Total pages in book: 187
Estimated words: 177397 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 887(@200wpm)___ 710(@250wpm)___ 591(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 177397 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 887(@200wpm)___ 710(@250wpm)___ 591(@300wpm)
This property is one of my grandfather’s estates. It is old enough to be classed as ancient, but worth millions.
As I slide my feet into some slacks, sans boxer shorts, I hear Anoushka knock on the door of the downstairs washroom. She asks Zoya if she is okay and if there is anything she can do to help.
When she gets no response, she tells Zoya that she is coming in and not to worry. She’s handled her fair share of puke in her past fifty-eight years.
My heart launches into my throat when a scream is the next thing I hear. It represents someone stumbling onto a murder scene and has me panicked as fuck that I took my effort to force distance between Zoya and me one step too far.
I race down the stairwell with no concern for the slipperiness, and then barge Anoushka out of the way.
Zoya is slumped on the floor of the washroom. Blood is oozing from her head.
“What happened?”
I skid to my knees next to her whitening frame before rolling her over. A deep gash starts just below her hairline and merges into her blonde locks, making them red. It is approximately three inches long.
“She stood too quickly and got woozy. I tried to grab her, but she fell too fast.” Anoushka’s eyes dart between the wash basin and Zoya. “She hit her head on the sink on the way down.”
I nod robotically before instructing her to fetch the doctor from Zakhar’s room. “Make sure he brings his medical bag. I have a first-aid kit in my bathroom, but I don’t think it will suffice.”
“Andrik,” Zoya mumbles painfully when I pull her into my arms before taking the stairs two at a time.
“Shh. You’re okay, милая. I’ve got you.”
After pulling back bedding similar to the one I forced Arabella to sit on for hours so the person controlling her strings would believe her ruse to seduce me had been successful, I place Zoya down and then cover her naked body with the bedding.
Her head wound is so bad blood trickles past her ears and puddles into the pillowcase quicker than the shirt I ripped off in a hurry can soak it up.
“Hurry!” I scream, confident I’ll murder everyone in this godforsaken town if their negligence kills Zoya, preferring to blame anyone but myself.
A stout doctor with a chin far hairier than his head wobbles into the room, warping the floorboards more than Zoya’s tiny frame did when she snuck across my room to watch me in the shower.
That’s when I should have stopped. The instant my instincts alerted me to the identity of my stalker, I should have removed my hand from my cock and ended the madness.
I should not have put on a show that encouraged Zoya to do the same.
“You need to hold her hands down for me.” I glare at the doctor like he’s insane and barely shake my head when he adds, “I need to stop the bleeding. I can’t do that if she fights me at every turn.”
I don’t get in a second headshake. “What the fuck?” sounds from outside my room before Mikhail races in to fulfill the doctor’s demand on my behalf.
“It’s okay, sweetheart,” the doctor assures Zoya when she groans about him piercing the edge of her wound with a big-ass needle. “This will take away the pain and numb the area so I can close the wound with a handful of stitches.” He continues pushing down on the syringe until all the liquid inside is gone before he cranks his head to me. “Is she on any medication? Are there any medical conditions I need to know about? The wound is large, so she may need additional sedation.”
“It is a little late to ask now, isn’t it?” When Mikhail silently pleads for me to calm down, I shake my head. Its briskness slows when I remember what I unearthed earlier today. “Unless Zakhar’s heart condition doesn’t affect some siblings until later in life.”
“I don’t believe Zakhar’s condition is hereditary,” the doctor advises, straying away from Dr. Makarand’s theory. “But I will give her a full workup after I’ve cleaned and closed the wound.” He shifts his eyes to Mikhail, aware he is the more stable one of our duo right now. “Will you give us the room?”
“No,” I instantly deny, answering on behalf of Mikhail.
“Andri—”
“No,” I reply louder, glaring at my brother. “I’m not leaving her. Her injury is my fault, so I need to make sure she is okay.”
Anoushka reminds me that she is in the room with us when she squeezes my shoulder. “She fainted, Andrik. That isn’t your fault.”
She can say that because she doesn’t know how hard I pushed her—how much I hurt her.
When Zoya whispers my name again, her voice as pained as the remorse ripping my heart to pieces, the doctor grants me permission to stay.