A Forced Contract Marriage with the Devil novel Chapter 213

ALESSANDRO’S POV

‘I have a really busy day ahead,” I said to him, making the precise knot of my tie. I glanced at him every second through the mirror, I tugged at my sleeves to straighten them out. “I’ll come home late…”

I put on my watch and my suit jacket before I made my way to him, placing a kiss on his forehead, ‘Don’t wait up for me.”

He blinked at me and I smiled down at him. I turned to walk out of the room but I froze in utter shock as the realization suddenly struck me,

unable to move a muscle to take even a single step out of the room.

Did he just blink at me?!

My hand stilled over the doorknob, it took a few moments for it to sink in, his eyes were open and he just fucking blinked at me.

My eyebrows went up to the fucking sky and I turned running back towards the bed to his side.

I swallowed as I saw his eyes wide open, he wasn’t staring at me or focusing on anything, his eyes moved around before settling on the ceiling, and he blinked multiple times. Then his lips slowly parted and he let out a soft breath, a little sigh.

I grinned like a fucking fool as I stared at him. My chest felt too tight, too full, like my heart had suddenly grown ten times larger and didn’t know how to stay caged inside my ribs anymore. It felt like it would fucking explode, like the pressure of this joy, this impossible, staggering, hope, was going to rip me apart from the inside.

“Nikolai?“, I whispered his name.

He moved his eyes to me and the second our eyes met, his heartbeat accelerated. I could see it, I could see it on the fucking heart monitor machine or whatever the shit it’s called.

A harsh breath tore from my lungs, and I nearly stumbled back. It was real. I wasn’t imagining this. His body was responding to me.

My hand shot out, gripping the edge of the bed to keep myself upright as the rush of adrenaline slammed into me. I blinked rapidly, trying to clear the hot burn that was building behind my eyes. No. I wasn’t going to cry. Not now. Not when he was finally, finally coming back to me.

I reached out slowly, like I might scare him off if I moved too fast, and gently brushed my knuckles along the sharp line of his cheekbone.

“Nikolai?“, I whispered again, voice softer now.

His finger moved just slightly as if he was trying hard to move, to talk but couldn’t, a tear slid down the side of his face and I gently wiped it before calling the doctor.

His expression changed to one of confusion and disorientation. He seemed lost, nervous, and a little pained by his unfamiliar surroundings. The doctor said there might be a chance that he might get amnesia but it can’t happen to us. Fuck no…

‘I’m gonna call the doctor, alright?” I told him; he gazed at me for a few seconds. Really looked, as if trying to place me. Like he wanted to know who the hell I was and why I was standing so close.

In the next hour, the doctors arrived, and they did some tests on him to see if his brain was functioning properly or if there was some damage. I only half–registered as they hovered over the bed, peeling back the blanket, lifting his lids, shining lights into his pupils. He seemed fine, he looked fine, I hoped that he was fine.

Later I walked out and waited outside. For a man, who had watched people die the most gruesome death his whole life, the man who had tortured people to the point of breaking them mentally, physically, and emotionally; I couldn’t stand the image of him wincing or flinching at whatever the doctors were doing to him. I might lose my mind and kill them all. They were going to remove the feeding tube and everything else that wasn’t needed now that he had gained consciousness.

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