Chapter 58 Awake

Chapter 58 Awake
Nikolai:

I woke to pain. It was the first thing I noticed, heavy and burning in my chest, and spreading through my ribs with every breath. I opened my eyes slowly and I took in the ceiling above me: recessed lights, the faint outline of a chandelier. 

I was in my room?

I frowned and tried to remember how I had gotten there. The last things I could recall were blood, a ballroom, and Jasmine. Then darkness. I attempted to sit up and immediately regretted it. 

I felt agony shoot up through my torso and I grunted, clinging to the mattress until the room stopped spinning. I looked down and saw bandages wrapped in several layers around my chest. The constriction wasn’t only pain; it was memory of a gun, of Jasmine standing before me with terror and heartbreak on her face. After that, only fragments remained.

I forced myself upright. The room tilted and my legs felt weak, like I had been bedridden for months. Using the wall for support, I stumbled toward the bedroom door. The hallway outside was quiet and empty. I took a couple of steps and then I heard Matthew’s voice from downstairs.

“Nikolai?” he called. I saw relief flash across his face when I appeared, but irritation showed right after. “What the hell are you doing?”

I ignored his question and asked instead, “How long?”

Matthew understood immediately and his face went dark. “A week,” he answered. I froze. “A week?” I repeated.

“You nearly died,” he said, and that shut me up. He stepped closer and guided me toward the nearest chair with careful hands. I did not argue; I simply did not have the energy. 

Once seated, I looked at him and asked, “What happened?”

“You got shot,” Matthew said. I told him I already knew. 

He disagreed, sounding sharper than I expected. “No. You don’t,” he snapped. Silence stretched between us and then he added, “She tried to kill you.”

“No,” I said, hardening at the thought. 

“She pulled the trigger,” he persisted.

“She missed.” 

Matthew looked almost angry as he corrected me. “One of her people didn’t,” he said. The words fell heavy, and fragments of chaos, the gunfire, the shouting, all floated back to me. I had a shadowed memory of Pietro but could not place it fully.

Matthew folded his arms and said, “They left you there.” I looked away; he finished, “They left you to die.” 

I said nothing because part of me already knew their accusation wasn’t the whole truth. I remembered Jasmine’s face: horror, panic, tears. A woman who planned murder would not look like that. A woman watching someone she loved die would. 

Matthew sighed and added, “If Francesca and I hadn’t found you, you’d be dead.”

I blinked, surprised. “Francesca?”

“Yes,” he said dryly. “She practically threatened the paramedics.” 

I rubbed my face and immediately regretted it when pain flared through my ribs. The question that mattered most pushed out before anything else. “Jasmine,” I asked.

Matthew closed his eyes. Of course, that was what I cared about more than anything. “Do we know where she is?” I pressed. Before Matthew could answer, Francesca’s voice came from the hallway.

“No.” Both Matthew and I looked up. Francesca stood there with a coffee cup, perfectly dressed despite the early hour. Relief crossed her face briefly when she saw me, but it was quickly replaced by annoyance. “You’re awake,” she said flatly. She came to the doorway and added, “You almost died.” 

“Apparently.” I answered.

“You actually did die,” she continued. When I frowned, she rolled her eyes and said, “Your heart stopped for thirty-seven seconds.” Matthew did not look impressed by the revelation. Francesca set the coffee down and pointed at me. “And even now, the first thing you ask about is her,” she said.

Her bitterness made me stay silent.

“Nikolai—” Francesca began, but I cut her off. I moved despite the pain and insisted again,

“Jasmine missed.” Both Francesca and Matthew stared at me, unconvinced, and I did not care. I knew what I had seen. Jasmine had not wanted that bullet to hit me. Whatever happened after that was not her doing. 

Then I sighed, looking up to Francesca. “Thank you. You helped save my life.”

Her expression softened for a moment before hardening again. “You’re welcome,” she said, then ordered, “Now forget about her if you really want to move forward from this.” 

“No,” I said.

“Nikolai,” Francesca warned, but I answered instantly and without doubt.

“No.” 

She laughed without humour and called me impossible. I accepted the label, because I was not wrong to want answers. I looked at Matthew. “We need to find her.”

Matthew sighed and said, “No.” 

I was caught off guard. “What?” I asked. 

He shook his head and explained, “I’m not helping you chase after the woman who started a war and nearly got you killed.” 

We stared at each other without blinking, a slight tension between us. I pushed myself up despite the pain and declared, “If you won’t help me, I’ll do it myself.”

Francesca stepped forward, worried. “You can barely stand,” 

“I’ll manage.” 

She tried again to stop me, but I gave the same answer: “I said I’ll manage.” The room became quiet, but I meant every word. Something felt wrong; nothing about the scene fit together. Jasmine had stabbed me, declared war, fired a shot at me, and then disappeared. Yet every instinct in me said something important was missing, some detail no one had seen.

Matthew watched me for a long moment and then rubbed his face, the gesture of a man giving in to inevitable foolishness. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?” he asked. 

“No.” I answered plainly.

He sighed a very long sigh and finally nodded. “Fine,” he said.

Francesca looked annoyed. “Matthew,” she began, but he did not change his mind. 

“I’ll help you find Jasmine,” he told me. 

I felt relieved instantly. There was hope. If Jasmine was alive and out there somewhere, I would find her. And this time, I intended to uncover the whole truth.