For the first time, I know what it is to love someone so much it feels like dying.
I know what it is to be undone, piece by piece, by the only thing in this world worth living for.
I lean against the cold window, watching the rain streak down. My reflection stares back at me, haunted and hollow-eyed, but for once I don’t flinch from it. I think of her trembling beside me, the way her hands steadied my bleeding, the terrorand tenderness in her eyes. She’s changed me more than a lifetime of violence ever could.
I wonder how close I came to losing her tonight. I wonder what I’d have become if I had.
As the sun finally crests the horizon, painting the ruined gardens gold, I make my vow again, sharper and more certain than ever.
Whoever comes for her again will not survive. No one will ever threaten what I love—not while I still breathe.
I realize it without shame or fear, that I love her. God help me, I do.
Chapter Nineteen - Clara
The house feels hollow after the attack, quieter than ever, every echo trailing the scent of gunpowder and burned upholstery. I move through the rooms in silence, bare feet cold on the tile.
I carefully step over broken glass, a reminder that safety is never anything but temporary here. The maids work with hushed urgency, sweeping up the remnants of chaos, but the smell of smoke lingers, clinging to the velvet curtains and the insides of my lungs.
Lukyan is everywhere and nowhere. I catch glimpses of him in the corners of rooms—barking orders to his men, voice lower and sharper than usual, eyes harder. His left arm is bandaged, the fabric bright white against his dark clothes.
He moves more slowly now, wincing when he thinks no one’s looking, but there’s something different in his face. Less iron. More exhaustion. Guilt. Maybe even care.
I catch myself watching him when I think he won’t notice. The way he glances at doors before stepping through them. How his gaze sweeps every window, every corner, always searching for the next threat. The mansion is a fortress, but he’s never at ease inside it—not really.
I see the cracks. He’s a man who’s been fighting for so long he doesn’t know how to stop, who’s lost count of the nights spent staring at the ceiling, waiting for violence to come.
The day after the attack, I find him alone in his office, the early light slanting through dusty windows. His desk is littered with papers and a half-drained glass of something clear and strong. He’s reading, lips pressed in a hard line, shoulders bowed as if under a weight he can’t shed.
I hover in the doorway, nerves chewing at my resolve. My heart thuds with every step as I move deeper into the room. He looks up slowly, eyes sharp and wary.
“I still want to finish my story,” I say, voice steady despite the way my hands twist together in front of me.
His gaze narrows, face unreadable. “You’d expose me?” There’s warning in his tone, the suggestion of a threat, but also something else—a plea not to betray him.
I shake my head. “Not expose. Understand.”
The silence between us thickens, heavy with everything unspoken. His jaw works as he leans back in his chair, studying me like I’m both a puzzle and a bomb. I see the conflict flickering in his eyes—old instincts warring with something newer, something softer.
He gestures to the battered armchair across from his desk. “Sit.”
I obey, smoothing my dress as I perch on the edge of the seat, heart still racing.
He sets his glass down, fingers drumming on the wood. “What do you want to know?”
I hesitate, but I refuse to look away. “Why this? Why all of it? I know what the world thinks about you, Lukyan, but I want to understand how you became… this.”
He exhales, a tired sound. For a moment, I see past the man with blood on his hands, past the violence, to something rawer. “You really want to know?”
I nod, meeting his gaze. “I’m not afraid of you. Not anymore.”
He almost smiles, but the expression dies before it can take root. “You should be. You saw what I’m capable of.”
I hold his stare, forcing myself to be brave. “I saw you bleed for me. I saw you risk your life for men who’d betray you if they could. I saw you let yourself care when it would have been easier not to.”
His knuckles go white around the edge of the desk. “Caring gets you killed in my world.”
“Then why do it?” I press.
