Chapter 167
Evelyn's POV
The next morning, I woke to find Julian already awake beside me in the hospital bed, scrolling through security reports on his phone with a frown that suggested nothing good.
"What now?" I asked, my voice still rough with sleep.
He glanced down at me, and the frown softened slightly. "Good morning, sweetheart."
Despite everything—the pain, the fear, the armed guards stationed outside my door—I felt my lips curve into a smile. "Good morning."
He kissed my forehead gently, careful not to jostle my injuries. "How are you feeling?"
"Like I woke up in a hospital bed while hiding from assassins," I said dryly. "So, you know, living the dream."
That got a quiet laugh from him. "At least the assassins have stopped coming. Webb confirmed this morning—no new threats, no movement from Kholod's remaining network. Nikolai's people swept the entire Eastern Seaboard. We're clear."
"For now," I said, because old habits died hard.
"For now," he agreed. Then his expression shifted, became more thoughtful. "I've been thinking—maybe we should keep the details of our injuries quiet."
I raised an eyebrow. "Ashamed of your battle scars already?"
"No." His hand found mine, squeezed gently. "But if word gets out that we're both laid up with broken ribs and various other damage, we're going to have a parade of concerned visitors." He paused. "And honestly? I'd rather just—keep this between us. Recover in peace without having to manage everyone else's worry."
Before I could respond, there was a knock at the door. Julian tensed immediately, his hand moving toward the weapon I knew he kept in the small of his back despite hospital regulations.
"It's me," Isabella's voice called from the hallway. "I brought pastries and terrible hospital coffee. Can I come in?"
Julian relaxed fractionally. "Yeah, come in."
The door opened, and Isabella bustled in carrying a bakery box and a carrier tray with multiple coffee cups. She was dressed in casual elegance—designer jeans and a cashmere sweater—but her face was tight with worry.
"Oh thank God," she said when she saw me. "I've been calling and texting but nobody would tell me anything except that you were 'stable' which is a completely useless word that could mean anything from 'fine' to 'on life support' and—" She stopped, took a breath. "And I wouldn't have known you were here at all if my friend didn't work at this medical center. She mentioned seeing you admitted yesterday and I told her she must have been mistaken, that there was no way you'd be in the hospital without someone telling me—" She stopped again, looking genuinely hurt. "Why didn't anyone tell me? I thought we were friends."
I exchanged a glance with Julian. So much for keeping this quiet, my expression said.
His jaw tightened slightly. I'm firing everyone who had contact with Isabella the moment we get out of here, his eyes replied.
"I'm sorry," I said aloud, meaning it. "We were trying to keep it low-key. Didn't want to worry people or deal with a lot of visitors while we were still figuring out—" I gestured vaguely at my injuries. "Everything."
"Low-key," Isabella repeated, her voice rising slightly. "Evelyn, you're in a hospital bed covered in bruises. That's not 'low-key,' that's—" She stopped, took another breath. "Sorry. I'm rambling. Adrian says I ramble when I'm stressed."
"It's fine," I said, genuinely touched by her concern. "I'm okay. Really."
She set the coffee and pastries on the rolling table, then turned to properly look at me. Her expression shifted from relief to horror as she took in the visible bruises on my face and arms. "Oh, Evelyn. What happened?" She turned to Julian, and her voice sharpened with accusation. "This is because of Titan, isn't it? Because of whatever dangerous contracts you take on. I knew this would happen. I told Adrian that private military contracting was too risky, that someone was going to get hurt—"
"Isabella," I started, but she was on a roll now.
"—and I understand that it's lucrative and important work, but is it really worth putting the people you love in danger? Because Evelyn could have been killed. She could have—" Isabella's hand shot out to emphasize her point, landing squarely on Julian's shoulder.
He went white. Sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth. Tried and failed to hide the wince of pain.
My heart stopped. "Julian—"
"I'm fine," he said quickly, but I could see the careful way he was holding himself now. The tension in his jaw that meant he was working very hard not to show how much something hurt.
Isabella's eyes widened in horror. "Oh my God. Are you hurt too? Did I just—" She looked at her hand like it had betrayed her. "I'm so sorry, I didn't know, I wouldn't have—"
"It's nothing," Julian said, but I was already pushing myself up in the bed despite the protest from my own injuries, reaching for him with more urgency than was probably wise given my broken ribs.
"Let me see," I demanded.
"Evelyn, I'm fine. It's just—"
"Julian." My voice came out sharper than I intended, edged with the kind of fear that only surfaced when someone I loved was hurt and trying to hide it from me. "Let me see. Now."
He held my gaze for a long moment, then sighed and carefully pulled up the hem of his shirt. The bandage wrapped around his torso was stark white against his skin, and I could see the faint outline of bruising spreading beyond its edges.
The bullet wound. From when he'd thrown himself in front of me during the attack. When he'd literally taken a bullet meant for me and then acted like it was nothing.
"You said the vest caught it," I said, my voice shaking slightly. "You said you were fine."
"The vest did catch it. I am fine. It's just broken ribs, same as you." He pulled his shirt back down gently. "I've had worse."
"That's not the point." I wanted to touch him, to verify for myself that he was okay, but I was also terrified of hurting him further. "You should have told me it was this bad."
"And what would you have done differently?" His voice was gentle but firm. "You were unconscious for forty hours. When you woke up, you were dealing with your father and the wedding and—" He stopped, shook his head. "I didn't want to add to everything you were already carrying."
Isabella was watching this exchange with wide eyes, her hand still frozen in midair like she was afraid to move. "I am so, so sorry. I didn't realize—"
"It's not your fault," Julian said, turning to her. "You didn't know."
"But if I'd just—" She stopped, her expression shifting from guilt to confusion to something sharper. "Wait. You both have broken ribs? From the same incident?" Her gaze moved between us, clearly trying to piece together a scenario where that made sense. "What kind of security breach results in matching injuries?"