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Mariya, oblivious to our silent exchange, continues her vigil. Watching her, I realize that she's more than just a pawn in this game of power and influence. She's a person, vibrant and alive, and under different circumstances, perhaps...
I stop myself. That path is a dangerous one, fraught with potential for pain and betrayal. I remain hidden, a specter in the backdrop of her life, watching over her without her knowing. It's better this way, safer for both of us. Yet, as I stand there, the distance between us feels like a chasm I'm inexplicably compelled to cross.
I navigate the sterile hospital corridors with a practiced ease, my presence barely registering to the busy staff. In this world, money speaks volumes, and the crisp bills I slip to a passing nurse secure me the silence and access I need. I steal a glance into Helena’s room, and the sight of her, pale but smiling weakly at the nurse attending to her, eases the tightness in my chest.
It’s not long before I hear the distant echo of footsteps approaching—her husband, no doubt—arriving to take over the watch. My duty here is done, but as I retreat to the edges of the waiting area, my anonymity remains my shield.
Just then, her voice cuts through the hum of the hospital. Mariya, her tone edged with a mixture of concern and a yearning that knots my insides, is questioning Oskar about me. My name on her lips sounds like a plea, a call to something deep within me that I’ve fought to keep dormant.
Oskar’s response is low, meant only for her, but I catch the hint of confirmation that I was at the hospital. I feel her gaze sweeping the room, searching, hoping. It's time for me to disappear before I'm tempted to step into the light.
Suddenly, there is a surge of movement, and she bolts from her seat, her voice rising in desperation.
“Where is he?” Mariya’s cry slices through the din. “Please, I want to see him.”
The urgency in her voice tugs at me, a fierce pull that threatens to unravel the careful distance I’ve maintained. I can’t let her see me; I can’t afford the collision of our separate worlds. Yet, as her voice carries over the crowd, a part of me yearns to comfort her, to be the answer she’s calling for.
For a heartbeat, I’m frozen, caught between the role I must play and the man I long to be in the moment. Then, with a discipline that tears at my soul, I turn and walk away, each step a heavy drumbeat against the linoleum floor.
Her calls fade into the background, muffled by the closing of the automatic doors behind me. In the cool air, I allow myself a moment to close my eyes and picture her face, to imagine what might have been if I’d turned back.
But I’m Damien Sidorov—calculating, determined, and bound by a duty that runs deeper than personal desire. With a deep breath, I prepare to cross the parking lot and return to my car.
The cold rain sharply contrasts with the warmth of the embrace that captures me. I don't need to see her; the fragrance that envelops me is unmistakable—floral and fruity, reminiscent of her letters, a scent that has haunted my quiet moments. My heart lurches in recognition, and without a thought, my body responds, turning to face the source of affection.
There she stands, soaked from the rain, her eyes wide with a mixture of shock and realization. It's Mariya, in the flesh, as beautiful as the daydreams I've entertained. The intensity of the moment wraps around us, the air charged with an attraction that has simmered unseen until now.
The connection is palpable, a current that runs between us, fierce and undeniable. And yet, as quickly as it materializes, I know it must be severed. I break away, stepping back into the curtain of rain that blurs the world around us.
Oskar's hand is a gentle but firm reminder of reality as he rests it on Mariya's shoulder. His voice is a low murmur meant to soothe and mislead. "That isn't him," he lies, but Mariya's protest cuts through the patter of raindrops, her certainty piercing.
I slide into the backseat of my car, still feeling the lingering warmth of her touch. As the car pulls away, the rain distorts the view of her retreating figure, but her presence remains, a phantom touch that stirs a dangerous longing within me.
The city lights streak past, blurred by the rainfall. Mariya's scent still clings to me, a sweet ache that I can't push away. The moment outside the hospital was a threshold I never intended to cross, and yet now, there's no denying the truth of it.
I lean back against the cool leather, the drumming of the rain against the window echoing the turmoil in my heart and the disorder in my mind. A line has been crossed, an invisible boundary that I've spent a lifetime upholding. And in that unguarded moment, the distance I've so carefully maintained between Mariya and myself was breached.
As the cityscape rolls by, I feel a sense of inevitability. What just transpired wasn't a mere slip; it was a declaration, a point of no return. The world I knew, the one I controlled, has now shifted, and Mariya—my enigmatic, unreachable wife—stands at its center.
The rain softens to a gentle rhythm that seems almost apologetic, and I close my eyes, her image burned into my mind. The path ahead is unclear, but the certainty of her impact is undeniable. Mariya has changed the game entirely, and there's no going back.
Chapter 10
Damien
The sharp scent of exotic spices fills the air of the restaurant, but it's the undercurrent of tension that truly commands the room. Ahmet Sahin's gaze is as sharp as the knife he uses to slice the kebab on his plate, his voice low and tinged with a knowing edge.
"Damien, my friend, you seem preoccupied. Is everything all right?"
I offer a tight smile, my hands folded on the table. "My apologies, Ahmet. Just a lot on my mind lately." The truth is, Mariya has invaded my thoughts, her image flickering behind my eyes like a persistent flame, igniting desires I hadn't allowed myself to explore. The memory of her embrace, the brush of her lips against my skin in an unguarded moment, is all-consuming.
The meeting is critical, a delicate balance of words and promises. Oskar stands a vigilant sentinel behind me while my other guards survey the room with hawk-like scrutiny. We're negotiating a treacherous path with the Turks, one that could either secure our foothold or send us spiraling into chaos.
As we delve into the particulars of the deal, I can't shake the sense that something is off. A waiter, his hands shaking ever so slightly as he refills our glasses, keeps darting glances around our table. His nervous energy is like a dark cloud in the vibrant atmosphere of the restaurant, and it sets my instincts on edge.
I lean forward, locking eyes with Ahmet as I steer the conversation back to the business at hand. "We're eager to solidify our partnership," I say, my voice steady despite the distraction. "And ensure that both our interests are well served."
Ahmet nods, his gaze never leaving mine, as I try to keep the waiter in my peripheral vision. I catch Oskar's attention with a subtle tilt of my head, and with a nearly imperceptible nod, he begins to edge closer to the source of my unease.
