Claimed By The Mafia Rogue King (Snow and Cupid) novel Chapter 215

Chapter 215

Snowflakes

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The car screeched to a halt in front of the C. Home asylum, its faded sign creaking in the icy wind.

I didn’t wait for it to fully stop. I shoved the door open and rushed out, boots crunching over frozen gravel as I hurried toward the entrance, heart pounding with urgent dread.

Inside, the lobby smelled of antiseptic and despair. I strode straight to the reception desk, breath coming fast.

“Please, I need to see Kim Krates,” I said, voice steady despite the storm inside me.

Cupid and Desmond entered moments later, their presence a solid wall behind me, but my eyes stayed locked on the receptionist.

She frowned, picked up the phone, and murmured into it hmm, uh–huh, before setting it down with a practiced sigh.

“Kim Krates isn’t in any condition to receive visitors, and…”

I didn’t let her finish. A shaky exhale escaped me as I turned away, silently begging the universe that my instincts were wrong.

But the harder I tried to dismiss them, the deeper the truth burrowed into some hidden, divine corner of my soul I’d never fully acknowledged.

Faint whispers seemed to echo in the sterile air, scared murmurs, muffled whimpers, a sharp

gasp.

I swallowed hard, letting the rustle of invisible leaves guide me. Slowly, inexorably, I drifted toward the large window overlooking the backyard, drawn by the heavy dread hanging like fog.

I’d felt this energy at Mr. Lins‘ house. Now it was here, stronger, darker, I lowered my gaze, trying to shake it off, but it curled around me again, too familier. The scent of shadowed malice, the suffocating pain.

My eyes snapped open. Through the glass, a man emerged from the backyard shadows. Tall, unhurried.

My heart slammed against my ribs as I shifted for a better view, but he vanished around the corner. Ice flooded my veins.

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Chapter 215

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“Snow are you okay?” Cupid’s warm palm settled on my back, grounding me. His voice was laced with worry as he searched my face.

I shook my head slowly, barely able to speak.

“I think it’s him, Cupid.”

His brow furrowed, alarm sharpening his features.

“Who?”

I pointed a trembling finger at the now–empty yard beyond the window.

“The man who… who raped me.”

Color drained from Cupid’s face in an instant. He whipped toward the glass, scanning frantically, but the space was deserted.

The realization crashed over me like a wave. The same energy at Lins‘ house and here meant we’d been trailed or the killer had been one step ahead all along.

“Kim,” I whispered in horror just as commotion erupted from the hallway. Shouts, frantic footsteps, cries for help.

I blinked, then bolted toward the noise, down the restricted stairs I shouldn’t have accessed.

Cupid and Desmond followed close. I burst into an open, cell–like ward where a man lay crumpled on the cold floor, tattered was too mild a word.

Thin, bruised, folded in on himself, groaning in agony while orderlies scrambled around

him.

Help arrived suspiciously fast, almost rehearsed. Doctors and nurses flooded in, and then I saw her.

Doctor Catina.

She strode forward with chilling calm, syringe already in hand, the same gleaming needle that haunted my nightmares, the one she’d used on me with that twisted grin. She knelt beside Kim, poised to inject him.

I lunged without thinking, slamming her arm aside. The syringe flew, clattering across the

tile.

She froze, stunned. The room went deathly still, every eye turning to me. When recognition hit, the blood drained from her face.

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Chapter 215

“What are you doing here, Snowflakes?” she hissed, voice venomous.

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“Calling the right help for Kim,” I shot back, yanking out my phone with shaking fingers.

As a Frost, Castle Healthcare would respond instantly. I dialed emergency, gave terse instructions, and hung up knowing the ambulance would race here.

I dropped to my knees beside Kim, reaching for him, but he thrashed and groaned wildly. Cupid’s gentle hands pulled me back, protective as always.

I backed away slowly through the growing chaos, breath ragged, until a flicker of movement caught my eye down the shadowed hall. A silhouette, watching.

Swallowing the bile rising in my throat, I moved toward it, every instinct screaming danger. Step by deliberate step into the open backyard, the cold night air biting my skin.

That prickling sensation of being watched from behind, intimate, predatory. I knew it. I’d felt it in the alley four years ago, just before the knife, the violation, the shattering.

Slowly, I turned.

He stood there, close enough to touch. Four years had passed with my silence sealed tight, the wound buried so deep I’d convinced myself I’d never recognize him. But I was wrong.

Tall, clean–cut, almost disarmingly ordinary, no visible tattoos, dressed like any responsible professional.

The kind of man you’d shake hands with, trust with a smile. If you didn’t feel that energy radiating from him like poison.

His eyes locked on mine, cold and unrepentant. He shook his head slowly.

“You should have stayed away.”

My heart shriveled. He stepped closer; I froze, rooted by terror and fury.

“You should have just stayed away.”

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