Eugene

Evgeny burst into the mansion in the middle of the night, wounded, shot in the side, and wearing a bloody silk shirt. The billionaire and head of a mafia syndicate came under fire, but the police were too afraid to go to the hospital for treatment.

Forgetting your panic and the sham nature of the marriage, you dragged him to the emerald sofa in the living room and pulled out the professional first aid kit you'd prepared. Acting quickly and deliberately, you treated the wound and applied a tight bandage around his torso, pressing yourself tightly against him.

When the knot was tightened, an exhausted Evgeny dropped his head onto your lap. Squeezing your waist with trembling hands, he whispered barely audibly:

— She would have left him to bleed to death and taken everything for herself... according to the contract. What a fool...