Total pages in book: 148
Estimated words: 147734 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 739(@200wpm)___ 591(@250wpm)___ 492(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 147734 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 739(@200wpm)___ 591(@250wpm)___ 492(@300wpm)
Uncle Anton’s private doctor said Yulian is fine, considering everything.
According to him and the doctor we had on board on the private jet, Yulian sustained serious trauma. Two fractured ribs—one clean, one hairline—along with severe bruising along the chest wall. They’ve stabilized the ribs, but he’ll need to avoid any hard impact or strain for at least four to six weeks.
There are shallow lacerations across his back and torso, none deep enough to damage internal organs, but a few required sutures. He’s got a mild concussion, a split lip, one swollen-shut eye, and dehydration from blood loss. His vitals are stable. They’ve rehydrated him and put him on antibiotics, saying that he’ll recover from the physical damage with time and rest.
But what about the mental damage?
How about dealing with the reality that his own dad beat him half to death just because he didn’t approve of his sexual preferences?
Why do we live in a world where that’s a thing?
“I’m sorry I was late.” I bring his hand to my face, laying his palm flat against my cheek. “And I don’t mean just two days ago, but all of it, baby. I’m sorry it took me four years to save you from that man.”
I should’ve taken him away after I saw him beating him up that first time. When I was kicked out of the hospital, I shouldn’t have left alone.
Like now, I should’ve just kidnapped him and hid him away from the world.
Maybe then I wouldn’t have felt as if my heart was being ripped out of my chest at seeing him so broken.
And in pain.
Maybe we would’ve been together if I weren’t such a coward who watched from afar and kept myself squarely in denial.
If I didn’t put distance when I should’ve gotten close. When I didn’t reply to his videos even though I saved them to my phone and watched them religiously.
If I were just…there for him like he’s always been there for me.
He stirs and I sit up straighter as his eyes blink open, unfocused, lost. His left blue eye is not as swollen now, but the bruise around it is dark blue, almost black.
“Yulian?” I stroke his hair gently. “Can you hear me?”
He blinks a few times and lies motionless for a few seconds, as if he’s not sure what’s going on. Is the concussion that bad—
He reaches a hand toward me, but the moment he touches my cheek, his good eye widens, and he drops his hand back down.
I don’t like it.
He usually won’t stop touching me, so why does he seem like he was caught making a mistake?
He rises up all of a sudden and then groans loudly, probably hurting his ribs, and I grab his shoulders and help him back down, gently but firmly. “Stay still, you have broken ribs and other injuries.”
I reach out to the nightstand and give him a glass of water, figuring he’s parched. He just keeps watching me as if I’m a ghost, so I hold the glass to his lips. “You have to drink some water.”
He does so mechanically, taking all the water I’m giving him until the glass is empty.
A droplet of it trickles down the corner of his lip, and I wipe it, my thumb lingering on his skin longer than needed.
Fuck, I missed him. Missed touching him. Being with him.
I can’t believe I almost lost him.
Yulian pulls away, forcing me to drop my hand, and my chest aches. That’s the first time he’s ever recoiled from my touch.
And it hurts more than I’d like to admit.
Pretending he didn’t just cut me in two, I sit beside him on the edge of the bed, holding the empty glass tight as I speak coolly. “How are you feeling?”
“Where am I?” he asks, his voice craggy and huskier than usual as he stares out the window.
It’s nighttime, so only a few garden lights are visible through the large baroque-style windows—definitely the work of Uncle Tosha’s sophisticated taste, as Uncle Maks is just along for the ride.
“Russia,” I say.
“Russia?”
“Ust-Koksa, to be precise. We’re staying with my uncles at their countryside estate.”
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why did you bring me to Russia?”
“Because it’s safer,” I say matter-of-factly.
“I need to go back.” He starts to move, groaning slightly.
“You’re not going anywhere until you’re better, Yulian.” I push him back firmly but without force. “You can probably barely breathe, let alone move.”
He pants, proving my point, a grimace painting his handsome features as beads of sweat appear at his temples. “You don’t understand. I have to get back to Alya. With me gone, he’ll hurt her…”
“She’s with Cyrus,” I say, still holding him down so he doesn’t do anything stupid. “Cyrus took her with him before I went to rescue you so that we could avoid Yaroslav using her against you. She’s safe, and you can call her and Cyrus to make sure. Maybe later, once you’ve recovered, so you don’t sound so out of breath and worry her.”