My hand shook. Hot water spilled. Burned. I flinched.
"That man... Kirill. He's not good to you, is he?" Aiden didn't let it go. His face darkened with anger. "You married him for my surgery, didn't you?"
"No!" I whipped around to argue, met Aiden's all-knowing gaze.
In that instant, all my pretending collapsed.
I sank into the chair and buried my face in my hands. My voice leaked through my fingers, exhausted. "I'm so stupid, Aiden. I fell in lovewith him."
There. I'd said it. The shameful secret.
"He saved us. Gave me a home. For a few moments, I thought maybe he liked me too." Tears finally fell. "But today I found out his heart belongs to someone else."
"I feel like a thief." I looked up at my brother through blurred vision. "I stole someone's happiness. And I thought I could keep it."
A skeletal hand reached out, gripped mine tight.
"Look at me, Harper." Aiden's eyes held a seriousness beyond his years. "You didn't steal anything. He chose to marry you. He brought you into that house."
"If he can't see you because he's stuck in the past, that's his loss," Aiden spoke through clenched teeth, anger at his brother-in-law coloring his voice. "Listen. I won't let you sacrifice yourself for me. I won't let you grovel before a man who treats you like a substitute."
"Follow your heart." Aiden gently wiped my tears. "If the pain outweighs the joy, leave."
I couldn't hold back anymore. I threw myself into Aiden's arms, clutched his thin shoulders, and sobbed.
All the grievances, confusion, and anxiety I'd bottled up these past days broke free.
Aiden said nothing. Just patted my back gently, over and over, the way I used to soothe him to sleep when we were kids.
I don't know how long I cried. Until the tears ran dry. Until my throat was too hoarse to speak.
When I left the hospital, night had fallen.
Walking back to the manor, I felt lost.
The manor was huge. Luxurious. But where did I belong? If Genevie came back, would I be tossed out like last season's clothes?
Maybe Aiden was right. I didn't belong here. Never had.
When I pushed open the master bedroom door, I'd braced myself for emptiness. I'd even decided—pack a few things, sleep in a guest room. Or on the floor. That's where I belonged.
The room was dark. Only pale moonlight spilled through the windows.
The air reeked of iron. Sickening.
I froze. Looked toward the couch.
In the moonlight, I saw dark stains spreading across the carpet. Kirill sat on the couch. That white shirt he wore even to sleep was now soaked dark red.
One hand pressed hard against his left side. Blood poured between his fingers and dripped onto the carpet. His face was corpse-pale. His brow furrowed, carving lines of pain across that handsome face.
My heart stopped.
All the insecurity, confusion, the urge to run—it all shattered in one second of pure terror.
"Kirill?"
I screamed, dropped my bag, and rushed toward him.
