatened miscarriage, but we started emergency treatment right away. Everything's stable now."
I felt oxygen flood back into my lungs.
Thank God.
I closed my eyes and let out a long breath. The tension that had wound me tight as wire finally loosened. If Genevie had died tonight, if that baby—whoever's bastard it was—had died in my manor because of my negligence, I'd never forgive myself.
I already owed her once. When her family went bankrupt, when those Wall Street vultures tore them apart, I hadn't protected her. When she was forced to marry that psycho Julian, I hadn't taken her away.
Tonight, I'd almost watched her fall into hell again.
"Is she awake?" I asked.
"Just came to, but she's pretty unstable. Keeps calling your name." He paused, studying me carefully. "Physically, she's okay, but the psychological trauma might take time to heal. Especially with pregnant women—hormones are already all over the place..."
I nodded and waved him off.
The hallway went silent again. I stood in front of that closed door, but I couldn't bring myself to go in.
I was a bastard. No question about it.
I'd made a complete mess of this. I'd dragged two women into my life and couldn't balance a damn thing between them. Genevie had come back to me broken and bleeding, looking for shelter, and I'd let this happen to her.
And Harper had done it. The same woman who'd saved Olga at gunpoint.
Harper's jealousy wasn't hard to understand. It made sense. Women went crazy when they were jealous—I'd seen it plenty of times.
Still. It disappointed me.
"Kirill..."
A weak voice drifted from inside the room, cutting through my self-loathing.
I took a deep breath, straightened my rumpled collar, and pushed the door open.
Genevie looked terrible. The harsh light washed over her bloodlessface. Gauze covered her forehead. Her blonde hair was a tangled mess. She looked like she might pass out any second. When she saw me, tears spilled down her cheeks.
"Kirill, it hurts so much."
She reached for me, like she was using her last ounce of strength to call for help. I crossed the room quickly and took her hand.
Ice cold. No warmth at all. My guilt deepened.
"I'm here." I sat down beside the bed, trying to soften my voice.
"The baby, my baby..." Genevie sobbed, gasping for air, fingers clutching my sleeve.
"The baby's fine." I covered her hand with mine, trying to calm her. "Doctor said it's healthy."
Instead of comforting her, my words made her cry harder.
