From Mob Princess to Mugshot Photographer novel Chapter 84

**Chapter 8**

In the end, I found myself struggling to piece together the fragments of how I had managed to return home. Days had merged into one another, a seamless blur of time where each moment felt like a reflection of the last. It was as if I was trapped in a never-ending cycle of solitude, a dismal state that had persisted for nearly two months. During this agonizing stretch, my health had begun to unravel at an alarming pace, presenting itself through a series of fainting spells and relentless nosebleeds that appeared without warning, like unwelcome intruders in my life.

There were countless instances when I found myself crumpled on the cold, unyielding floor, the world around me fading into a suffocating darkness as if the very air had conspired to steal my breath away. Each time I regained consciousness, it felt like a battle of sheer willpower to pull myself from the unforgiving ground, searching desperately for something—perhaps a pill, a remedy, anything that could ease the growing malaise that had settled within me like an unwelcome guest. I could feel my body slowly deteriorating, a silent thief gradually robbing me of my vitality, leaving behind a shell of who I once was.

Then, on a day that seemed like any other, Ewan appeared at my door, his presence a sudden and jarring contrast to the silence that had enveloped me. I was taken aback when I opened the door to find him standing there, his bright smile faltering as his gaze fell upon my gaunt and pallid face.

“Nina, what on earth has happened?” he asked, concern etching deep lines across his brow, his voice laced with a mixture of shock and worry.

I mustered a weak smile, attempting to convince him that I was merely experiencing a minor setback. “It’s just a minor illness,” I replied, my voice a mere whisper, barely rising above the weight of my despair.

His disbelief was palpable, like a heavy fog settling between us. “Come with me to the hospital now,” he insisted, his grip firm as he began to pull me toward the door, urgency radiating from him.

I summoned every ounce of strength within me to resist, shaking my head fervently. “I don’t want to go to the hospital,” I pleaded, my heart racing in panic as I felt the walls closing in around me.

“Nina! How can you joke about your own health?” he shouted, his voice rising in frustration and fear, echoing in the stillness of my home.

It was a rare sight to witness him lose his temper, a moment that shocked me deeply. In all our years of friendship, I had never seen such a display of raw emotion. My resolve crumbled under the weight of his urgency, and as my vision began to blur, I felt myself slipping away, collapsing right before him.

In those fleeting moments before darkness enveloped me, all I could see was Ewan’s face—his expression a chaotic mix of panic and desperation as he repeatedly called my name, a haunting echo that lingered in my mind long after I succumbed to the void.

When I finally opened my eyes again, I found myself in a hospital room, the sterile smell of antiseptic invading my senses. Ewan stood beside me, his face drawn tight with worry, and the doctor who had examined me earlier was there too, his demeanor grim and serious, as if he were preparing to deliver dire news.

The doctor must have been briefed on my condition because the moment he saw my eyes flutter open, he rushed to my side, placing a gentle hand on my forehead. “Nina, how do you feel now?” he asked, his voice filled with genuine concern.

I nodded weakly, attempting to sound optimistic, though the words felt hollow even as I spoke them. “Much better,” I replied, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach my eyes.

His gaze, however, was filled with a profound sadness that made my heart sink. “How could you keep something like this from me? If I hadn’t come to find you, would you have kept it a secret forever?” His words pierced through the fog of my denial.

“I’ve already troubled you enough. I can’t cause you any more problems,” I murmured, my voice barely audible, filled with a sense of resignation.

“What are you talking about?” he pressed, his tone a mixture of disbelief and frustration, the concern in his eyes deepening.

VERIFYCAPTCHA_LABELVerify