My heart stutters painfully, and I try to hold onto the resolve I walked in with. When Konstantin carried me out to the waiting car I knew. When my hand slipped in his blood in the back seat,I knew.So why is this so hard?
I try to remember that I was going to end this. That I was going to walk away.
But I can’t.
Because now I see him clearly.
Konstantin Martynov—the man who built an empire out of blood and ash—is broken in front of me. Human.
I’d be lying to myself if I said I didn’t realize I was in love with him until this moment. No, I’ve known for a while now. It’s impossible not to love this man with the way he loses himself in me, and the way he makes me feel alive again.
But Ihavebeen lying to myself. Telling myself he can keep me safe.
That everything will turn out fine.
That maybe I can stay, and make this work… me, Konstantin, our baby.
He saved me, and he’s powerful, but he doesn’t know how to love softly. Because even when he’s trying not to feel, he feels everything too deeply.
He wouldn’thaveto save me if I was never in danger to begin with. And that’s why I have to end this.
I can see the way he looks at me, the way he clings to control because if he lets go, he’ll drown in it. I will be his downfall if I stay.
He’ll burn the world to keep me. And it’ll destroy him.
So, I gather the strength I don’t have and say the words that taste like blood.
“I’m going to leave.”
He stiffens.
“Not yet,” I say quickly. “Not today. But… after the baby’s born. After everything’s safe. I need to go, like we planned...”
When had that plan changed? When did webothstart assuming I would stay?
I can see in his face, the way it breaks, that he thought we could make it work. He doesn’t speak or look at me, and it makes my heart cave in.
“I’ll go to the west coast. I think I… I think I should take the baby with me, Konstantin. They’ll be safe with me.”And notwith you.The words go unspoken, but he flinches, and I rush on: “And you’ll be able to breathe again. You won’t have to look over your shoulder every time someone gets too close to me. You won’t bevulnerable.”
His fingers clench on his knee.
The silence between us is deafening. It’s not rejection. It’s surrender.
And that’s almost worse.
A small part of me wanted him to fight, to argue. To demand that I stay.
But he won’t, because he knows I’m right.
“I’ll make sure you have everything you need,” he says at last, voice strangled. “Protection. A place. Money. Anything.”
“I don’t want anything.”
“Then you’ll get it anyway.”
He stands.
The movement is slow, painful. Blood seeps through the edge of the gauze again. But he doesn’t react to the pain he must be feeling. He just moves toward the door, like something in him has turned off.
