All Chapters of Under The Devil's Eyes : Chapter 61 - Chapter 65

‎Nora’s POV‎The room smells like metal, dust, and old rain trapped inside concrete.‎I sit tied to the chair exactly where Lucien left me, my wrists raw from struggling too long against ropes that refuse to loosen. The bulb above me flickers every few seconds, throwing weak yellow light across the walls before dimming again. Time drags strangely here. Every minute feels stretched thin and uneven.‎At some point, exhaustion settles into my bones so deeply that even fear becomes tiring.‎But my mind never stops.‎It keeps circling the same things over and over again.‎My parents.‎The accident.‎Mikhail.‎The pregnancy I still have not spoken aloud.‎My stomach twists painfully at the thought of it. I press my bound hands tighter against the chair behind me and force myself not to think about it. I cannot afford to break now. Not here.‎The door opens again.‎Lucien walks in carrying a glass of water. Calm. Composed. Like he is visiting someone instead of holding them captive.‎He crou

‎Nora’s POV‎‎Pain wakes me first.‎Not sharp.‎Not violent.‎Just deep.‎Heavy.‎Like my entire body has been hollowed out and stitched back together wrong.‎My eyelids feel too heavy to open at first. My throat burns like sandpaper and every breath tastes sterile and cold. Somewhere nearby, machines beep steadily in slow repetitive patterns.‎I force my eyes open.‎Light floods my vision instantly, making me wince.‎Everything is blurry at first.‎White ceiling.‎Soft gray walls.‎A large window with pale morning light bleeding through the curtains.‎It takes several seconds for my vision to fully adjust before I realize I am lying in a hospital bed.‎Private room.‎Private wing.‎Of course.‎Romanov money could probably buy an entire hospital if they wanted.‎My head turns slightly.‎Flowers.‎So many flowers.‎Bouquets cover nearly every available surface in the room. White roses. Lilies. Orchids. Expensive arrangements tied with silk ribbons. Cards rest beside them, some handwri

‎Mikhail's POV‎I woke up feeling like death. For several seconds, I lay motionless on the bed staring at the ceiling, my mind blank and my body heavy from the alcohol coursing through my system. Then reality returned all at once. Nora. Houston. Gone. The ache hit immediately, sharp and merciless, squeezing around my chest until breathing felt like work. My throat felt dry enough to crack, my head pounded with every beat of my heart, and the half-empty whiskey bottle sitting on my nightstand explained exactly why. I groaned and pushed myself upright, instantly regretting it when the room tilted slightly. "Fuck." Pressing my palms against my eyes, I tried to steady myself. Sometime after Nora left yesterday, I had drunk myself into oblivion. I remembered standing in the foyer watching her walk away. Remembered the sound of the front door closing behind her. Remembered the unbearable silence afterward. Everything beyond that was whiskey, anger, and grief.‎Dragging myself out of bed, I