“Here.” He brought a cup of water to my lips, one hand supporting the back of my head with careful precision. “Small sips.”
I obeyed, too tired to argue, too grateful to protest. The water felt like sandpaper going down my raw throat, but it was also the best thing I’d ever tasted. Cool and clean and real in a way nothing else felt right now.
A few shaky sips, and he pulled the cup away, helping me lean back against the pillows that had been propped up behind me. The movement made my head swim, made the room tilt slightly, but his hand stayed on my shoulder until everything stabilized.
“Tell me.” It wasn’t a command, not quite. More like a plea. “Tell me what happened. What Sebastian did to you.”
I looked at him, at those intense blue eyes that wanted so desperately to fix everything, to understand everything, to protect me from everything. And I wanted to tell him. Wanted to let it all spill out and let him carry some of the weight I’d been holding alone.
But I couldn’t.
Not yet. Not when telling him meant reliving every moment in that abandoned building, every confession Sebastianhad screamed, every drop of blood that had pooled beneath my head.
“I can’t.” The words came out broken, barely a whisper. “I’m not…I can’t talk about it yet.”
Kirill’s jaw clenched, frustration and concern warring on his face. “Barbara—”
“Please.” I pulled back slightly, needing space even though his arms felt like the only safe place in the world. “Not yet. I just…I need time.”
“Time for what?” His voice was gentle but persistent. “Time to process? Time to trust me? Time to—”
“Time to figure out how to say the words without falling apart.” The honesty surprised even me. “Everything that happened, what he did, what he said, it’s too much. Too raw. I can barely think about it without wanting to….” I stopped, unable to finish.
He studied my face for a long moment, and I could see him struggling with it. Wanting to push because that’s what made sense tactically. Wanting answers because answers meant he could plan, could protect, could fix.
But there was also understanding there. Recognition that some wounds were too fresh to touch.
“Okay.” The word came out reluctant but sincere. “Not yet. But Barbara—” He took my hand again, his thumb rubbing circles on my palm. “Eventually. Eventually, you’re going to have to let someone help carry this.”
I nodded, even though I wasn’t sure I’d ever be ready. Even though the thought of voicing what Sebastian had confessed—about my mother, about the murder, about years of believing I was unwanted—made me sick to my stomach.
We sat in silence for a moment, and I could see him trying to piece together what he could from what little I’d given him. See the calculations happening behind those sharp blue eyes.
Then he spoke again, his voice gentler. “Help me understand something. Why is he blackmailing you? What is he holding over your head that made you give him money for five years?”
The question I’d been dreading. The one I wasn’t ready to answer. The secret that felt heavier than everything else combined.
I looked away, focusing on the hospital room wall instead of his face. On the generic landscape painting someone had hung there to make the space feel less sterile. Less like a place where people came to die.
“Barbara.” Kirill’s voice was patient but persistent. “I need to know. If I’m going to help you—if I’m going to make him pay for what he did—I need to understand the full picture.”
“I can’t.” The words stuck in my throat.
“Can’t or won’t?”
“Both.” I forced myself to meet his gaze, to let him see the shame and fear that came with this particular truth. “Please. Not yet. I’m not—I can’t talk about that yet.”
I watched him struggle with it. Watched the frustration war with understanding on his face. He wanted to push. Wanted to demand answers because that’s what made sense tactically. But he was also looking at a woman who’d just survived attempted murder and learned her mother had been killed by the same man.
Understanding won.
“Okay.” He squeezed my hand. “Not yet. But eventually, Barbara. Eventually, you’re going to have to trust me with all of it.”
I nodded, even though I wasn’t sure I’d ever be ready. Even though the thought of telling him about the video, about the kiss, about my biggest mistake, made me want to disappear into the hospital bed and never emerge.
A knock on the door interrupted whatever he might’ve said next. A doctor entered—a middle-aged woman with kind eyes and a professional demeanor that immediately made me nervous.
Kirill started to stand, started to give us privacy, but the doctor shook her head.
