Like violence was simply another tool.
“The tutors. The coach. The cameras.”
He exhaled slowly. “He went through the motions.”
His jaw tightened. “But the light went out of him.”
The words sounded rehearsed — but the pain behind them felt real.
“He started asking for you more often than before.”
His eyes lifted to mine. “Every night. Every morning.”
He swallowed. “The absence was hurting him so badly he... lost everything else.”
He shifted slightly on the stool.
“His grades plummeted. He’s last in his class now.”
The admission seemed to bruise his pride more than anything else.
“He hates me.”
That statement landed heavier than the rest.
“He locks himself in his room.”
Ruslan’s fingers flexed briefly before settling again.
“Refuses to eat unless I force the issue.”
His voice lowered.
“I hired nannies.”
He looked away briefly — almost embarrassed.
“Dozens.”
“My men vetted them. Background checks. Psych evaluations. Personal interviews conducted by me.”
He paused.
“None of them could reach him.”
His gaze returned to me.
“Not one.”
“They fed him. They clothed him. They read him stories. But they couldn’t touch the place in his heart where you used to live.”
His voice cracked — barely.
“Nothing filled that hole.”
The honesty in that confession was dangerous.
It exposed vulnerability. It also exposed motive.
