Episode 3

Alexander Maxim

The sound of footsteps echoed faintly through the halls as I approached Ivan’s room. The metallic scent of antiseptic still lingered in the air, sharp and cold, a reminder of how close I had come to losing someone I couldn’t afford to lose. Ivan was stable now—alive—but the rage that burned in my chest hadn’t dulled. Someone had targeted him. Someone wanted to send me a message.

And if that someone thought they could walk away unscathed, they were mistaken.

When I stepped into the room, the doctor was there. His dark eyes flicked toward me briefly before he turned his focus back to Ivan. His hands moved with practiced precision as he adjusted the IV line, checked the monitors, and made a note on a clipboard. He didn’t flinch at my presence, but I could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his lips pressed into a thin line.

He was holding himself together well. For now.

“Doctor.” My voice broke the silence, sharp and deliberate.

He glanced up again, his expression neutral but wary. “He’s stable,” he said, his tone clipped. “For now. But he’s not out of the woods yet. The bullet nicked his lung, and there’s a high risk of infection.”

I nodded, stepping closer to the bed. Ivan’s face was pale, his breathing shallow but steady. Seeing him like this—helpless—only fueled the fire in my chest.

“You’ve done well so far,” I said, my voice low, measured. “But if his condition worsens…”

The doctor straightened, meeting my gaze with a defiance I hadn’t expected. “If his condition worsens, it’ll be because you brought me here without proper tools or resources,” he snapped, his voice steady despite the spark of anger in his eyes. “I’m not a miracle worker.”

A silence fell over the room, heavy and charged. Kyle, standing near the door, stiffened, his hand twitching toward his gun. I raised a hand, stopping him.

The doctor’s defiance was… intriguing. He was out of his depth here—anyone could see that—but he wasn’t cowering. Not entirely.

“What’s your name?” he asked suddenly, his tone cautious but firm.

I arched an eyebrow, caught off guard by the question. “You don’t need to know that.”

“If I’m going to stay here and keep him alive,” he said, gesturing to Ivan, “then I deserve to know who I’m dealing with.”

The corner of my mouth twitched in a faint smirk. Bold.

“Maxim,” I said finally, watching his reaction closely.

Something flickered in his eyes—recognition, maybe? Or just the weight of finally putting a name to the man who held his life in his hands.

“Dr. Roman Zachary,” he said after a pause, as if offering his name was a concession he hadn’t planned on making.

I already knew his name, of course. I knew everything about him that mattered. But hearing him say it aloud, the way his voice dipped slightly as he spoke, felt like a small victory.

“Dr. Zachary,” I repeated, letting the syllables roll off my tongue with deliberate weight. “I expect you to keep your focus on the patient. Nothing else concerns you.”

His jaw tightened, but he nodded. “Understood.”

Roman Zachary

Maxim.

The name lingered in my mind long after he left the room, his presence fading like the scent of expensive cologne he left behind. It fits him, somehow—sharp, commanding, and cold. He didn’t need to tell me he was dangerous. Everything about him screamed it, from the way he carried himself to the piercing green eyes that seemed to see straight through me.

But there was something else, too. Something unsettling. A weight to his gaze, a controlled fury that made it clear he wasn’t a man who let anything slip through his fingers. And yet, for a moment—just a moment—I thought I saw something else in his expression. Something almost human.

I shook the thought away, focusing instead on the man lying in the bed in front of me. Ivan’s breathing had steadied, the monitors showing a slow but stable rhythm. His color was still pale, but his vitals were holding.

“You’re tough,” I murmured quietly, half to myself. “Whoever you are, you must mean a lot to him.”

The door creaked open behind me, and I turned to see Kyle stepping inside. His expression was calm, but his movements were tense, his gaze flicking between Ivan and me as if he were trying to assess the situation without asking outright.

“How is he?” Kyle asked, his voice low.

“Stable,” I said, standing up straight. “But he’s not out of the woods yet. He needs rest and careful monitoring for the next 48 hours.”

Kyle nodded, his sharp eyes lingering on Ivan for a moment longer before shifting back to me. There was a weight in his gaze, something unsaid, and it made my stomach twist.

“You should get some rest too,” Kyle said finally, his tone more neutral now.

I hesitated. The idea of leaving Ivan alone—even with Kyle standing watch—felt wrong. But I wasn’t sure if it was my duty as a doctor or something else entirely that kept me rooted to the spot.

“I’m fine,” I said. “I’ll stay here, just in case.”

Kyle didn’t argue, but his jaw tightened slightly. He stepped closer to Ivan’s bedside, his expression softening in a way I hadn’t expected.

“You’ve done enough for now,” he murmured, more to himself than to me.

The quiet way he said it struck me. There was something in his voice—a mix of guilt and something deeper—that made me wonder if this was more than just a professional bond.

I turned away, giving him a moment of privacy as I busied myself with checking the monitors again.

But I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was missing something—something about the relationship between these men, something about this entire world that I’d stumbled into.

And no matter how much I tried to focus on my work, the name Maxim lingered in the back of my mind, a quiet reminder of just how far I’d fallen from my old life.

Kyle

Ivan stirred faintly in his sleep, his brow furrowing for a moment before settling again.

I let out a slow breath, tension bleeding out of my shoulders as I watched the steady rise and fall of his chest. He was alive. That was all that mattered right now.

But the sight of him like this—pale, vulnerable, hooked up to machines—made my stomach churn. Ivan wasn’t supposed to look like this. He was the one who made jokes in the middle of chaos, who threw himself headfirst into danger without a second thought. He was... unshakable. Or at least, he used to be.

I clenched my fists at my sides, the familiar anger simmering just beneath the surface. Whoever did this was going to pay. Maxim would make sure of that—I had no doubt. But that didn’t make the waiting any easier.

I glanced at the doctor, still hovering near the monitors like he was afraid to leave. He was an enigma, this Roman Zachary. Composed, intelligent, with a quiet defiance that almost made me respect him. Almost.

But right now, my focus wasn’t on him. It was on Ivan.

I stepped closer to the bed, my hand hovering near Ivan’s for a moment before pulling back. There was a lot I wanted to say, but the words felt stuck, trapped by the weight of everything that had happened.

“You’re tougher than this,” I murmured quietly, my voice barely audible. “So pull through. For us.”

For me.

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