Or the woman who would choose something else.
I lifted the dagger.
Slowly.
My hand trembled as I pressed the razor edge against the soft skin just beneath his Adam’s apple.
The blade sank in just enough to draw blood.
A bright bead formed — thick, warm — and rolled down his throat like a silent accusation.
“You’re tempting me, Ruslan,” I whispered.
My voice shook.
But I didn’t remove the pressure.
He didn’t flinch.
He didn’t try to stop me.
“I don’t want to die cheaply,” he said quietly.
His throat moved carefully against the blade.
“If you take my life — let it mean something.”
His eyes locked onto mine.
“Look at me.”
His voice softened.
“Before the blade bites deeper... look at me and tell me you forgive me.”
My breath hitched.
“Even if it’s only a fragment.”
“Even if it’s just a sliver of mercy.”
“That’s all I ask before the dark.”
His words were raw.
Broken.
Like a man reciting his own funeral prayer.
I pressed the dagger harder.
The skin parted slightly.
Blood slid warm over the metal and onto my knuckles.
More memories followed — darker, sharper, more violent than the last — crashing over me in relentless waves.
Tears burned down my face.
