She's Crazy But She's Mine

Chapter Four: The Man With Warm Brown Eyes

Martina froze, her body paralyzed by shock. The world seemed to slow down, the dust motes dancing in the sunbeams taking on an almost ethereal quality. She closed her eyes, bracing for the impact, accepting her fate. But then, a strong hand gripped her arm, pulling her away from the falling debris with a force that seemed to defy gravity.

She opened her eyes, the world snapping back into focus, and found herself staring into the warm, brown eyes of a man who had just saved her life. He was tall and broad-shouldered, his face etched with concern, his gaze searching hers as if seeking to gauge the extent of her injuries.

Martina felt a strange warmth spread through her body, a sensation that had nothing to do with the adrenaline coursing through her veins. It was as if this stranger, this unexpected hero, had seen through her carefully constructed facade, had glimpsed the vulnerability that lay beneath her hardened exterior.

"Are you hurt?" he asked, his voice deep and reassuring. "Are you alright?"

Martina blinked, snapping out of her reverie. She was safe, alive, and she owed her life to this stranger. She felt a surge of gratitude, a wave of emotion that was both unexpected and exhilarating.

"I... I'm fine," she managed to stammer, her voice a little shaky. "Thank you."

She looked up at him, her eyes meeting his, and she felt a strange pull, a connection that transcended the danger they had just faced. This was no ordinary man, no ordinary hero. He had seen something in her, something she had kept hidden, something she had almost forgotten. And for the first time in a long time, she felt a flicker of hope, a glimmer of something that could change everything.

And as their eyes met, a silent understanding passed between them, a spark of something new, something unexpected, something that could rewrite the script of her life...

Martina's lips parted, ready to say something, perhaps a thank you, perhaps a question, but the words died in her throat. A strange sensation, a warmth spreading across her upper lip, drew her attention. She instinctively reached up, her fingers coming away slick with crimson.

"Your nose is bleeding," the man said, his voice laced with concern. His eyes widened, his gaze fixed on the blood staining her fingers.

Martina tried to speak, to assure him she was fine, but the words wouldn't come. A wave of dizziness washed over her, her vision blurring at the edges. The world seemed to tilt, the ground beneath her feet shifting and swaying.

"Miss?" the stranger's voice, a shade more urgent, cut through the fog in her mind. "Are you alright?"

She tried to nod, to reassure him, but her head felt heavy, her body unresponsive. A wave of nausea rose in her throat, a feeling of impending doom that sent chills down her spine. Her vision began to fade, the world around her shrinking into a swirling vortex of darkness...

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Martina opened her eyes, the light blinding, the world a blurry mess of color and shapes...

"You're awake. Thank heavens!"

Martina glanced at her right side, and she let out a small smile when she saw the man who helped her at the building a few moments ago.

She tried to speak, to ask what had happened, but her throat felt dry, her voice a hoarse whisper. He gently helped her sit up, his touch surprisingly comforting.

"You fainted," he explained, his voice soft and reassuring. "You lost a lot of blood from your nose. We called a doctor, and he said you're going to be alright."

She looked around, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings. She was in a small, dimly lit room, the air thick with the scent of disinfectant.

"Where am I?" she asked, her voice still weak.

"You're at the clinic," the stranger said, his gaze never leaving hers. "We brought you here after you fainted. You're going to be fine. Just rest."

Martina nodded, feeling a wave of exhaustion wash over her. She was safe, she was cared for, and she was finally beginning to understand the extent of her vulnerability. She had been so focused on her ambition, so driven by her quest for power, that she had forgotten the fragility of life, the importance of taking care of herself.

She feels relieved because she can really feel the warmth of his touch, the sound of his voice, filled her with a strange sense of peace, a sense of hope that she had never felt before.

The door creaked open, and a man in a white coat entered the room. He was tall and slender, his face sharp and angular, his eyes cold and calculating. He held a clipboard, his demeanor more clinical than compassionate.

"Ah, you're awake," he said, his voice devoid of warmth. "I'm Dr. Rossi. I understand you fainted earlier."

"Yes," Martina replied, her voice a little hoarse. "I... I don't remember much."

"You were quite pale," Dr. Rossi said, his gaze fixed on her face. "You lost a lot of blood from your nose. And you seemed quite weak."

He took a closer look at her, his eyes scrutinizing her face, his expression unreadable. He reached for her wrist, his touch cold and impersonal.

"I'm going to need to run some tests," he said, his voice flat and emotionless. "But I suspect you're anemic."

Martina's heart sank. Anemia? She was the daughter of the most powerful Mafia boss in the country, a woman who had always exuded strength and confidence. Anemia? It seemed absurd, an insult to her very being.

"Anemia?" she repeated, her voice laced with disbelief. "But I'm healthy. I'm strong."

"It's not uncommon," Dr. Rossi said, his voice patient but firm. "Many women suffer from anemia. It's simply a lack of iron in the blood. It's easily treatable."

He scribbled something on his clipboard, his gaze still fixed on her. "I'm going to prescribe you some iron supplements. You'll need to take them regularly, and you'll need to eat a healthy diet rich in iron."

He handed her a prescription, his demeanor as cold and impersonal as ever. "You'll be fine," he said, his voice a dismissal. "Just take care of yourself."