Chapter 6 I've never felt more afraid or helpless than I did when I found my mother on the floor. For one soul-crushing second, I thought she was gone. I panicked in a way I never have before. Not even when Papa died. For a moment, I felt like a child with no idea what to do next. I'm not a man who panics or freezes. When things need to be taken care of, I don't hesitate. But seeing my mother like that-pale and unmoving, her face slack in an unnatural droop-I didn't know what to do. Thankfully, my fingers moved faster than my brain; somehow, I dialed 9-1-1 before I even registered what I was doing. The minutes before the ambulance arrived felt like hours. Even though I know she's stable now, that the doctors are confident she'll recover, my hands still won't stop shaking. I lean forward in the waiting room, elbows braced on my knees, dragging my hands down my face. I exhale, trying to ground myself, but my mind won't shut the fuck up. I keep replaying the horrible scenes over and over again. Mom crumpled on the floor, the ambulance's blinding lights, the antiseptic sting that hit me the moment I stepped into the ER. Then came the biggest shock to my system. The nurse working on my mother the moment she came in was Nicole. Mind-fucking good in bed Nicole. She probably told me she was a nurse, but I barely remember anything we discussed at that dinner. If I'd ever imagined running into her again, this scenario would be dead last on the list. Ideally, if I saw her again she'd be wearing some sexy piece of lingerie. No. I shake my head. Now isn't the time to be thinking about that. It doesn't matter how incredible our night together was. There's only one thing I should be focusing on right now, and it's finding out what's going to happen with my mother. A nurse runs by and I can't help but check to see if it's Nicole. I wonder if she's still with Mom or if she's moved on to another patient. I shouldn't expect any special treatment, of course. Still, part of me wishes that she would stay with Mom until I'm sure she's fine. They won't let me back there until they finish running tests, and it would be nice to know someone is standing by her. I clench my jaw and run a hand through my hair, exhaling sharply. My feet tap against the linoleum floor and I can't keep my knees from bouncing. I haven't felt this anxious and rattled in years, and I don't know what to do with myself. My body feels foreign to me. I don't know what to do with my hands, or where to look. I am utterly useless. My gaze drifts to the nurses' station, where a woman with a clipboard speaks to a colleague. Her back is to me, but a jolt of electricity runs through me and I know it's Nicole. From this vantage point, she seems calm and collected. She's used to this, I imagine. She jumps into action when there's a crisis; that's her job. My world is falling apart, but this is just another night for her. For some reason, that gets under my skin more than it should. My phone buzzes in my pocket, yanking me out of the tailspin. I glance at the screen, where Sasha's name fills it. "Yeah, Sasha," I say. "How is she?" he asks, his voice low and steady. "She's stable," I say, my voice still rough. "The doctors said it was a minor stroke. She's got some recovery ahead of her, but she'll be okay with the right care." "Good." He exhales, relief bleeding through the line. There's a long pause. Neither of us quite knows what to say in a situation like this. When Papa died, we just downed a bottle of vodka and said hardly anything. We Volkov men aren't really emotional creatures. Even so, emotion threads through his tone. "You staying with her?" He clears his throat. "Until we know more, yes," I confirm. Another beat of silence. Then Sasha shifts to safer territory: business. "I'm handling the debt situation," he says, unprompted. "The guy swore he'd have the money, but⁠-" "But he hasn't delivered," I cut him off. It's a tale as old as time. "Not yet. But he will. I'm working on it." Sasha chuckles, low and dark. I don't doubt that. Sasha is the best person to handle people who don't pay their dues. He doesn't waste time on excuses or pleasantries, and he has zero patience for men who lie. And right now, I have no doubt he's making sure the debt is paid one way or another. I drag a hand through my hair. "Don't make a mess." "No promises." He laughs. I shake my head, but before I can respond, I hear footsteps approaching. I look up to find Nicole standing in front of me, patiently waiting for me to hang up. My stomach drops, and I'm not sure whether it's worry for my mother or the sheer gravity of being back in Nicole's orbit. My grip tightens on the phone. "Sasha," I mutter, "I'll call you later." "Yeah, yeah. Take care of Ma." I end the call and pocket my phone, giving Nicole my full attention. She studies me, eyes sweeping my face as though she's wrestling with something unspoken. It unsettles me, and makes me desperately wish I could read her thoughts. Then, she shifts her weight and speaks in a professional, clipped voice. "Your mother is stable, and we've completed all the tests. You can see her now." I nod once, but neither of us moves or looks away. The tension between us is electric, palpable. For a moment, we're not in a hospital waiting room, but we're back at that alley behind the restaurant, a breath away from touching. But the chaotic hospital sounds snap me back to the present, and the moment turns painfully awkward. I should thank her for taking care of my mother, for keeping her safe, for doing her job when I was too fucking paralyzed with fear to do anything but stand there and watch. Yet I struggle to form a single word. She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and looks up at me, her expression loaded. "Sergei." She says my name casually, but I'm suddenly remembering how she screamed it, how her whole body reacted when she did. I'm already half-hard just thinking about it. I step forward, closing the space between us slightly. "Malyshka," I whisper, absentmindedly reaching for her. Her breath hitches and I know she's remembering that night too. A heated current swirls between us, a magnetic force drawing us closer. Then she steps back, blinking rapidly as though trying to shake it off. "I need to get back to work," she says quickly, looking back toward the nurses' station. I nod, but she hesitates. When she finally turns to leave, I reach out, my fingers just barely brushing her wrist. She freezes. For a second, neither of us moves. "Thank you," I say quietly, though what I really want to suggest is finding an on-call room for an encore. Her lips part slightly, her shoulders tensing. I don't expect a response, and I don't get one. Instead, she exhales softly, then pulls away, disappearing down the hall. And I let her go. For now. An hour later, I'm sitting by Mom's bedside, praying to some unknown entity that she'll wake up. Every time she shows the slightest movement, I hold my breath, hoping she'll open her eyes and tell me everything is okay. She's so small and vulnerable in this bed, nothing like the powerhouse I know her to be. It's like all of her personality has been drained out of her, and I'm terrified she'll never get it back. I've seen what strokes can do to people. I know that she's lucky enough to even be alive, but when she wakes up, her quality of life can be greatly impacted. She might not be able to speak again or walk again. Until she wakes up, we really can't know the extent of the damage. Nurses bustle in and out, but no one really speaks to me. Any time I ask, they say I should wait for the doctor, but of course the doctor is so damn busy he never shows his face. I'm about to ask someone to page him when Nicole slips in, wary eyes flicking to me as she checks on my mother. "How's she been?" she asks, not looking at me. "A ball of sunshine," I mutter, immediately hating the bite in my tone. "I'm sorry, it's been a long night, and I still haven't seen the doctor." "I'll page him for you," she says kindly, no hint of irritation in her voice. "But it may take a while. We had a multi-car crash come in after her, and he's slammed right now." "Sure," I mutter, my frustration rising. I can't control any of it, I know. I can't make any of this go away or get better, even if I threw money at it. An insane idea slams into me. "Nicole?" I stand and circle the bed until we're toe-to-toe. "What?" The word slips out on a breath. "My mother needs full-time care," I explain. "I've seen how you work tonight, and you're the only person in this damn place who's even bothered to speak to me. I want you to be the one to look after her while she recovers." She blinks as though trying to process my words. "I'm happy to check in on her every now and then, and of course I can refer you to some great in-home aides." "That isn't what I mean," I tell her firmly. "I want you to be the one to take care of her." "Sergei, I have a job." She gestures to the room. "I can't just stop working so I can take care of one patient. It's a flattering offer, but⁠-" "I'll pay you," I cut in. She stares at me, her expression shifting into something unreadable. "I figured as much," she says, arching a brow. "But no amount of money will make me leave." I don't hesitate. "Not even a million dollars?" Nicole laughs, the sound cutting through the chaos in my head. She thinks I'm joking, that I've just come up with some absurd sum. But she stops when she sees I'm completely serious. "Come on, Sergei. Be serious," she says, skepticism sharpening every syllable. "There are two things I'm always deadly serious about," I murmur. "My business and my mother's health. I'm willing to pay you one million dollars, in cash, up front, if you will move into my house and take care of my mother until she's fully recovered." "What are you, some kind of mob boss?" she asks, edging back with a shaky laugh. I deflect. "She's the most important woman in my life," I say simply. "I want the best for her. And you're the best I've seen." "This is insane," she mutters, running a hand through her hair. I notice the slight tremble in her fingers. I step closer. "Two million." Her head snaps up. "What?" "Two million dollars," I say. "If that makes the decision easier." Nicole blinks, stunned into silence. For a moment, I think she might walk away-or slap me. "Listen, Sergei, this is a stressful time," she says. Now she's the one deflecting. "I know you're worried about your mother, and of course I appreciate that you want the best for her. But you could get excellent care for less money. Trust me, I'm not worth that." "I disagree," I challenge with a tilt of my head. She lets out a stunned, sharp laugh. "You don't even know me," she says, verging on hysterical. I step closer. "I know enough," I murmur. "Two million dollars, tax-free, yours for the taking." She pauses. And for a split second, I see it: her pupils dilate, her lips part, and suddenly there's far more between us than this offer. She feels it too. I know she does. Whatever this is between us, this dark, hungry, and alive feeling, crackles like a live wire, begging to ignite. "Take the deal, Nicole," I say, my voice low and rough. "Please." She swallows hard, and I think I might have convinced her to say yes. In a romance-themed observation show, several participants undergo a series of interactions and conflicts filled with love, misunderstandings, and power struggles. In the end, one couple rises to over...