She steps back, breaking the spell. “Not good enough.”
“Bella—”
“No.” She shakes her head, the bracelet catching starlight as she moves. “I deserve better than ‘complicated.’ I deserve better than disappearing acts and expensive apologies. I deserve the truth.”
Truth. Such a dangerous concept in my world.
“The succession ceremony is in six days,” I say, offering a piece of the puzzle. “After that, everything changes. My position. My responsibilities. The targets on all our backs.”
“And that justifies ghosting your own family? Hiding from your children? From me?”
“I was trying to protect you.”
“From what? You? Because that’s the only threat I’ve faced since that kiss.”
The wind picks up, carrying the distant sound of waves against the cliffs below. The stars above us seem impossibly bright, witnesses to a conversation that feels like it’s teetering on the edge of something irreversible.
“Maybe you’re right,” I admit. The words taste foreign on my tongue. Vulnerability isn’t my native language. “Maybe I was protecting myself.”
Her eyes are still daggers, still firing like she’s ready to draw blood. There’s no softening. If anything, her jaw tightens, her chin lifts—like she’s daring me to contradict her.
I step closer again, unable to help myself. “The contract was never supposed to be… this.”
“This?” she echoes.
“Real.”
The word hangs between us, as fragile and dangerous as a live wire.
She looks at me for a long moment, something shifting in her eyes. Then she steps back, shaking her head.
“Well, you got what you wanted, then. It’s not real. It’s a business arrangement with benefits when you feel like collecting.”
She turns, moving toward the exit. The blue dress flutters around her legs, catching the wind.
“Don’t walk away from me,” I say sharply.
She stops but doesn’t turn. “Why not? You did.”
“That was different.”
Now she does turn, her eyes blazing. “How? How was it different?”
Because I’m not used to feeling this way. Because I’ve spent my entire life building walls, and you walked through them like they were nothing. Because when I kissed you, I forgot who I was supposed to be.
But I don’t say any of that. The words stick in my throat, casualties of a lifetime of trained restraint.
“Goodnight, Konstantin,” she says when I don’t answer. “Enjoy the stars.”
She walks away, her back straight, her steps measured despite the slight limp. Not running. Not rushing. Just… leaving.
I could stop her. One word from me would do it.
But I let her go.
The door closes behind her with a soft click that somehow sounds louder than a gunshot.
I’m left alone on the rooftop, surrounded by stars and silence, holding nothing but questions with no answers.
