Chapter 6

SASHA'S POV

I paused outside my father's ward, taking a deep breath before I pushed the door open. The familiar clean smell hit me first, sharp and sterile, but it was the sight of him that always twisted something deep in my chest.

Dad lay still on the bed, his face as pale as the blankets that cocooned him. The machines beside him beeped constantly, keeping time with the slow, shallow rise and fall of his chest. His eyes were closed, just like always, and it made me feel like he was stuck somewhere far away, unreachable.

I walked quietly to the chair next to his bed and sank into it, holding the armrest for a second before I leaned forward, closer to him. My eyes moved over his face, hoping—no, praying—that I’d see something different this time.

A flash of movement, a twitch of his eyelid, anything that would tell me he was still in there. But there was nothing.

"Hey, Dad," I said softly, my voice barely above a whisper.

I knew it didn’t matter how loud I spoke; he couldn’t hear me. Still, it felt wrong to break the quiet of the room with anything louder than a whisper.

"I… I don’t know if you can hear me, but I like to think you can."

I watched his face, waiting for a response I knew wouldn’t come. My heart ached at the sight of him like this, so still, so silent. The man who had raised me, the man who was always greater than life, reduced to this. I swallowed hard, my throat tight with emotion.

"I have a lot to tell you, and I wish… I wish you could talk to me, give me some advice, or just… something." My voice cracked, and I took a shaky breath. "I’m in trouble, Dad. Big trouble."

I glanced down at my hands, playing with the hem of my jacket. How was I even going to explain this? How could I put into words the mess I was in? But I had to try. I had no one else to talk to, no one else who could understand, even if he couldn’t reply.

"I’ve met someone," I began, my stomach twisting at the thought of him. "Not in the way you’re thinking. It’s not like that. This man... he’s scary, Dad. Really risky." My hands clenched into fists.

"His name is Sebastian, and He’s a Mafia Lord, and he’s made it clear that I’m… stuck, with him,"

I swallowed again, fighting back the fear that rose every time I thought about Sebastian. His cold eyes, the way he watched me like he already owned me. I could still hear his voice, low and threatening, offering me those two impossible decisions.

"He gave me two choices," I said, my voice trembling slightly. "Either I leave the city and hide, or... I marry him."

The words hung in the air, heavy and choking. Saying it out loud made it feel even more real, more frightening. I squeezed my eyes shut for a moment, trying to block out the image of Sebastian face, the cold grin that never quite reached his eyes.

"I don’t know what to do, Dad," I whispered, my voice cracking. "If I leave, I’d have to leave you behind. I can’t do that. I won’t. But if I stay…"

The rest of the line stuck in my throat. The thought of being tied to Sebastian, of becoming his, made me feel sick. But the alternative… how could I walk away from my father? He was all I had left.

"I’m so confused," I admitted, my voice thick with unshed tears. "I wish you could wake up and just… tell me what to do. You always knew what to say, always had the right advice, even when things were bad. But now… I don’t know what’s right anymore."

I leaned forward, reaching out to take his hand in mine. His skin was cool to the touch, his fingers limp and unmoving. I clutched his hand tightly, as if I could somehow will him to wake up, to open his eyes and tell me everything would be okay. But, of course, nothing happened.

"I feel like I’m drowning," I said, my voice barely a whisper. "And there’s no one to save me."

The quiet in the room seemed to press down on me, heavy and oppressive. The steady beeping of the machines was the only sound, a constant warning that time was slipping away, that I was running out of it. Sebastian had given me a deadline, and every minute that passed brought me closer to a choice I wasn’t ready to make.

"I don’t want to leave you, Dad," I said, my voice angry now, my grip on his hand tightening.

"No matter what happens, I’m not going to leave you. You’re all I have, and I can’t just walk away. I won’t."

Tears stung my eyes, but I blinked them back, unwilling to let them fall. I couldn’t afford to break down now. I had to be strong, for him, for both of us. But the truth was, I didn’t feel strong. I felt scared and lost and so, so alone.

"I wish you could wake up," I whispered, my voice shaking. "I wish you could just open your eyes and tell me what to do. I need you, Dad. I don’t know how to do this without you."

I stared at his face, urging him to move, to give me some sign that he was still there, that he was still fighting. But there was nothing. Just the steady rise and fall of his chest, the rhythmic beeping of the machines, and the crushing quiet that filled the room.

"I’ll figure it out," I said softly, though the words felt hollow. "I have to. For you."

But as I sat there, holding my father’s hand, the weight of the choice before me pressed down harder than ever. How could I choose between the man who had raised me, and had always been there for me, and a future that felt like a prison?

I didn’t have the answer. Not yet.

But I knew one thing for sure: I wasn’t leaving my father. No matter what.