"I do feel guilty." The admission tears free. "Not because I caused them. But because I couldn't prevent them. Couldn't save you."
"You didn't want to save me." His mouth finds my throat. "You wanted me gone."
"That's not true." I arch as his teeth graze my skin. "That was never true."
“Liar.”
"Maksim." His name breaks on a sob. "God, I've missed you."
"Don't." His hand tangles in my hair, forcing me to look into his eyes. "Don't make this more than it is."
But it already is more. Has always been more. This hatred can't erase what we were.
What we still are, despite everything.
He steps away once again. I reach out. It’s a natural reaction. My hand lands on his hip. Another jagged, raised scar goes from his waist down his thigh.
"What did this?" My voice comes out strangled. It’s too wide. I know it should have been stitched closed. But it hadn’t been. The healing process would have been fraught with infection and pain.
"Broken glass." He doesn't look at me. "They liked to get creative when the regular methods stopped working."
I trace another scar. And another. Each one a story of suffering I couldn't prevent.
"This changes nothing," he says finally, his voice rough.
He moves away from me, and the brief moment of intimacy is over.
We dress in silence.
"About Anya."
The name makes me freeze. "What about her?"
"Roman's serious. The marriage. It's happening unless—" He stops.
"Unless what?" I whirl to face him. "Unless I'm a good little wife? Unless I don't cause problems? That's the leverage, isn't it?"
"Yes." At least he's honest about it.
"And you're going to let it happen." The realization makes me sick. "You're going to let him marry my nineteen-year-old sister to a sadist who will destroy her."
"I'm not letting anything happen." His voice hardens. "Roman makes the decisions. I'm just—"
"Participating." The word comes out vicious. "You're participating in the destruction of an innocent girl to hurt me."
I shove his chest, and he barely moves. "How dare you. How fuckingdareyou. Anya never did anything to you. She loved you. And this is how you repay that?"
"It's not my decision—"
"It is your decision!" I shove him again. "You could stop it. You have Roman's ear. His trust. You could convince him to send her to Paris like we agreed. But you won't. Because hurting me is more important than protecting an innocent girl."
Guilt flashes across his face—quick but unmistakable. For just a second, I see my Maksim under all that rage and pain.
"Roman wants leverage over you," he says coldly. "Anya provides that. It's strategy. Don’t fuck up and she’ll be fine."
"It's evil." I'm crying now, furious tears. "And you're complicit in it."
"Then I'm complicit. Add it to my list of sins."
