I stood in the wrecked room, watching the sky darken outside.
Yes, Harper hated me.
She had every right.
But that didn't mean I'd give up.
"Kirill." Olga's voice came behind me.
"I'll find her." My voice was hoarse but firm. "Wherever she is, however long it takes, I'll find her."
Olga was silent for a long time.
"Then what?" she asked. "After you find her? Will she forgive you?"
I didn't know.
But I knew if I didn't try, I'd never forgive myself.
"I'll make her forgive me," I said. "I'll spend the rest of my life making up for what I did."
I walked to the desk, opened the drawer, and took out the pink Valentine's card.
Still the same. Except the seal had been broken. I knew what wasinside—Harper's careful love, and the line she'd written before leaving.
"Kirill Orlov is a bastard."
Yes, I was a bastard.
But I'd become someone worthy of her.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Julian
"You look like a different person."
I leaned against the bathroom doorframe, watching Harper in front of the mirror—no, I should call her Luna now.
She'd just finished curling her hair. What used to fall to her waist now cascaded in soft brown waves, the ends curling gently inward to expose the delicate curve of her neck. The makeup artist was working on her brows with a shade I'd personally selected—one that would make those dull eyes of hers bright and deep.
"Is this really okay?" Her voice still carried that careful hesitation, like she was afraid of disturbing something.
"Of course it is." I stepped closer, taking the eyebrow pencil from the makeup artist's hand to finish the job myself. "You've always been beautiful, Luna. You just never had anyone teach you how to show it."
Harper's lashes fluttered.
I knew what she was thinking—she was thinking about that man named Kirill, that bastard who broke her heart.
Honestly, when I first ran into Harper in that rundown little town, I barely recognized her from the wanted poster. She was too thin, herface sallow, her eyes swollen like walnuts, her whole body radiating the aura of someone about to die.
But I still recognized her.
Because of those eyes.
Even though they were red and raw from crying, even though they were filled with despair and pain, something still flickered in them—a stubborn, defiant light that refused to give up.
That light was what drew me in.
