Chapter 4
734words
"Damien, if you're going to protect this mistress, then I'm leaving! And I'm never coming back!"
Damien's eyes widened. He forgot whatever his man just said and clung to Isabella.
"Baby, don't do this!"
He was panicking.
He held her tight, his voice a desperate whisper. "I'll handle it. Right now."
Then he turned to me, his glare like a knife.
"Elara, if there's a next time, you can crawl back to the Rossi family! And I won't care if Leo himself comes begging!"
The pain in my hand was making me sweat, but my voice was perfectly calm.
"Don't worry. There won't be."
Damien seemed taken aback by my answer. He just stared for a second.
Then he said nothing, scooping Isabella up into his arms.
"You're coming with us to the nearest private clinic," he ordered. "Isabella needs her hand looked at. And you need to answer for what you did."
I looked at the black burn on my hand and wanted to laugh.
Who did what?
Who needed to answer for it?
But I said nothing. I just followed them out.
As we were leaving, my phone buzzed.
Three texts from a number I no longer recognized.
Medical bills are covered. I'll fix the exhibition.
I was on edge. I can't lose her again.
I'll make it up to you.
From Damien.
I looked at him in the front seat, whispering comforts to Isabella. It was all so absurd.
He thought a few texts could fix this?
I deleted his number.
Just then, another notification popped up.
"Friend request accepted. — Julian Moretti"
Julian Moretti.
My future husband.
I'd actually met him once before.
In the car, Isabella clung to Damien's arm, sobbing.
"Damien, I'm scared," she whimpered. "The look in her eyes... she must hate me for taking you from her."
"She won't," Damien said, kissing her forehead gently. "I'm here. No one can hurt you."
The private clinic was just ahead.
The moment the car door opened, all hell broke loose. A rival's sedan screeched around the corner, guns blazing.
Damien reacted instantly. He yanked Isabella down, shielding her with his body.
"Get down! Don't move!" he ordered her.
His shove sent me stumbling back into a stone pillar.
A hot slice of pain seared my arm. A bullet.
Blood bloomed through my sleeve, dark against the white fabric.
When I looked up, Damien was already rushing Isabella—whose wrist was scratched by glass—into the clinic.
But he didn't look at me. All his attention was on her.
"Does it hurt? Are you hurt anywhere else?" He frantically checked every inch of her skin.
Isabella's wrist had a small cut from a shard of the broken window. It was bleeding.
"It hurts... it hurts so much..." she cried even harder.
Damien immediately scooped her up and ran for the entrance.
"Help! She's hurt!" he yelled at the doctors.
He never once looked back at me.
I stood outside the clinic, clutching my bleeding arm.
Blood dripped from my fingers, making red flowers on the white snow.
But I didn't go in.
"Miss Rossi, your arm is bleeding. You need to get that treated..."
One of the bodyguards handed me a clean handkerchief.
I pressed it to the wound, thanked him, and without a moment's hesitation, walked to the road and called for my family's driver.
"To the private airport."
The car started, heading in the opposite direction of Damien.
---
Meanwhile, Damien settled Isabella down and finally remembered me.
Half an hour later, he walked out with a tube of high-grade burn cream, looking for me. The doctor just shook his head in confusion.
"There's no record of a Miss Rossi checking in. She never came inside."
Damien froze, his hand tightening around the cream.
His phone rang. It was Leo.
The second he answered, my brother's furious roar exploded from the speaker.
"Damien Volkov! Is this how you fucking protect my sister? You let her get all shot up!"
Damien's brow furrowed. Of course. He thought I'd run crying to my brother.
His voice went hard with annoyance. "Is she with you? Put her on the phone."
"Put her on? Hell no!"
From the private airport, my brother's voice was pure ice and fury.
"You want forgiveness? Then you'll show up at her wedding. Two days."
