Page 12 of The Russian's Bought Bride

“You’re safe,” he says finally, as if that’s all I need to know.

Safe.

Somehow, that feels like the opposite of the truth.

“Where am I?” I repeat, stronger this time, despite how my voice still shakes.

His gaze holds mine for a moment longer, like he’s measuring something, but he doesn’t give me the answers I want. Instead, he murmurs, “Rest. You’re still coming off the anesthesia.”

Anesthesia.

The word hits like an electrical current to the mind, and suddenly, everything starts rushing back in broken pieces.

The hospital, the doctors and nurses, my dad being wheeled into the operating room, and me…signing waivers to be his donor.

My stomach drops, and I’m suddenly grateful to be lying down still.

“The surgery,” I breathe as my heart slams harder now, as if it wants to break free from this moment. “My dad…where is he?”

The man watching doesn’t respond, and a cold, creeping dread starts to crawl up my spine, spreading like an illness inside me.

“Where is he?” I repeat, panic bleeding into my voice.

When he still doesn’t say anything, the other man stands up and backs away, reaching for a bag of some sort. He moves equipment inside it, not looking at me before leaning closer to the other, and they exchange a few hushed words. Then, the shorter one walks out, leaving me with the dark-haired man.

In the silent room, my chest rises and falls too fast, and each breath feels more shallow than the last as I stare at him.

“Who are you?” I ask after a moment,

He glances at me briefly, expression neutral, almost bored.

“Answer me,” I snap, the fear sharpening into something more frantic. “Where am I? What happened? Where is my dad?”

When he still doesn’t say anything, and only watches me with his hands lingering in his pockets like this is something casual to him, anger starts to trickle in.

My heart pounds in my ears as I stare at him, with every instinct screaming that something is very, very wrong.

“Who are you?” I ask again, my voice quieter now.

Silence punctuates the space, then he shifts subtly in place. “Liam.”

“Liam,” I repeat faintly, swallowing hard as I interpret that as a slight willingness to answer my questions. “Where am I?”

“You’re somewhere safe,” he says again.

I let out a shaky breath. “That doesn’t tell me anything.”

“It’s all you need to know for now.”

“No,” I shake my head weakly, frustration and fear tangling together to make me feel annoyingly helpless. “No, what matters is what happened. I was at the hospital, going into surgery for my dad. So why am I here?”

He doesn’t respond, and my stomach twists.

“Liam,” I press, raising my voice as much as I can while panic claws its way back up. “Tell me what’s going on. Is he okay? Did it work? Where is he?”

His jaw tightens in a barely noticeable gesture, but I catch it, and something inside me cracks.

“Is he okay?” I demand louder now, pushing myself up despite the way my body protests. Pain shoots through my head, but I ignore it. “Answer me!”