There was no reassurance in his voice. No attempt to help.
Only a quiet acceptance... as if my fate had already been decided.
There was no point in continuing the discussion.
With a heavy, aching heart, I turned away without saying another word.
My body moved before my thoughts could catch up—steps automatic, unsteady—carrying me toward the house.
The grand doors stood open, dark and imposing, swallowing me whole as I crossed the entrance.
Inside, the foyer stretched out in silence.
My footsteps echoed against the polished floors.
Every step felt heavier than the last.
Like the air itself was pressing down on me.
I didn’t stop walking.
I climbed the stairs slowly, one step at a time, my hand brushing the railing for balance more out of instinct than need.
The house was quiet, but my thoughts weren’t.
They screamed, overlapped, tangled into something unbearable.
Elena.
My little Elena.
My sister and I share the same name, according to my father’s family tradition.
The name echoed inside my head with every step I took, softer each time—like a prayer I was afraid would go unanswered.
She was the only pure thing left in a life that had already taken too much.
The only piece of my past I hadn’t stained.
I had protected her.
Or at least—I thought I had.
But now—
Now she was connected to something far worse than anything I had ever faced.
Ruslan Baranov.
The name alone was enough to make the air feel thinner.
Ruslan didn’t just destroy. He dismantled.
Like a man who enjoyed watching things break under his hands.
And now—
He had my sister.
