Aleksander is asleep, turned slightly to one side, the bandage stark against his skin. In sleep he looks younger. Less carved out of violence. Less controlled. The sight makes something in me ache and annoys me at the same time.
I sit on the edge of the bed again, staring at his face, listening to his breathing.
Then I whisper, “Why do you have a room full of drawings of me?”
His eyes open almost immediately, like he was never really asleep. He blinks once, slow, then focuses on me.
For a second he says nothing. He looks at my expression and seems to understand I’m not asking lightly.
“You went into that room,” he says.
“It was an accident,” I reply. “I was looking for the bathroom. I found…that.”
He exhales, closing his eyes briefly. He looks tired in a way that has nothing to do with the bullet.
“Bella,” he says quietly, “I did not forget you.”
“That’s obvious,” I snap, and I hate that my voice wobbles. “It’s not normal. That isn’t normal.”
He shifts, careful with his shoulder. His good hand moves to the edge of the mattress, palm up, not grabbing. Just there.
“Come here,” he says. “Please.”
I don’t take his hand. I keep mine in my lap so he can’t see them shaking.
He watches me for a long beat, then nods like he accepts it. “You want to know why my mother hates me,” he says.
My stomach turns. “I want to know why she tried to have you killed in a garden full of guests.”
A faint, humorless smile tugs at his mouth. “That’s her version of restraint.”
I swallow. “Tell me.”
He stares at the ceiling for a moment, like he’s memorized it. Then his voice drops, steadier than his eyes.
“My father died when I was young,” he says. “After that, she built her life around control. Control of the house, control of the men around her, control of me.”
He pauses, jaw tightening.
Then he says quietly, “His name was Maxim. My half brother.”
He keeps his eyes on the ceiling, his voice stripped of all pretense. “My father died young. Years later, Irina had Maxim with another man. She adored him. Gave him everything she never gave me.”
I nod, not trusting myself to speak.
He takes a breath. “A few years ago, there was a threat—someone tried to hit me at the house. I thought I was protecting everyone, but my decisions brought violence right into our home. Maxim was caught in the middle.”
I feel my stomach drop. “He died?”
Aleksander nods. His mouth is a thin, hard line. “He was just a kid. He got in the way. It was my fault—my enemies, my world, my mistake. My mother has never forgiven me. She wants me to pay for it.”
I let the silence stretch. His eyes finally meet mine, and for once, there’s no mask. “That’s why she wants me gone. Not business. Not power. Just payback for Maxim.”
For a long minute, neither of us says a word.
He looks away. “I’ve carried that every day since.”
I reach for his hand, needing some tether. “You can’t keep blaming yourself forever.”
