“I’ve already suffered so much since the moment you put this on my finger.”
My voice broke as the memories surged back—violent, uninvited.
“The rain,” I whispered. “Standing in it for hours. The cold sank so deep into my bones I thought I’d never feel warm again.”
I drew in a shaky breath.
“Every drop felt like a lash—like the sky itself was punishing me. I couldn’t feel my fingers. My lips went numb. I was so exhausted I started thinking it might be easier to just... step into the grave you had dug and let the earth take me.”
My throat burned as I swallowed.
“I was terrified I was going to die there, Ruslan. I truly believed it was my last night on earth.”
My hand pressed lightly to my chest, fingers curling as if to hold something together.
“The pain is still alive in me. It hasn’t left. It’s sitting here—like it’s waiting.”
My arms wrapped around myself, nails digging into my sleeves as if the memory alone could chill me again.
“And then...” My voice trembled, cracking with each word. “...you poured... my mother’s ashes into the earth.”
I choked back a sob. “...You watched me... scream... watched me... break...”
My hands clenched my knees. “...And you... didn’t even... flinch.”
I gasped, each inhale sharp and raw. “You just stood there—like it meant nothing.”
My throat burned, my chest heaving. “That hurt more than the cold... more than the fear... more than anything...”
I lifted my head, eyes red, lips trembling. “...You’ve done... enough... to... break me... in forty-eight hours.”
A shudder ripped through me. “...Please... just... let me... go... back... to my room...”
I pressed my palms to my face, voice a ragged whisper. “...I just... I just want to... rest... to... sleep...”
“...It’s all... I... deserve...”
I closed my eyes, trembling. “...I’m begging... you...”
He didn’t move.
Ruslan stood at the window, hands tucked into the pockets of his trousers, the city lights painting his silhouette in silver and gold.
His back was to me—and God help me, it was magnificent.
His body looked untouched, as though brutality slid off him without ever leaving a mark. Like a statue carved for a museum, not a man who had clawed his way to the top of a criminal empire.
I didn’t know what secret ritual kept him like that—what discipline, what obsession with control—but it made him unreal. Handsome wasn’t enough. He was regal. Lethal. Beautiful in away that made my chest ache and my stomach twist with equal parts fear and unwanted awe.
“Ruslan,” I tried again, softer now. Smaller.
He answered without turning.
“Your father is not dead.”
The words struck me like a physical blow.
My lungs forgot how to work. The room tilted violently, and I staggered backward until my spine hit the wall.
