Chapter 89
Kai followed the corridor in silence, his footsteps light, measured, deliberately ordinary. From the corner of his eye, he watched the three men turn once, just enough to confirm what he already knew–they were aware of him.
Good.
They didn’t rush. Didn’t scatter. That alone told Kai they weren’t amateurs. People who panicked were easy. People who stayed calm were either trained… or arrogant.
The corridor curved toward a service wing, dimmer than the main hall. Fewer cameras. Fewer staff. The kind of place where things happened quietly and explanations were unnecessary.
Kai stepped into it without hesitation.
Behind him, the air shifted.
A hand shot out.
Kai twisted on instinct, catching the wrist mid–swing and driving his elbow backward into ribs he felt crack under the impact. The man grunted but didn’t cry out. At the same time, a second figure lunged low, sweeping for Kai’s legs.
Kai jumped, pivoted in the air, and came down hard, heel smashing into the attacker’s shoulder. Bone crunched. The man rolled but recovered faster than expected, teeth clenched, eyes sharp.
The third man moved then–not attacking, but circling.
“So,” Kai said calmly, rolling his shoulders, “this is how you greet strangers in hospitals now?”
No answer.
The first man recovered and came again, faster this time, fists snapping toward Kai’s face with trained precision. Kai blocked once, twice, then slipped inside the guard and drove a knee into the man’s abdomen. The breath left him in a sharp gasp, but he stayed upright.
That confirmed it.
They weren’t ordinary cultivators. Their bodies were reinforced. Conditioned.
Kai’s lips curved faintly. “You picked the wrong night.”
The third man finally attacked, moving in sync with the second. One aimed high, the other low, trying to split Kai’s attention. It was a decent tactic. Against someone else, it might’ve worked.
Kai let the high strike pass inches from his face, caught the low attacker by the collar, and used his momentum to slam him backward into the wall. Before the man could recover, Kai grabbed his head and drove it forward.
Once. Twice.
The man collapsed.
The other two hesitated.
Just for a second.
Kai saw it and smiled without humor. “Now you’re thinking.”
They retreated a step, spreading out again.
“You’re strong,” one of them finally said, voice controlled. “Stronger than we anticipated.”
Chapter 89
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Kai tilted his head. “You anticipated something?”
No response.
The man who had spoken attacked again, this time channeling inner energy openly. The corridor lights flickered as pressure rippled outward. Kai felt it brush his skin, testing, measuring.
He didn’t dodge.
He stepped into it.
His fist connected with the man’s chest, not fast–heavy. The impact sent the cultivator skidding backward across the floor, crashing into a cart stacked with linens. Metal clanged loudly.
The third man cursed under his breath.
Kai turned slowly. “I asked who you are.”
Silence.
The man lunged.
Kai caught him mid–air, twisted, and slammed him face–first into the wall. Cracks spread through the plaster. The man dropped, groaning, trying to push himself up.
Kai stepped on his back.
Hard.
The man screamed then.
Kai crouched, gripping his hair and forcing his head up. “Last chance. Why are you here?”
The man’s breathing was ragged, sweat pouring down his face. His eyes flicked toward the others, calculating, fearful—but still
defiant.
“You don’t have the authority,” he spat. “This doesn’t concern you.”
Kai tightened his grip. “Everything in this hospital concerns me tonight.”
He hauled the man up and slammed him back down, knee pressing into his spine. The man choked, arms trembling.
The other two struggled to rise.
Kai glanced at them. “One word. One explanation. Or I start breaking things you’ll never heal from.”
They said nothing.
Kai exhaled slowly, disappointed. He leaned closer to the man beneath him. “You know what I hate most? People who think silence is strength.”
The man laughed weakly. “You think… you’ve won?”
Kai’s eyes darkened. “You’re still breathing. Don’t confuse that with mercy.”
He struck–precise, controlled–just enough to make the man howl without killing him. The sound echoed down the corridor.
Footsteps approached in the distance.
Kai released the man and stepped back, scanning the hall. Staff voices murmured nearby. He adjusted his posture, masking the violence just enough to look like a scuffle gone wrong.
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The men scrambled, retreating in different directions, dragging their wounded with them. No threats. No promises. Just cold, assessing looks as they disappeared.
Kai stood alone again.
His chest rose and fell steadily, but his mind was racing.
They hadn’t spoken.
Which meant whatever they were involved in was bigger than intimidation.
Kai wiped the blood from his knuckles and turned back down the corridor.
Meanwhile the doctor waited until the corridor outside the ward fell quiet, The soft beep sounded far too loud to his ears as the door opened, and he slipped inside, closing it carefully behind him.
The patient lay still on the bed, monitors blinking steadily, her breathing shallow but even: She looked fragile beneath the white sheets, bandages wrapped neatly around her head and arm, her face pale against the pillow. If he hadn’t known better–if he hadn’t been threatened, bribed, cornered–he would have sworn she was exactly what the chart said she was: a woman clinging to life, unconscious, defenseless.
His hands shook as he adjusted his gloves.
“Just a mistake,” he whispered to himself, more prayer than justification. “A complication. That’s all they want.”
He moved closer, checking the drip, pretending professionalism might still shield him from what he was about to do. The syringe in his hand felt heavier than it should have, like it carried more than liquid–like it carried consequence.
Then her fingers moved.
It was subtle at first, just a tightening, a shift beneath the sheet, and before his mind could register surprise, her hand shot out and clamped around his wrist.
Hard.
The syringe slipped from his fingers and clattered to the floor.
He gasped, trying to pull back, but her grip didn’t loosen. It tightened. The strength behind it was terrifying, crushing, nothing like the weak pulse he had felt during her earlier examinations. His breath caught in his throat as her eyes opened.
They were sharp.
Fully aware.
“You won’t be forgiven for this,” she said calmly, her voice hoarse but steady, her gaze locked onto his face as if she had been waiting for him. “I’m not the kind of woman who dies quietly.”
His knees nearly buckled. “I–I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he stammered, tugging at his wrist again, panic rising as pain shot up his arm. “You need to rest. You’re injured. You shouldn’t-”
She tightened her grip further, and he felt something shift in his wrist, a sickening pressure that made him cry out despite himself. She leaned forward slightly, despite the tubes and wires, and her expression remained disturbingly composed.
“They sent you to kill me,” she continued, her voice low, measured, certain. “You walked in here with poison in your hand and fear in your eyes. Don’t insult me by pretending otherwise.”
His face drained of color. “How–how could you know that?” he whispered, sweat pouring down his temples. “You were unconscious. You were in a coma.”
She smiled faintly, not kindly. “You’d be surprised what people hear when their bodies are still but their minds aren’t.”
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He swallowed hard, heart pounding so loudly he was sure it would trigger the monitors. “Please,” he said weakly. “I didn’t want this. They forced me. They know everything about me. My research, my family, my career. I had no choice.”
She studied him for a long second, as though weighing his words, then spoke again, each syllable deliberate. “You do have a choice. And you’re going to make it now.”
Her grip finally loosened just enough for him to breathe again, though she didn’t let go entirely. “We’re going to pretend,” she said, “that I’m still in a coma. You’ll chart exactly what they expect–slow response, unstable condition, no signs of waking. If anyone asks, you say nothing has changed.”
The sound of approaching footsteps drifted down the corridor.
The doctor’s eyes widened. “Someone’s coming,” he hissed.
She released him instantly and collapsed back onto the bed, her body going limp, her eyes sliding shut as though they had never opened at all. In one smooth motion, she adjusted her breathing, shallow and irregular, matching the rhythm the machines were already displaying.
The door handle rattled.
The doctor scrambled, heart racing, forcing his trembling hands to appear steady as he bent to retrieve the fallen syringe and dispose of it quickly. He straightened just as the door opened and a nurse peeked inside.
“Doctor?” she asked. “Everything okay? We saw activity on the monitor.”
“Yes,” he replied too quickly, then corrected himself, lowering his tone. “Yes. Just a routine check. No change in her condition.”
The nurse glanced at the patient, nodded, and withdrew. The door closed again.
The doctor sagged slightly, bracing himself against the counter as the adrenaline drained from his body. He looked back at the woman on the bed, fear curling deep in his stomach as he realized how close he had come to dying himself.
Slowly, he leaned closer, voice barely above a whisper. “If I do this,” he said, “if I help you… they won’t stop. You know that, right?”
Her eyes opened just a fraction, enough for him to see the steel behind them. “Let them try,” she murmured. “But understand this–if you betray me again, you won’t leave this room alive.”
He nodded rapidly, swallowing hard. “I won’t,” he said. “I swear.”
As he turned to leave the ward, his legs still unsteady, one thought kept echoing in his mind, louder than any threat the goons
had made earlier.
How could a woman who had nearly died in an accident possess strength like that?
And worse–how had she known he was coming for her before he had even touched her?
D
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Sara Lili is a daring romance writer who turns icy landscapes into scenes of fiery passion. She loves crafting hot love stories while embracing the chill of Iceland’s breathtaking cold.
