His Nanny Mate 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.”

added, “It was cleverly set up, but that’s no excuse. We should have

with at voice colder than ice.

when we approached, he…” He trailed off, exchanging a quick glance with the shorter

himself. He’s

their worthiness. “I entrusted you both with not

stepped forward. “Logan, we’ve been with you for years. We’ve faced countless threats together. Please,

Let us make this right.” But Logan wasn’t swayed. “One lapse can

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

“Leave. Now.”

defeat. Logan didn’t spare them. another glance. Instead, he turned to me, his

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

opulence of the place was always something that caught my attention, but today, my

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

gestured towards one of the plush sofas in the expansive living room. “Sit,” he ordered Logan, who complied without protest,

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

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,”

call that lucky?” The doctor glanced up, his eyes holding a spark of humor. “You’re still sitting

the wound, I found my voice.

and he’ll be back

reassuring glance, trying to offer a comforting smile, though it didn’t

mate was in. It felt almost aggravating, for her to

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

stitch was secured and the wound bandaged, Dr. Mitchell packed up his equipment. Before he left,

behind Dr. Mitchell, leaving