His Nanny Mate (Moana and Edrick Morgan)
Chapter 272 By Eve Above Story

Chapter 272 A New Perspective

Ella

The weight of the billboard bore down, threatening to crash onto me. Just as I braced myself for impact and felt Ema’s strength surge through me, preparing to lunge out of the way or stiffen my body to repel the impact, Logan surged forward, knocking it away with his superhuman strength.

It was an impressive feat, but as the dust settled, I noticed blood beginning to seep from a wound on his arm. I heard screams and panicked voices around me. Innocent shoppers who were just as shocked as I was. But I didn’t care about them. “Logan!” I shouted, rushing to his side.

He brushed me off with a smirk. “I’ve had worse.” But his eyes betrayed the concern he was trying to hide. “His wound,” Ema said, drawing my attention back to his arm. “It’s… bad. It hurts me, too.”

I had heard the stories before, about ghost pain, caused by a mate getting hurt. It was faint, but it was there. And I was worried, too.

The dust still hung in the air, a misty remnant of the fallen billboard. Logan stood, his armi dripping blood, while I tried to absorb the shock of what had just occurred. The sound of hurried footsteps echoed, bringing with them two men. I started to back away, frightened, but Logan put his good arm around me and gave me a squeeze.

“They’re our men,” he murmured. “Not enemies.”

The men approached, glancing at the wreckage, then at Logan’s bleeding arm, their expressions morphing from concern to sheer panic.

“Boss,” the taller one began, the strain evident in his voice. His dark hair was stuck to his forehead with sweat. “We arrived too late. We tracked him down, but we couldn’t intercept him before he triggered the trap.”

The other, a stockier man with a scar over his left eyebrow, added, “It was cleverly set up, but that’s no excuse. We should have been ahead of him.”

Logan, his face unreadable, responded with at voice colder than ice. “And the man?”

The taller man gulped, hesitation painting his features. “We…we found him. But when we approached, he…” He trailed off, exchanging a quick glance with the shorter man, who picked up where the first left off.

“He shot himself. He’s dead.”

Silence hung heavy in the aftermath of this revelation. Logan’s sharp gaze moved from one man to the other, weighing them, judging their worthiness. “I entrusted you both with not just my safety, but hers as well.” His eyes briefly. flicked to me. “This isn’t just a failure. It’s a betrayal.”

The shorter man, desperation creeping into his voice, stepped forward. “Logan, we’ve been with you for years. We’ve faced countless threats together. Please, consider this a single mistake.”

The taller man, a hint of anger in his voice, added, “We want revenge as much as you do. Let us make this right.” But Logan wasn’t swayed. “One lapse can cost lives in our world. You know that. I can’t afford such risks.”

The two bodyguards looked devastated. The taller man’s eyes held a plea, while the shorter man’s shimmered with unshed tears, perhaps from shame or the weight of the failed responsibility. But Logan remained unmoved. He turned away, leaving the men to grapple with the weight of their mistakes.

“Leave. Now.”

I watched as the two men left, their shoulders drooping in defeat. Logan didn’t spare them. another glance. Instead, he turned to me, his face inscrutable. “Let’s go.”

The drive back to Logan’s house was tense. The silence was only broken by the occasional sigh from Logan or the quiet hum of the car engine. The sprawling mansion came into view, its large iron gates swinging open as we approached.

The opulence of the place was always something that caught my attention, but today, my focus was solely on the man beside me, pain evident in his every movement.

We were barely out of the car when the side door to the mansion opened, revealing a middle-aged man with silver hair, glasses perched on his nose, and a medical bag in hand. This was Dr. Mitchell, a trusted ally of Logan’s and, as Logan explained on our way inside, a man who had patched up more mafia wounds than anyone in the city.

Without wasting a moment, he gestured towards one of the plush sofas in the expansive living room. “Sit,” he ordered Logan, who complied without protest, clearly used to the doctor’s no-nonsense demeanor.

I hovered nearby, watching closely, a gnawing sense of guilt eating at me. If not for our outing today, none of this would have happened. As I watched, Dr. Mitchell expertly cleaned the wound, his hands moving with precision and confidence. There was a practiced grace in hist movements, a testament to his years of experience.

Logan winced slightly as the doctor dabbed at his arm, but other than that, he remained stoic, his face giving away no sign of the pain he must have been in. Their eyes met briefly, a silent communication that seemed to say more than words ever could. “Deep gash,” Dr. Mitchell murmured, “but thankfully, no major arteries were hit. You were lucky.”

Logan chuckled dryly. “A falling billboard, and you call that lucky?”  The doctor glanced up, his eyes holding a spark of humor. “You’re still sitting here, aren’t you?”

As Dr. Mitchell began to stitch the wound, I found my voice. “Is he going to be okay?”

The doctor didn’t look up from his work but responded, “He’ll be fine, Miss. A few stitches, some rest, and he’ll be back to his old self.” “So, annoying and brash, right?” I teased, although more to calm my own frayed nerves than anything else.

Logan shot me a reassuring glance, trying to offer a comforting smile, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “See? Just a scratch.”

All the while, I felt Ema inside of me, aching for the pain that our mate was in. It felt almost aggravating, for her to be so attached to Logan, but I couldn’t deny it. I was attached to him, too.

Damn this mate bond, I thought to myself, looking away while the doctor stitched up Logan’s wound. It’s not fair. I felt helpless in my feelings for this man.

The process took a while, but when the last stitch was secured and the wound bandaged, Dr. Mitchell packed up his equipment. Before he left, he pulled me aside. “Keep an eye on him, okay? He puts on a brave face, but that was quite a shock for him.”

I nodded, a silent promise to do just that. The door clicked shut behind Dr. Mitchell, leaving only Logan and me in the room. The weight of the day’s events hung heavily between us.

Once the doctor left, silence enveloped the room. I broke it. “Who was it? Why would someone try to kill me?” Logan looked away, clearly avoiding the topic.. “It was an accident.”

“Logan,” I retorted, “that wasn’t an accident, and you know it. If we’re to stand together, I deserve to know.”

He sighed, rubbing his temples. “Fine.”

With a resigned expression, he leaned back and let out a deep breath. “It was a warning,” he finally spoke. “He never intended to actually kill you. It should have been avoided, but my men…they messed up.”

His evasiveness was grating. “Who is ‘he’, Logan?”

He hesitated for a heartbeat too long before confessing. “My brother.”

I turned sharply to look at him, shock written all over my face. “Your brother? Why would he want to kill me?”

Logan’s expression turned bitter. “It’s our family dynamics. My father always pitted us against each other. So, we grew up more like adversaries than siblings.” He paused, taking a deep breath. “Yesterday, he wanted to know about my new ‘interest’. I withheld your identity, just to keep him guessing.”

“And he found out anyway,” I whispered, the weight of the situation pressing down on me. “Yes, and he sent this as a message.” Logan held up his phone, displaying a simple text: “Your men suck.”

“I can’t believe it,” I murmured. “Your own flesh and blood acting like this. I can’t imagine what.

it’s like. My sister and I have always been close. And she’s my half-sister.”

Logan’s gaze turned distant, a flicker of pain crossing his features. “It’s how we were raised, always competing, always on edge.”

Without thinking, I reached out, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder, offering a semblance of comfort. To my surprise, he laid his hand over mine, the warmth seeping through.

“I’ve long been accustomed to it,” he whispered.

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