Page 50 of Bleed with Me

I tried to sort the feelings into neat categories as I did with injuries, but they refused to cooperate. Concern bled into obsession, protectiveness tangled with desire, and somewhere in between, I realized I was spectacularly unequipped for whatever the hell this was.

If this were a patient, I’d call it a complicated case with multiple overlapping pathologies and no clear treatment plan. Unfortunately, I couldn’t sedate myself, stitch my thoughts shut, or order imaging to find where exactly everything went wrong.

So I stayed where I was, too close to the bed, staring at numbers and pretending I had control, while fully aware that I was drowning in chaos with a polite smile and no idea how to swim back to shore.

-27-

Nina

Islept exactly one hour and fifty-three minutes. I knew because I had spent the rest of the night staring at Dorian’s pictures, counting the faint lines around his eyes, and replaying every encounter and message until they lost all meaning. When I finally drifted off, it wasn’t rest. My brain simply gave up from exhaustion.

Dorian’s silence wouldn’t break me. I wasn’t fifteen anymore, suffering my first heartbreak. It hurt, but instead of bringing me to my knees, it sharpened me, pushed me forward. Also, it exposed the ugly truth I had spent all week avoiding: I couldn’t rely on his feelings or curiosity. If I wanted his signature, and the freedom it promised, I would have to bend reality again.

But today, I had to survive dinner with my father and convince him I needed more time to prepare the lavish wedding every spoiled princess supposedly dreamed of.

The dress I picked for tonight waited for me like a quiet executioner. Expensive black silk hugged my body in all the right places, feigning submission while whispering hidden power. I dressed slowly, slipping into the role Grandpa had taught me to play. My makeup and hair were flawless, my silver stilettos high, and my mission simple—to convince Dad I accepted the arrangement like a good daughter ready to become the perfect wife.

I looked at the wall, decorated with Dorian’s pictures, for the last time and forced my legs to carry me out of my apartment.

The quiet ride to my father’s estate gave me time to steady my pulse and prepare for another lecture about my responsibility toward the family. Grandpa had delivered plenty of those, but he never forgot to remind me that my life mattered, too. Dad treated me like a pawn in a game of survival.

The house glowed warm against the darkening sky as we crossed the tall metal gates, music drifting through the air and lights spilling from every window. Cars lined the driveway, and guests stood outside, talking and smoking.

My stomach dropped. This wasn’t the private dinner I had prepared for.

I glanced at my tall guard as he opened the car door for me, knowing the escape was impossible. I forced myself out and entered the mansion. Italian voices and effortless laughter filled the foyer, the air thick with perfume and cologne. Familiar faces turned toward me, some smiling, others assessing, as if everyone already knew something I didn’t.

“Nina!” My father appeared before me and kissed my cheek. “You look beautiful.”

“Thanks.” I forced a smile, but it faded when my eyes landed on the tall, muscular figure standing a couple of feet from me. My vision tunneled, and my heart missed a painful beat.

Zyon Zhumagulov, accompanied by his stunning wife, Valeria.

I gulped, feeling my knees tremble. If he was here, my time was running out quicker than I thought.

Exhaling through my nose, I secretly watched Zyon over my father’s shoulder, unable to look away. He was the spitting image of Dorian, but the aura surrounding him gave me the creeps. He stood near the center of the spacious dining room like gravity itself, dressed immaculately in a black three-piece suit, calm and lethal in a way that seemed bred into his bones.

And beside him stood Valeria, the embodiment of quiet grace. Her red hair was swept back elegantly, her pale skin glowing beneath the lights, and sharp eyes watched the room from behind a relaxed smile. She survived hell and walked out stronger, the kind of woman who stood beside a crime lord without ever looking owned.

I once overheard Grandpa and Chester Kellerman discussing her. Chester called Valeria a stupid doll face who fooled the mafia king and considered Zyon idiotic for falling for her. Yet here they stood, rich, powerful, in love, and most importantly, alive, while Grandpa and Chester ended up dead.

Who was the idiot now?

I forced myself to breathe through the painful memories of my grandpa’s early demise and joined the flow of guests. I nodded, smiled, answered questions I barely heard, and engaged in conversations that didn’t interest me but kept my brain occupied until all my focus crumbled because the devil appeared at my side.

Sonny looked perfect in a tailored grey suit, wearing a charming smile. His warm hand clasped mine, pulling me closer, but every instinct in my body screamed to get free. To everyone else, he looked attentive and proud. To me, the touch was a violation that made my skin crawl.

“Smile,” he hissed, leaning closer. “People are watching.”

I did. Of course, I did. I wouldn’t dare make a scene under my father’s nose. But deep inside, behind that forced smile, I plotted my escape. They planned to execute my freedom with fanfares and fireworks; I would retaliate with bullets and bombs.

“Your father will announce our engagement tonight,” Sonny revealed, his hand on my wrist tensing when I tried to put some distance between us. “It won’t take long for the wedding to take place.”

“You can’t wait, can you?” I slipped my arm from his bruising hold, glaring at him.

“I can’t wait to teach your mouth some respect,” he replied, his light blue eyes shooting daggers at me. “Push me a little more, and I’ll do it tonight.”

“I’d love to see you try.”