Is this the end?
That knocking on the door… she could no longer hear it.
But was it Leonid? Had he really come in response to that call, the one where she couldn't even clearly ask for help?
Charlotte was crumbling slowly… agonizingly slowly for her, yet it all seemed fast in Devin's eyes.
Her memories surged into her mind like a flood, like a life's reel flashing before death:
Her twentieth birthday, when she cried because of her siblings' bullying.
Her desperate attempts to make it up to her family after failing to be the perfect daughter.
Her decision to leave for Russia instead of living with her family.
How would they look now, after she died?
Her mother's angry face… would it finally turn into approval?
Her father's gentle eyes… would they grow heavy with disappointment?
Her siblings… would they truly lose her, or would her death pass like a fleeting memory, a folded page no one ever opens again?
And then… Leonid.
After the confession… after those intimate moments they shared… did he deserve to be left alone?
If only she had told him about Devin from the start, she would never have ended up here.
Now, would he forgive her? Or not even come to her funeral?
Charlotte admitted her mistakes, and wished she could go back in time, bury herself in her family's home and never drift away chasing dreams of a life worth living.
Her legs stopped hitting the tiles. Her hands fell helplessly to the wet floor, water mixing with the bloodstains.
Her head was still bleeding from the previous impact… but she no longer felt anything.
Her eyelids were too heavy to open, and her vision faded.
The last thing her nearly lifeless dark eyes caught… Devin's twisted smile, before darkness swallowed her.
Silence fell.
No struggle. No noise. No knocking at the door.
Devin's hand trembled for a moment, his smile faded, and then he slowly lifted his hands from her neck, leaving a new bruise deeper than any before.
He paid no mind to the blood, the bruises, or her nearly lifeless body lying beneath him.
Devin moved slowly and sat beside her. He patted her cheek with a false gentleness, contradicting his previous brutality.
"Charlotte?… Charlotte?"
No answer. No movement.
He smiled with satisfaction and whispered coldly:
"Good… very good."
A deep chuckle erupted from Devin's chest. He leaned in, cupping Charlotte's face in his hands, his fingers mixing with her blood as he murmured:
"Look at you… shattered, broken… and yet beautiful. How?"
His green eyes gleamed with sadistic delight as he lifted her blouse slightly, revealing the bluish bruises on her pale body.
"Magnificent… you deserve to remain mine alone."
A crazed smile spread across Devin's face as he remembered her angry gaze, that mixture of defiance and fear that had made him shiver with ecstasy.
But suddenly—
The door creaked.
His body froze, his eyes widening.
"Impossible…"
Devin muttered under his breath. He was certain he had locked the door securely.
He spun sharply toward the entrance. Steady, confident footsteps approached slowly, followed by another pair of more hesitant steps.
He was about to enjoy more… but fate laughed in his face.
Devin smirked sarcastically as he saw the person enter calmly, crossing the threshold as if nothing had happened, his gaze heavy with authority.
The dark red suit clung to his toned body, his light hair glinting in the light, and his amber eyes pierced Devin's soul with icy coldness.
That moment of silence felt heavier than lead…
Kaiser's dominance filled the room, and Devin felt an invisible grip tighten around his neck.
"Charlotte…"
Daniel's voice trembled as Lyudmila gasped, staggering back until she fell to her knees.
Kaiser growled:
"How dare you, you son of a—!"
He charged inside, but a heavy hand pulled him back.
Pyotr entered quickly, police badge raised:
"The police are here! Nobody move!"
He lowered the badge and drew his gun, aiming it at Devin:
"Hands up immediately! Step back!"
Devin didn't even flinch. He stayed frozen for a moment, then tilted his head slightly, a faint smile on his lips, before standing and stepping back.
But Pyotr wasn't looking at him anymore. He knelt beside Charlotte:
"Charlotte Smith! Can you hear me?!"
No response.
He checked her breathing… nothing.
Pressing his ear to her chest, he barely caught a faint heartbeat before it faded completely.
"Damn it…"
Pyotr interlaced his fingers and pressed forcefully on her chest once, twice, three times as if wrestling with death itself.
He shouted without raising his head:
"Restrain him immediately! And where's the medical team?!"
Two officers rushed in, cuffed Devin with metal handcuffs, and dragged him away, while Devin's green eyes remained fixed on the scene, cold and sinister, as if watching a play he had written himself.
"The paramedics are in the elevator!"
shouted one officer.
Pyotr continued his work, sweat pouring down his face:
"Her heart just stopped… but there's still hope. I won't let you go now, come on, Charlotte Smith!"
Behind him, Kaiser stifled a growl between his teeth, his fist clenched tightly.
Lyudmila had her hands over her mouth, crying silently.
Daniel, pale-faced, phone vibrating in his trembling hand, didn't know what to say to Leonid, who kept calling nonstop.
Suddenly, the sound of rapid footsteps and shouting:
"Clear the way! Move back immediately!"
The medical team rushed in, carrying the first aid bag and stretcher. The metallic clang of their equipment shattered the tense silence.
"Step aside! We need space!"
Kaiser, Daniel, and Lyudmila were shoved roughly aside.
Pyotr stepped back slowly, his breathing ragged, his hand still hovering over Charlotte's chest as if he didn't want to let go, before reluctantly pulling away.
He shouted to Charlotte:
"Hold on. Don't give up now."
"The bathroom and her clothes are soaked, we can't use the defibrillator!"
"Leave it to me. Just lift her onto the stretcher!"
They quickly lifted her. One paramedic knelt over her, pressing on her chest as the stretcher moved out.
Her face was deathly pale, dark bruises, dried blood on her cheek, and blue, chapped lips.
"How's she doing now?!"
The paramedic paused, ear to her chest. Her heart started moving faintly, then he lifted his head, low and resolute:
"Luckily, her pulse is back… but it's very weak."
"We need to get to the hospital fast!"
The medical team rushed toward the ambulance, while Leonid arrived late.
He left his car running, door open, but didn't look away.
His eyes were fixed on the near-lifeless woman on the stretcher, about to reach the ambulance.
Suddenly, time seemed to stop around him.
Leonid's hands trembled, his heart quivering with fear.
Every step toward the ambulance felt like a stab to his heart.
He still couldn't believe the woman on the stretcher was… Charlotte.
He muttered hoarsely:
"What's happening here…? Is that… Charlotte?"
But no one around him answered.
He raised his hand in despair, as if wanting to stop the vehicle.
But the doors closed before he could do anything.
The wail of the ambulance siren pierced the street's silence, its deafening sound making everything feel more urgent, as the vehicle sped off, carrying Charlotte away from his sight.
At top speed, Charlotte was rushed to the hospital. After exhausting efforts to keep her heart beating, her condition finally stabilized… yet her injuries remained severe.
Her head was wrapped in a white bandage, her broken hand cradled in a cast, while medical adhesive strips covered scattered bruises on her cheeks, stomach, and side.
Although her head had not suffered a serious concussion, the small bleeding cut on her forehead stood as a painful testament to what she had endured.
In her private room, silence reigned, broken only by the steady beeping of the heart monitor tracking her weak pulse.
Daniel and Lyudmila sat by the door, their faces tense and hands intertwined, while Leonid stood rigid by the window, his eyes fixed on her still body, his heart weighed down by suffocating guilt.
From the moment he had followed the ambulance until now, he had not blinked. For forty-seven minutes, he had stood there, waiting for Charlotte to open her eyes… to give him any sign, to relieve his torment. Yet she remained lost in her coma.
The doctor reassured them that this was normal, that she might need hours, perhaps even a full day, to regain consciousness.
But the doctor's words did little to ease Leonid's anxiety. His eyes were hidden beneath his silver strands, as if to conceal the deep turmoil within.
Dmitri approached in a low voice:
"The perpetrator still refuses to confess."
Leonid clenched his fist.
"Didn't they pressure him?"
"They did. But he denies everything. The investigation is ongoing not only as a sadistic assailant but also as a suspect in the eighth-floor incident."
Leonid fell silent for a moment, then turned.
"Let's go."
Dmitri interjected:
"Are you really going? What if you lose your temper and hit him?"
Leonid paused for a moment by the window, casting one last glance at Charlotte before replying in a quiet, tense voice:
"If I lose my temper… he'll deserve it."
"You're risking your position,"
Dmitri said seriously, adding,
"But the choice is yours."
Leonid advanced with heavy steps, until Daniel's angry voice echoed from behind him:
"Leonid! Where are you going with Charlotte in this condition?!"
Leonid stopped, turned slightly, and looked at him with extinguished eyes:
"While I'm away… please, take care of her."
For the first time, a plea spilled into his voice, clear despite his effort to stay composed.
Then he added with dry certainty:
"I won't be long."
"Begging now?! Seriously, how can he leave with Charlotte like this?!"
Daniel sat angrily in his chair, arms crossed tensely.
"This is wrong."
Lyudmila gently placed her hand on his arm, whispering in an attempt to calm him:
"Calm down… we're at the hospital."
She continued, staring at Leonid's retreating back, his shoulders heavy, his steps dragging.
"I'm sure… he doesn't want to leave. But he's forced to."
Daniel whispered bitterly:
"I hope you're right."