Page 134 of Captive Prize

And my heart stopped at the sight.

There was blood everywhere.

So much blood.

The operating room was a storm of chaos.

Nurses moved under the harsh glow of surgical lights making the puddles of dark red liquid gleam, and my stomach dropped.

Machines beeped wildly. The sharp antiseptic wasn’t enough to cover the metallic scent of her blood.

I looked up at her face, bracing for the absolute worst.

And those beautiful green eyes of hers smiled into mine.

For a moment, I thought I was seeing an angel.

I thought maybe she’d died, and God was gracious enough to give me one last glimpse of her before taking her from me.

Her eyes were still so bright.

Zoya.

My wife.

She wasn’t an angel.

She was here. Alive.

Despite everything—she was alive.

Her face was flushed, but radiant with a thin sheen of sweat over her skin. Her eyes were on me—still so warm, and full of something much deeper than life itself.

She smiled at me, and the world seemed right again.

That smile was the reason I woke up every morning.

“Come here,” she said, her voice hoarse but filled with something fierce and unbreakable.

Her fingers lifted, reaching for me, and the world snapped back into focus.

My feet moved before my brain caught up.

I was at her bedside in a heartbeat, gripping her hand like a lifeline, swallowing hard against the storm of emotions tightening my throat.

She lived.

She was going to be okay.

Then—my world changed forever.

I heard it.

A sound, small and frail.

A tiny gasping cry.

Zoya tilted her head, her smile turning soft, knowing, victorious.

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