53. Chapter 53

53

Clara

“ E verything hurts,” I mutter, wincing as the nurse presses a hand lightly against my shoulder. And I mean everything . My ribs scream when I breathe, and shifting in this oversized armchair sends needles of pain down my spine.

The nurse doesn’t respond. She’s tall, broad-shouldered, and built like she could take a ski slope down in one stride. Her scrubs, a pale green that does nothing for her complexion, fit like they’re about to give up entirely. Her hair is scraped back in a tight bun so severe it makes me want to wince in sympathy.

“Ms. Caldwell, please hold still,” the doctor interrupts. He’s short, barely taller than the nurse, with sharp, dark eyes that flick between me and his tablet like he’s already deciding how much effort I’m worth. His beard is neatly trimmed, and his white coat looks like it came straight from the dry cleaners.

He doesn’t sit; just stands beside me, peering down. “Your ribs are bruised, not broken. Same for your shoulder—strained, not torn. You’ll need to rest, ice, and avoid anything that aggravates it.”

“Aggravates it?” I lift a brow. “Like breathing?” The nurse’s lips twitch.

“Ouch.” I bite back a hiss when he touches a particularly tender spot.

The oversized leather armchair feels like it’s swallowing me whole in this ridiculous suite, all crystal chandeliers and gold-trimmed everything. I try to shift, to sweep my tangled hair from my face, but my shoulder screams in protest.

“Nothing’s broken, yes?”

“Fortunately.” He straightens, adjusting those glasses with one knuckle. “Though you’ll need to ice it regularly. Nurse Heidi will show you how to wrap it.”

“Mommy, look! Pikachu caught the bad guy!” Elijah waves his chocolate-smeared hand at the TV, oblivious to my grimace as Nurse Heidi helps me lift my white top. The fabric pulls tight across my chest as I sit up straighter, and the pain flares sharp and immediate. I glance down at the mottled bruise curling under my collarbone, the edges deepening to black and blue like an ink stain spreading under my skin. It’s ugly, raw, but not as bad as it could’ve been. A reminder that things can always get worse.

“Mommy!”

I turn my head, biting back another wince. He’s cross-legged on the couch.

“That’s great, buddy,” I call, forcing a smile. My ribs protest the effort. “He’s the best, huh?”

Elijah beams, pride lighting up his little face. “Told you!” He turns back to the TV, completely absorbed, licking a smudge of chocolate off his fingers.

He doesn’t know the truth. I told him I fell. I made it sound harmless. His little hand had pressed against my arm earlier, his face scrunched with worry.

“Be careful next time,” he’d said, his voice so serious.

God, I don’t deserve him.

The doctor clears his throat, drawing me back. “We’ll leave detailed instructions with your security staff,” he says. “Leonid’s staff. Of course.

Because Leonid didn’t come himself. Not to check on me. Not to say anything.

I press my lips together as the nurse hands me an ice pack, her gaze brisk and practical.

“Keep this on for fifteen minutes, then off for fifteen,” she says. “Rotate like that.”

I nod, but my head’s already elsewhere. Leonid’s silence rings louder than her voice.

What the hell is he so mad about? Because I skied alone? Because I didn’t ask for his permission? Or does he know something I don’t? Were those men Ludis’s men? Fiona’s? Someone else entirely?

“Call if you experience any worsening pain,” the doctor says, already gathering his things. His voice fades into the background as my thoughts spiral.

The door clicks shut, and the silence is almost oppressive. I slump back in the chair. The ice pack pressed against my side is already losing its chill, and so am I.

Leonid didn’t even look at me after the mountain—just turned away, cold and silent, like I wasn’t worth the effort.

Goddamnit.

The door creaks open again, and my breath catches before I can stop it. For a split second, my chest flutters—

It’s him.

Get a grip, Clara. You’re not some lovesick idiot.

But it’s not Leonid.

“Don’t look so disappointed,” Maksim drawls, strolling into the room with all the grace of an unwelcome guest. His smirk is cocky, the kind that tells you he’s here for his own amusement as much as anything else.

“What do you want?”

Instead of answering, Maksim’s attention shifts to the couch where Elijah is sprawled, giggling at the screen.

His smirk softens—just enough to catch me off guard—before he strides over and crouches beside my son.

“Hey, buddy,” he says, his tone warmer than I’ve ever heard it. From his jacket, he pulls out a sleek Nintendo Switch, holding it out like an offering. “Got something new for you. Want to try it?”

Elijah’s eyes light up, his grin spreading so wide it almost eclipses the chocolate smudged on his face. “For me?”

Maksim nods, his smile widening as he gestures toward the door to Leonid’s room. “Leonid’s got a nice setup in there. It’s quieter, too—perfect for games. What do you think?”

Elijah hesitates, looking at me. I force a smile past the tight knot in my chest. “Go ahead, sweetheart. Just don’t forget to say thank you.”

“Thanks!” Elijah chirps, grabbing the device and darting to the connecting door. Maksim leans down, pushing it open just enough for him to slip through.

“Remember to save your progress,” he calls after him, a teasing lilt in his voice.

The door falls halfway shut, muting the sounds of Elijah’s cartoon and leaving me alone with Maksim.

He turns toward me.

I glare at him, my nails digging into the armrest. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Maksim takes his time settling into the chair beside me, one ankle resting on his knee. He glances around the room as if appraising the décor, then meets my stare with deliberate calm.

“So,” he says, stretching out the word like it’s a game. “Are you going to tell him about Elijah, or should I?”

The air feels like it’s been sucked out of the room. My lungs seize. The ice pack in my hand is suddenly a vise, its chill biting into my skin, but I can’t let it go. My mind races, clashing with the dead silence that follows.

“What the fuck are you talking about?” I whisper.

Maksim tilts his head, his expression sliding into something dangerously close to amusement.

“Oh, come on,” he drawls, his tone so casual it makes my skin crawl. “Do I really need to spell it out for you, Clara?”

I shake my head, gripping the edge of the ice pack tighter, as though that might ground me, steady me, stop the floor from tilting beneath me.

“You’re out of your goddamn mind.”

Maksim leans forward, tipping his head slightly.

“No, I’m not. And neither are you. You’ve known it all along, haven’t you?” He waits a beat, watching me, savoring the moment. “Elijah is the heir of the Kuznetsov Bratva.”