Dark Romance: A Cruel Obsession

Alajos gasped for air, his spirit rapidly draining from the prolonged, high-density battle. His eyes swept over the second-floor corridor, searching for Mare, who had disappeared with Vivian. He hoped she was safe.

“Bang!”

A bullet hit the broken wall behind him, cement and dirt spraying into the air. Alajos tilted his head, not having time to look toward the source of the shot. Whirling around, he delivered a flying kick that knocked an axe from an assailant’s grasp. A flash of cold light from a sharp dagger, and the assailant’s throat was slit by Alajos’s swift cut. Clutching the knife, Alajos stabbed it into the man’s heart, hastening his death.

After doing all this, Alajos finally looked up to the second floor. Vivian had collapsed on the ground, her body limp, her pistol rolling down the stairs.

“Damn it,” Alajos cursed through clenched teeth. “Find somewhere to hide!”

Gunshots rang out behind him. Alajos’s run toward Vivian abruptly changed direction; he curled his arms over his head and rolled on the ground as bullets pierced the floorboards, kicking up a cloud of dust four feet high.

At that moment, the roar of an engine thundered from the distant highway, like a fierce beast awakened from the dark. The rapid fire of machine guns drew closer, and the Bratva began to fall back, signaling a retreat.

When Vivian learned that Simpson and Alajos’s trusted men had arrived, her tense nerves finally relaxed. Her hands gripped the stair railing as she tried to stand, but her legs were too weak, and she almost tumbled down the stairs.

It was over. Tears streamed down Vivian’s face. What terrible luck she had today-nearly killed by a gunshot, now close to dying from a fall.

Vivian closed her eyes, bracing for the pain.

But the expected pain never came. Instead, she felt strong arms and a warm chest steadying her.

Surprised, Vivian looked up to find Alajos gazing down at her, his brown eyes reflecting her astonished face, her tear-streaked and red eyes, her disheveled hair, her white coat stained with dirt. She looked pitiful and disheveled, which somehow made Alajos want to laugh, dispelling his anger.

“You…” Alajos sighed and, unable to bring himself to scold her, carried her down the stairs.

“Should we head to the hospital?” Simpson asked nonchalantly, wiping his precious gun with a handkerchief, his eyebrows raised with a roguish charm. His gaze lingered on Vivian’s dirty face until she, blushing, turned her head and buried it in Alajos’s neck, at which point he withdrew his gaze with a flirtatious smile.

Alajos placed Vivian in the car and ordered someone to find clean clothes. “Promised her,” he said.

“Fine,” Simpson replied, tucking his gun behind him. “I’ll take them back first. Don’t forget to come over.”

Alajos nodded in acknowledgment, then ducked into the car, where Vivian curled up next to him, unnaturally quiet.

The rest of the journey passed without incident.

Upon arriving at the hospital, instead of taking Vivian straight to see Vilem, Alajos guided her into a changing room with clean water and clothes.

“This is…”

“Clean your face, then change your clothes,” Alajos instructed. “You wouldn’t want to worry your brother, would you?”

Vivian nodded.

Alajos waited outside the changing room while Mare fetched ointment and bandages from a nurse they knew. Both he and Alajos had various abrasions, especially Alajos’s arm wound from a bullet that likely needed stitching.

“We’ll talk about it later.” As soon as he finished dressing his wound, Alajos handed the medicine to Mare to deal with himself.

Vivian emerged from the changing room, and Alajos donned his suit jacket, the bloodied bandages at his feet.

Vivian gasped at the sight of his wound.

“It’s been bandaged,” Alajos said, wrapping an arm around her shoulders, guiding her to the inpatient department. “Time to see your brother.”

“Are you sure it’s okay?” The blood on the bandage seemed too much for a minor wound.

“Let’s go back now then,” Alajos said, his patience running thin.

Vivian fell silent and followed Alajos through the corridors, into the elevator, and to the hospital floor where Vilem was staying.

The Bryson family had already left, which relieved Alajos; he didn’t want to argue with Vivian’s father in front of her-it would be a headache.

The duty nurse led them to Vilem’s room-a breach of protocol, but no one dared refuse a request from Alajos.

Vilem was still asleep, likely sedated by the doctors. Vivian’s cries for her brother were met with silence as he didn’t wake.

“Vilem,” Vivian sobbed his name, tears streaming down her face. Alajos sighed, feeling helpless against her tears.

“Is he okay? Why won’t he wake up?”

“It’s late, Vivian, he might just need rest,” Alajos comforted her. “He’s still alive. He’ll be there on time for our wedding tomorrow. You should be reassured.”

“He’s like this, can he really attend the wedding?” Vivian shook her head. “I don’t need him at the wedding; he needs to heal properly.”

Alajos shrugged, clearly not taking Vivian’s concerns to heart.

Vivian didn’t care if Alajos listened to her opinion; he never took her seriously anyway.

Holding Vilem’s hand, her tears never ceased. Perhaps fearing waking him, she cried softly, “How did he get hurt?”

“Gunfight,” Alajos replied succinctly. Their battle with the Bratva was escalating, with many dying gruesomely-eyes gouged, limbs severed, some even unaccounted for. If Vilem had died today, it would have been a dignified death in comparison. But he couldn’t detail this to Vivian; she would scream in fear.

While they spoke in hushed tones, Vilem suddenly opened his eyes. Seeing his beloved sister, his face lit up with indescribable joy.

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“Vilem!” Vivian’s voice grew louder, unable to contain her relief. “You’re really okay, where are you hurt, does it hurt?”

“I’m fine, it doesn’t hurt,” Vilem squeezed her hand. “Why are you here?”

“Alajos brought me. He told me you were injured,” Vivian said, leaning on his chest, her golden hair spreading over him like warm sunlight. “I was so worried, but I’m relieved you’re okay.”

“Yes, I’m okay, I’m doing well. The doctors here took great care of me,” Vilem stroked her hair, soothing her anxiety. “Don’t worry, Vivian, I’m really fine. I’ll even attend your wedding tomorrow. I want to see you in your wedding dress, to witness your happiness.”

“No, you just had surgery today, your wounds haven’t healed. You should stay and get treatment,” Vivian insisted. “The wedding should be postponed, although I know that’s unlikely.”

Alajos crossed his arms, pleased. “I’m glad your thinking has finally grown up, Vivian.”

His comment sounded mocking, and Vivian turned to glare at Alajos angrily.

Alajos wasn’t upset; in fact, he seemed genuinely pleased.

“Don’t be harsh, Vivian,” Vilem patted her shoulder. “Alajos brought you to see me, he didn’t hide anything from you, he hasn’t wronged you, and the wedding should proceed as planned. Maybe he’s a good man.”