"The greater the obstacle, the more glory in overcoming it." – Molière
Alexei Voronin
Little Lisa was a thorough pain in the balls. She infuriated me in ways I couldn't fathom, and most times, I wanted to shove something into her mouth just to keep her from speaking.
But as she lay unconscious in my arms, barely even breathing, a part of me wanted to walk over to her stepsister and stepmother and shove my gun through their skulls. I was fiercely protective of Lisa—I knew that much.
It wasn't because I particularly cared about her life. What I was getting in return fueled my protectiveness. I wouldn't let anyone ruin it, not even Lisa herself. If I had to lock her up until the stalker was caught, so be it. According to the top-notch investigators hired by the Great Smirnov, it'd take a year at most.
If I didn't put a bullet through his soulless heart first.
Navigating through the mess on the floor, I carried her motionless body until my knees hit the edge of the bed. The mattress dipped under her weight as I gently laid her down, red blotches already seeping through the towel. Her bandages needed changing, but how the hell was I supposed to do that when she was unconscious and barely clothed?
I wasn't a gentleman—not even in the slightest—but I wasn't one to touch an unsuspecting woman. Cowards did that kind of shit. Whatever I wanted a woman to feel, she'd feel while awake, every inch of it imprinted so deeply that even when she closed her eyes, she could still picture it.
Her chest rose and fell slowly, each breath faint and fragile. Her usual glow had drained into a sickening pallor, her lips a ghostly blue. I tugged at my glove, discarding it as my fingers brushed her forehead. Her body shivered under my touch. The wound was festering, and without fresh bandages, it'd soon be infected. She was already burning up with fever.
A sigh escaped me as I shrugged off my jacket, slipping her limp arms through the sleeves. Her head lolled into the crook of my neck, her face warm against my skin. Once I buttoned the jacket around her small frame, I stood up, scanning the room for the medical kit I'd packed. It wasn't by accident that I'd brought it along—Lisa's complete disregard for her safety meant I'd have to take care of everything.
Kit in hand, I returned to the bed, dragging a chair closer. With gentle movements, I adjusted her position, easing the towel lower until it rested loosely around her waist. The jacket covered her upper body, exposing just enough of the wound for me to work.
Her body looked so breakable in this state, so fragile. I didn't like seeing her this way. She had to stay alive for as long as I needed her, but right now, she was like glass—one wrong move, and she'd shatter.
Peeling the bandage off her side, I examined the festering wound. It wasn't as bad as it could've been, but it wasn't good either. My jaw clenched as I worked. Her skin was scalding, the fever worsening.
As I cleaned and bandaged her, my mind wandered back to the conversation with her stepmother and stepsister. Useless, both of them, more worried about their own reputations than Lisa's well-being. It made my blood boil. Other than Massim and her father, everyone around Lisa seemed to hate her. Sure, she wasn't the easiest person to deal with, but there was nothing about her that warranted such venom.
Her stepmother was likely behind it, manipulating things from the shadows. But I wasn't about to let them win. A deal had been made, and I always kept my word.
"Damn it, Lisa," I muttered as I secured the fresh bandage. She stirred, a soft groan slipping from her lips. I stilled, watching for any sign of her waking, but she remained unconscious. Her skin had grown even paler, but at least the fever wasn't as sharp.
Leaning back, I assessed my work. Her face, still flushed with pain, looked oddly peaceful now. There was something about her—a fire beneath all that fragility. Annoying as she was when awake, she didn't seem so weak anymore.
Sitting there, watching her shallow breaths in the dim light, I realized I was seeing her for the first time. Her blonde hair spread across the bed like a halo. My fingers twitched before I ran them through a few soft strands, the texture delicate, almost like her.
I watched her for a moment longer, trying to push down the irritation, the tension that had lodged itself in my chest since the moment I'd been assigned to protect her. This wasn't supposed to feel like a burden.
But somehow, it did.
Sighing, I turned my back on her and moved to the small desk against the wall. I needed to think, to plan. Lisa's safety was the first priority, but I couldn't afford to let the stalker slip through my fingers this time. He would strike soon and I could feel it. The bastard had already gotten too close.
Opening my laptop, I began scrolling through the notes and files the investigators had sent over. There wasn't much yet—just the barest trail of evidence. Whoever this guy was, he was good. But I was better.
I glanced back at Lisa, still unmoving on the bed, and felt a flicker of anger rise. How could someone like her—a girl who could barely keep herself alive—be worth all this trouble? And yet, here I was, sitting in a dim room with her, playing nurse, with a detached door splayed across the floor, while an unseen threat lurked in the shadows.
I shook my head, forcing myself to focus on the task at hand. A name—any clue—would get me closer to ending this, to getting my life back on track. But each time I read through the details, they all pointed to the same frustrating conclusion: this was personal. Her stalker wasn't some random psycho—it was someone who had been watching her for years.
And the more I thought about it, the clearer it became. This wasn't about Lisa's attitude, or her mistakes. This was about obsession. The stalker didn't just want her dead—he wanted her to suffer, to be his in the twisted way only monsters thought possible.
I closed the laptop, leaning back in the chair as I rubbed a hand over my face. No matter how many times I'd seen this kind of thing before, it never sat well. But I couldn't afford to care. Not about her. Not about why the stalker was doing this. I just needed to stop him.