Page 2 of Claimed By the Pakhan

“You’re twenty weeks pregnant, Miss Ranger,” confirms the nurse. “Are you having trouble remembering that, too?”

“I’ll take it from here,” says a third voice.

A man in a white lab coat materializes, the white almost as bright as the lights in this room.

“Miss Ranger,” he begins, slipping a folder from the foot of my hospital bed, leafing through a few pages. “How are you feeling?”

“Like I want more drugs.”

The man plucks a pen from his breast pocket, jotting a few sentences down in the folder before slotting it back into its home. He turns to the heart rate monitor, analyzing statistics.I thrive when it comes to numbers but I’m struggling to understand these.

After checking the rest of my vitals, the doctor grabs my arm. “Sharp prick,” he says before jabbing my arm with a needle.

Good heavens.I wince, turning the other way as he takes some of my blood without my permission.

“I’ll send this over to pathology right away,” says the doctor, fastening the container, “so we can take a closer look at the placental condition.” He circles back around to the foot of my bed, offering me a smile. “You are incredibly lucky, Miss. Ranger. The twins’ heartbeats are both healthy, and everything came back clear yesterday from the tests. We’ll wait to receive the bloodwork and go from there. If everything looks good, I’ll be able to discharge you.”

“I’m sorry,” I say, blinking repeatedly, still focused on one word in particular.“Twins?”

“Yes, Fia. Congratulations.”

“But I’m not pregnant.”

The doctor’s smile fades, replaced by a neutral expression, which translates to concern in the healthcare world.

“You took quite a hit from that car,” says the doctor. “You have some retrograde amnesia, but your memory should start to return over the next few days and weeks. Patience is virtue.”

“But I haven’t had sex.”

The doctor looks pointedly at my swollen belly.

My mouth keeps moving. “The last time I had sex was years ago, back in my final year of college. Believe me, work consumes allaspects of my life. Sex is for people who have too much time on their hands.”

“Well, it looks like you made time,” says the doctor. “Is there a next of kin we can call for you? We’ve been struggling to find an emergency contact on the system.”

“My parents are useless in emergencies.”

“What about a friend?”

“Chloe.”

“Do you live with this person? Can she look after you?”

Clouds drift through my mind again, sending everything hazy. I lose myself in the fog, forgetting what I was searching for.

“Fia?”

I blink a few times. “I’m not sure.”

“What’s your home address?”

More fog. “I’m… not sure.”

The door creaks open, another person stepping in.

I roll my eyes. Some peace and quiet might help me recover my memories. Being hounded is giving me a nasty headache as I’m forced to keep my eyes open and concentrate on what is being said.

But suddenly, my eyes fly open on their own accord. I lock eyes with a dark brown, almost black pair of eyes and forget about my problems.