Chapter 12
487 Words
Elinya's pov
The hospital doors slid open.
And everything stopped.
The usual noise—the soft chatter, hurried footsteps, ringing phones—vanished as if someone had drained the sound from the air. A heavy presence filled the building, dense and suffocating, pressing against my chest before I even saw him.
He stepped inside.
Izar Alexandra Volkovich.
He wasn’t alone—but he didn’t need an army. Just one man walked beside him, slightly behind, close enough to speak but careful not to intrude. The man was tall, fair, and striking in his own way, dressed sharply—clearly his secretary or assistant. Yet beside Izar, even he seemed secondary.
Izar’s aura spread through the hospital like a shadow.
Doctors froze mid-step. Nurses lowered their eyes. Even patients fell silent. No one had ordered it—yet everyone obeyed.
My heartbeat grew louder.
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
It echoed in my ears until I was sure others could hear it too.
Izar moved forward with controlled, unhurried steps, his boots barely making a sound against the polished floor. His face was expressionless, cold, detached—like a man who had never learned what hesitation felt like.
He stopped at the reception desk.
The young woman behind it looked barely older than me.
Her hands trembled as she straightened, her face draining of color. Fear was written all over her—clear, unmistakable. She opened her mouth, then closed it again, unsure whether she was allowed to speak first.
Izar didn’t say a word.
Not a single sound left him.
Instead, the man beside him stepped forward, his voice calm but firm—carrying authority that wasn’t his own.
“Where is Dr. Elinya Sen?”
The world tilted.
My heart skipped a beat—then another.
The question hung in the air like a gunshot.
Me?
Why me?
A wave of shock rippled through the room. Heads turned. Whispers threatened to rise but died before forming. An intern. A scholarship student. Why would they ask for me?
I stood just outside a patient room, half-hidden by the doorframe.
Peeking.
Frozen.
My hands were trembling so badly I clenched them into fists, nails biting into my skin. My breath came shallow, uneven.
The receptionist swallowed hard.
Her eyes darted around—then landed on me.
“T-there she is,” she stammered, lifting a shaking finger. “Dr… Dr. Sen.”
I stopped breathing.
Slowly—deliberately—Izar turned his head.
Those sharp, hazel eyes locked onto mine.
Cold.
Calculating.
Unforgiving.
It felt like being seen through—like he could strip away every thought, every fear, every weakness with a single glance.
I couldn’t move.
I couldn’t look away.
In that moment, standing under his gaze, I understood something with terrifying clarity:
This wasn’t an introduction.
This was a summons.
And my life—just like that—had crossed into the shadow of the Volkovich heir.
- Writer
