Page 77 of Bought By Santa

“Can we see him?” Carolina’s voice cuts through my haze of rage.

“Follow me.” The doctor turns on his heel, his white coat a blur as we trail behind him.

The room is a cacophony of beeping machines and flashing monitors, each one tracking the thread of life still tethered to Jack. Tubes snake from his body, and there’s a mechanical hiss with every labored breath he takes.

“Jesus, Jack,” I mutter, my voice a low growl. Looking at his pale face, too still and quiet, it’s like seeing a ghost. This isn’t the brother I know—the one full of fire and fight.

I feel Carolina’s eyes on me, but I can’t tear my gaze away from Jack. “Nicklas, he’s strong. He’ll pull through this,” she whispers, her voice a balm to the raw wound in my chest.

I nod, but I don’t trust myself to speak. My mind is a battlefield, thoughts of vengeance warring with the cold dread that’s settled in my bones.

“Look at me,” Carolina urges, and I finally turn to her. Her blue eyes are fierce, a challenge and a promise all at once. “We’re in this together, remember?”

“Forevermore,” I say, echoing our earlier vow. It’s not just about me anymore; it’s about us, about what we’re building together. And I’ll be damned if I let anyone tear that down.

“Good,” she says firmly. “All you need to do is focus on Jack getting better. He needs us to be strong for him. I’ll take care of everything else.”

She’s right. Jack needs me to be the immovable force I’ve always been. No matter what, I have to protect him, protect us. And when this is over, Carolina and I will have our family, our future—no matter the cost.

I can’t sit down. Can’t stay still. Everything’s too much and not enough at the same time. The people—my people since we’ve shut down this wing of the Knight owned hospital—walkingaround the halls annoy the shit out of me. Jack’s room is a cacophony of electronic beeps and sighs from machines that are keeping him alive. It is too depressing.

There’s nowhere for me to go.

Every time I leave Jack’s room, I come back within a few minutes. I know there are things for me to do, but I can’t seem to focus enough to actually do it.

I’m pulled from my thoughts as I hear Carolina’s voice ring out. I get up from the chair and stride into the hallway.

“Dr. Morris, I expect updates every hour.” Her voice slices through the chaos, sharp and commanding. I glance over, watching her confront the lead doctor. She’s a force to be reckoned with, her blonde hair like a halo in the harsh fluorescent light, her figure rigid with authority.

“Of course, Ms. Sterling,” the doctor replies, his eyes flicking nervously toward me.

“It’s Mrs. Knight,” she corrects him. “And good. I want an hourly update on the transfusion and everything else. Also, do you have enough blood on hand? Or do we need to look for donors?” she continues, her thoroughness surprising everyone in the room, me included.

“Absolutely, Mrs. Knight,” Dr. Morris assures her before scurrying off.

As soon as he’s gone, she turns to Marco. “Do you have an update for me?”

What the hell?

Marco steps up, his broad frame tense with unspoken questions. “We’ve secured all entrances and exits, no one gets in without clearance.”

Nodding, she places her hands on her hips. “Expand the perimeter. I want eyes on every floor, every ward. If someone so much as sneezes out of turn, I expect to know about it,” she orders, her gaze steely.

“Understood,” Marco acknowledges with a nod, a small smile grazing his lips.

Sergei leans against the wall, his face pale beneath the grime and blood. “Carolina, I—”

“No, I’m not discussing this with you again,” she admonishes, pointing at him. “You need to get yourself checked over. You could still have bullets inside you. Come on, Sergei.”

Their compliance fills me with an odd sense of pride. Carolina, my future wife; not only is she already demanding to be called Mrs. Knight, but the way she’s taking control is fucking hot. No wonder everyone is listening. It’s intoxicating, how she commands respect without question. How she fights for my family as fiercely as I do.

“Nick?” Her hand touches my arm, and I realize I’m shaking.

“I’m fine,” I lie through clenched teeth. My eyes are hot, the threat of tears an unwelcome weakness pressing behind my lids.

“Look at me,” she says gently. But I can’t. If I look at her now, everything inside me will crumble.

“Nicklas,” she insists, her tone brooking no argument. Reluctantly, I meet her gaze. There’s strength there, but also a softness that’s just for me. It’s a lifeline thrown into the raging sea of my emotions.

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