Chapter 87: MASK
Chapter 87
KATYA POV
Standing frozen, I strained my ears for any sign of movement or life—but there was nothing.
No footsteps. No voices. No sound of any kind.
Taking a tentative step forward, my bare feet made barely a sound on the cold floor.
The nurse’s station was still empty. The desk was cluttered with papers and medical charts, and a cup of cold coffee sat on the edge—a reminder that someone had been here recently.
Should I call for someone? Clearly, someone was here not too long ago—but where were they now? Or should I just walk out? What kind of hospital doesn’t have people around?
I took another step forward, my legs trembling beneath me.
Behind me, the door to my room swung shut, making me jump.
I turned to look at it, anxiety surging through me.
What if I got lost? What if I couldn’t find my way back?
But I pushed those thoughts aside and took another step forward—while my bladder screamed for release.
I stumbled toward a door, hoping it led to a bathroom.
The door opened, and I was relieved to see a small, dimly lit room with a toilet and sink.
I rushed toward the toilet, my legs trembling beneath me.
As I finished, footsteps and muffled voices drifted in from outside.
My heart skipped a beat.
Who was it?
I quickly looked around for a place to hide.
My eyes landed on a small closet or storage area, and I dashed toward it, squeezing myself inside just as the bathroom door creaked open.
I held my breath, listening as the voices grew clearer. They spoke in hushed tones, but their words were indistinguishable.
Heart racing, I pressed myself against the back of the closet, trying to remain silent.
The voices grew louder—I could tell they were near the sink.
I strained my ears, trying to make out the words, but it was like they were speaking a different language.
Fear crept in, my mind racing with worst-case scenarios.
Were they here for me? Had they gone into my room and not seen me?
I looked down at my pale hands; my wrists ached. Why was I even hiding?
What if they were the ones who treated me?
I was about to move from my spot when another thought flashed through my mind.
What if they were here to harm me?
I shook my head, trying to calm down—telling myself I was being paranoid—but my body wouldn’t listen.
My hands trembled; my heart felt ready to burst out of my chest.
The voices continued, low and serious.
I couldn’t understand them, but they seemed to be getting closer.
Suddenly, the closet door felt like a fragile barrier between me and danger itself.
I held perfectly still, barely breathing, as the voices lingered—then faded.
A shaky breath of relief escaped my lips.
When the voices were completely gone, I finally looked around. A stack of blue clothes, a pair of slides, a face mask and a hair net were placed inside the closet.
They looked clean—and as I glanced down at the flimsy hospital gown I wore, an idea sparked.
If I looked like one of them, maybe no one would question me.
Maybe then I could figure out what the hell was going on here.
I slipped into the clean blue clothes. They were a little loose, but it didn’t matter—anything was better than the gown. I tied the mask over my face, trying to steady my breathing.
Gripping the doorframe, I slowly stepped out of the bathroom.
The hallway was quiet.
I was about to move when a blur of motion caught my eye—two figures in matching blue uniforms, hurrying down the corridor toward me.
I froze.
They were dressed exactly like me.
Before I could turn—or pretend to be invisible—they spotted me.
"There you are!" one of them shouted.
The other’s eyes were wide and frantic. "Doctor Isabella, we need you now!"
What?
I opened my mouth to speak, but didn’t get the chance.
They grabbed my wrist and started pulling me along.
"Wait—I..."
"There’s no time!" one barked. "He’s crashing again!"
Crashing? Who was crashing?
My feet stumbled as they half-dragged me down the hallway.
My heart pounded, panic rising.
I wanted to tell them I wasn’t this Isabella, that they were making a mistake—but if I did, I’d blow my cover.
So I followed them.
We turned a corner, the sharp smell of antiseptic growing stronger.
A few more steps, and they shoved open a door, rushing me inside.
The room was filled with machines—wires everywhere.
And there—
on the bed,
lying still, pale, hooked up to wires—
was Romeo.
My tormentor.
My whole body went cold.
"Vitals dropping—"
"Shock pads, now!" one of the nurses barked.
I stood frozen, staring at him.
My lungs refused to work.
Bandages wrapped his abdomen.
Machines beeped.
An oxygen mask covered his face.
He looked... lifeless.
But despite it all, he still looked terrifying—and without his mask.
Oh my God, I could finally see his whole face.
I stared helplessly at the man who’d made my life hell. The place his mask once hid was marred by a burn scar.
He looked even more terrifying without it.
The scar looked deep—painful—and I was surprised his eye wasn’t affected.
His face was carved with pain, even in unconsciousness.
I always wondered why he wore those terrifying mask but now seeing him without the mask, he looked... human. Real. Almost fragile.
This can’t...no..this couldn’t be him.
The same man who terrified me, who made every breath I took feel like walking on broken glass.
Now he lay here—pale, bleeding—his scar bared to the world like a wound he could never hide.
"Doctor, he’s flatlining!"
The nurse’s shout ripped through the room, but I couldn’t move. They thought I was a doctor—an illiterate like me could only wish.
The door slammed open, and my eyes snapped toward it. There walked in Mr. Antonio, followed by a woman in the same blue scrubs, rushing toward the nurse.
"Doctor Isabella?" I heard one of them called her and my stomach dropped.
My cover has been blown.
Shit!