Shattered Vows

Cold heart part 2 finally

I turned the car around without a word. Tires whispered against the pavement, engine low and steady like my thoughts. I wasn't in a rush. If she was really in that much pain, she wasn't going anywhere.

Still, the call stuck with me more than I wanted it to.

I didn't like when things didn't go the way I planned. I left her under orders — strict ones. She was supposed to stay put, shut up, and wait. That was it. Not scream, not cry, not pull some dramatic act. And yet here I was, circling back like I gave a damn.

The building came into view again, cold and silent under the night sky. No lights in the windows. Just the kind of darkness that pressed in on you, made the walls feel closer than they were.

I parked and got out, the door shutting behind me with a dull thud. One of my guys met me at the entrance, eyes wide like he was bracing for something.

"She's still at it," he said, voice tight. "Won't stop crying. Sounds like she's gonna pass out."

"Move," I muttered.

He stepped aside fast.

Inside, the air was thick and too still. I walked down the hallway again, slower this time. Each step heavier. Not because I cared — but because I was already tired of the noise. I hated drama. Hated chaos that didn't come from me.

When I reached the room, I could hear her. Not yelling now — more like whimpering, strained and broken.

I pushed open the door.

She was curled up on the floor, one hand clutching her stomach, the other pressed against her face. Her hair was stuck to her skin, her breathing shaky, like every inhale hurt.

One of the guards stood in the corner, frozen like he didn't know what to do. Idiot.

"She ate anything?" I asked flatly.

"No," he said quickly. "Just water. That's all she had."

I stared at her for a long second. The pain looked real. Not faked. Not exaggerated. But it didn't change anything.

"Get a doctor," I said finally. "Now."

The guard nodded and ran off.

I didn't move from the doorway.

I just watched her, quiet. Detached.

She didn't even notice I was there at first. Not until she tried to sit up and saw my boots. Her eyes snapped up to meet mine. Glassy. Red-rimmed. Full of something I couldn't name.

"Please..." she whispered, barely audible.

I didn't answer.

Because I didn't know if I was going to help her —
or just watch her break.

Her body trembled, curling tighter into itself as if trying to disappear completely. The pain was real. That much was clear. But there was something deeper inside her — something she wasn't saying.

I turned to the guards, voice low but sharp.
"Get one of the doctors who work for us. Someone we trust. No outsiders. No family."

They nodded and left.

Minutes passed. The silence weighed heavy.

One of the guards came back, hesitating at the door.
"She's here," he said.
I narrowed my eyes. "Did you bring the doctor I told you to get?"
The guard swallowed. "No... they called Mira."

My blood ran cold. I clenched my jaw.
"Mira? Why the hell would you call her? We have doctors for this."

"I didn't know..." the guard stammered.

The door opened and Mira stepped inside, calm, composed, medical bag in hand — my older brother's wife, the family doctor.

I didn't move. The irritation bubbled inside me.

Before she could say a word, I snapped, "You know I didn't want you here. This isn't your fight."

Mira's eyes were steady. "Doesn't matter. Someone called me."

She crouched beside Isabella, brushing damp hair from her face. "What's your name?" she asked gently.

Isabella didn't respond. Her eyes were half-closed, pain making her fragile and silent.

Mira pulled a small flashlight and a stethoscope from her bag, testing Isabella carefully. She listened to her breathing, checked her temperature, and examined her abdomen again.

"She's been screaming," I said flatly. "Says her stomach burns."

Mira pressed lightly on Isabella's abdomen. The girl flinched sharply.

"This isn't just a flu or virus," Mira said, meeting my eyes. "If this happens again, she'll need real medical attention — more than I can provide here."

Isabella shifted, voice barely a whisper. "It's nothing... just a bug."

Mira shook her head slowly. "Denial won't make the pain go away."

The room fell quiet, heavy with unspoken truths and pain no one wanted to face.