Shattered Walls
Chapter 57
Shattered Walls
Isabella
The soft crackling of the fire is the only sound that fills the silence of the cabin.
He said he’d be back for dinner.
It’s not like him to be late. Aslanov’s always punctual, always in control, and I can feel the lingering weight of the day’s frustrations still hovering in the air. I look at the clock on the wall—it’s 7:00 p.m. Another minute passes. And then another. I stir the pot on the stove absently, hoping to distract myself from the nagging feeling starting to take root in my chest.
By 8:00 p.m., my stomach is twisted in knots, but I tell myself it’s nothing. Maybe there was a delay with business—one of his countless meetings or a problem that needed solving. He’s always doing something, dealing with someone. I tell myself not to worry, that it’s just the way he works, the unpredictability of his world.
But still, the silence settles over me like a weight I can’t shake off.
By 9:00 p.m., I can’t sit still anymore. I pace the floor, the ticking of the clock louder now, reminding me of every minute that’s slipping by. I grab my phone again, scrolling through my contacts.
I don’t want to text him. I don’t want to feel like I’m nagging, like I’m being impatient. But something inside me, something I can’t quite explain, tells me this is different.
I send him a message, the words feeling fragile, like I’m testing the waters.
Hey, are you okay? It’s getting late.
No response. My thumb hovers over the screen, waiting for the little three dots to appear, waiting for him to reply. But nothing happens.
I wait for another few minutes, feeling the anxiety rise in my chest, gripping me tighter with each passing second. I tell myself I’m overreacting. This isn’t unusual, not for him. He’s probably tied up with something.
But I can’t ignore it. The knot in my stomach tightens, twisting with each unanswered second.
I dial his number. It rings. And rings. And rings.
Nothing.
A cold wave of panic sweeps over me. He’s always answered.
This is different. This feels different.
I stand up, walking toward the window, pulling back the curtains slightly to look outside. The dark forest stretches out before me, still and silent. The night air is cold, and I feel a shiver run down my spine. I want to believe everything’s fine. I want to believe he’s just running late.
But something inside me is telling me otherwise.
By 10:00 p.m., my patience runs out. I can’t wait any longer, not like this. I need to know where he is. I need to hear his voice, to feel reassured that he’s safe, that nothing has happened to him.
I text Dominik. He’s usually the one in the know, the one who keeps tabs on things when Aslanov is preoccupied.
Aslanov isn’t home yet. Do you know where he is? He said he’d be back by now, and I haven’t heard from him.
I send the message, tapping my fingers impatiently against the phone.
Seconds tick by. No reply.
Another minute. Still nothing.
Finally, after what feels like an eternity, the message notification from Dominik pops up.
He didn’t tell me he’d be out this late. I assumed he’d be back by now too . Let me check the security footage.
I stare at the message, my mind racing. He doesn’t know either?
I watch, my heart thudding in my chest as Dominik sends another message.
Okay, I’ve got something. He was last seen at 9:15 p.m. at Vysokaya Ulitsa, 21, Gelendzhik, Krasnodar Krai. I don’t know if he’s still there, but it’s the last known location.
I feel a chill run down my spine, a sudden sense of urgency crashing over me.
I can’t wait any longer. I can’t just sit here and do nothing.
I walk to the garage in the back of the cabin, the cold concrete floor beneath my feet, and open the door to the shed. The spare car—one Aslanov has kept for emergencies—is parked neatly inside. It’s the red sports car I had driven when I explored the city.
Why would he be there? I’m not sure what to think, but when the address comes through, I copy it into the car’s navigation.
The map shows an isolated location. No nearby towns, no signs of life. Only a long, desolate road leading toward the edge of a cliff, the water crashing violently beneath.
I pull the car out of the shed, the tires crunching against the gravel as I head toward the unknown.
The ride feels endless. The road stretches on, empty and eerie, as the night deepens around me. The darkness presses in, making everything feel isolated, far from the warmth of the cabin. I grip the wheel tighter, each turn bringing me deeper into unfamiliar territory.
I drive through an old town, its streets deserted and quiet. The buildings are worn and weathered, their windows dark, and the shops that once thrived now stand closed and abandoned. The faded signs hanging from doors and shutters swing slightly in the breeze, creating an unsettling rhythm. The silence is oppressive, broken only by the hum of the car’s engine and the occasional rustling of leaves.
As I continue down the road, my stomach tightens, an unease settling in. Then, the navigation pings— Arriving at destination .
I drive just out of the town and my stomach tightens as I take in the surroundings: two old homes, abandoned and decaying, standing like silent sentinels watching the water below. The air feels thick with something I can’t quite place.
Then, I see it.
Aslanov’s car.
I freeze for a moment, the realization settling heavily in my chest. His car is parked just ahead, near the edge of the cliff.
I park the car just behind Aslanov’s, the engine humming softly as I turn it off. The air outside feels sharp, and icy against my skin as I open the door and step out. The cold bites at my exposed arms, sending a chill through me as I walk quickly toward his car.
My footsteps are muted on the gravel as I reach the side of his car. I peer inside, my breath catching. It’s empty.
A knot tightens in my stomach, panic slowly creeping in. Where is he?
I turn my head, scanning the area, and then I see him.
Standing at the edge of the cliff, his back to me, his hands tucked into his pockets, his hood pulled low over his face. The cold wind sweeps through the scene, tousling his dark hair, but it doesn’t seem to bother him. He stands there motionless, staring at the wild sea crashing against the rocks below.
I hesitate for a moment, but I know it’s him. The posture, the car—it’s all him.
I take a deep breath, my heart pounding in my chest as I approach him, my voice trembling slightly as I call out.
“Aslanov…”
He doesn’t respond. I step closer, trying to keep my voice steady, though the fear inside me is growing.
“Aslanov, please…” I say gently, my steps slow as I try to calm him. “You’re scaring me. You’ve worried me. Where have you been?”
I try to get closer, to reach him, but he doesn’t move. His eyes stay fixed on the churning water below, distant, lost in whatever thoughts are consuming him.
“Aslanov,” I say again, softer this time, as I close the gap between us. “Please, step away from the edge. I don’t know what’s going on, but I’m here. I’m worried about you.”
He still doesn’t speak, his body unmoving, as if he hasn’t heard me at all. The distance between us feels unbearable, and the cold wind stings my face as I take another step closer.
His face is turned slightly toward me now, and in the dim light, I see the subtle shift—a tear, icy on his face, gliding slowly down his cheek. It’s like the ocean’s stormy waves are mirrored in his expression. The hard exterior he so often shows is cracked, just for a moment, revealing something deeper.
The sea roars beneath us, but all I can hear is the thunder of my own heart.
I take another slow step, my heart racing as I draw closer to him. The icy wind nips at my skin, but it’s nothing compared to the cold knot in my chest. I’m scared. Terrified that if I don’t move fast enough, if I don’t say the right words, he might take that final step forward and disappear into the abyss below.
“Aslanov,” I say softly, my voice breaking through the wind as I inch closer. “Please, step away from the edge. I’m here. I need you. We can figure this out together, but you have to come back to me.”
He remains still, his shoulders tense, but then, just when I feel like I can’t bear the silence any longer, he breaks it.
“I would never do it,” he says, his voice low and strained, almost a whisper against the roar of the sea. “I can’t. Not because I don’t want to…but because I need to shield you.”
The words hang in the air between us, heavy and broken. I blink, the sting of tears welling in my eyes.
“You’re not deserving of everything that happened,” he continues, his voice quieter now, as if the weight of the admission is crushing him. “I’m not worthy of your care, your love. I’m not deserving of it.”
The air feels suddenly thick, suffocating, and the gravity of his words presses down on me like a weight I can’t escape. He is breaking, cracking into a million pieces in front of me.
His head lowers, and I see the flicker of pain in his eyes, the same eyes that have always held a certain darkness. But in this moment, they’re full of something else—guilt, regret, something deep and raw. Something he has never openly shared before.
I take another step closer, reaching out slowly, as if the slightest wrong move might shatter whatever fragile thread holds him to this world.
“Don’t say that,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper.
He turns his head slightly, but his eyes are distant, filled with something darker than the night around us. His voice cracks, barely a whisper against the violent sound of the waves below.
“I’m scared,” he says, the words heavy with pain. “I can’t lose you, Isabella. I can’t lose something I care about again. I can’t —not after everything. I’ve already lost too much. I can’t bear it again.”
His voice shakes as he speaks, raw and vulnerable, something I’ve never heard from him before. The weight of his words hits me like a punch to the gut, and I feel my heart ache in response. He’s trembling, not just from the cold, but from the weight of his fear. The fear of losing control over everything he’s built, everything that’s kept him going. The cruelty is slipping, the hardened man is fading.
He clenches his jaw, trying to hold it together, but I see the cracks beneath his steely exterior. “Everything’s falling apart,” he mutters, his eyes shifting to the darkness ahead. “I can feel it slipping away. My empire…my control…it’s all unraveling. I’m losing everything. And I can’t stop it.”
I knew it, something bad is happening.
His shoulders tense, the strain of it all obvious in the way he stands, like the burden is too much to bear. His empire—his life—feels like it’s crumbling around him, and I can see it in his eyes. It’s too much. Too many things slipping through his fingers.
Suddenly, he takes a step back from the edge, as if the weight of the void below is too much to face alone. I don’t hesitate. I move toward him quickly, closing the distance between us, and in one fluid motion, I wrap my arms around him, pulling him into a tight embrace.
His body stiffens for a moment, as though unsure of the contact, but then he gives in, his arms enveloping me in return, holding me close as if I’m the only thing keeping him from falling apart completely. He holds me tighter, his grip desperate, as if my presence alone will anchor him, keep him from shattering.
The cold air bites at our skin, but the warmth between us is undeniable. His breath hitches in his chest, ragged and shaky, and I can feel his vulnerability pour into me like an overwhelming force. He’s not the man he’s always tried to be—the man who controls everything. Right now, he’s just a boy, broken and in need of someone to hold him together.
We break apart, our bodies still close.
My hands reach for his, trembling slightly as I take them in mine. His knuckles are rough and scarred, his grip tense at first, but I hold them anyway, cradling them like they’re something fragile. His breath hitches—barely audible—but I hear it. I feel it.
“Aslanov,” I whisper, his name falling from my lips like a confession.
The sea is silent now, the sound just a background noise as his eyes drop to our hands, his lips pressed into a thin line.
“I watch you, you know?” I say softly, my voice steady despite the weight of the moment. His brows furrow, but he doesn’t pull away. “When you think no one can see. When you think you’re alone.”
His gaze flicks up to mine, and my chest tightens, but I push forward.
“And if I can take away even a little bit of that feeling,” I continue, my thumbs brushing over his knuckles, “that one that makes you so harsh, so cruel, so hurt, so pained…I will. Because I see you.”
He doesn’t speak, his breath is uneven now, his eyes locked on mine like he’s trying to decipher the truth in my words. I squeeze his hands, my voice softer but unwavering. “I want you to know that, even if you think you don’t deserve it, you do.”
He exhales sharply, his head dipping forward, meeting my forehead. For a moment, it feels like the entire world stops, the silence between us heavy with everything we’re too afraid to say out loud.
And we don’t say out loud, what we both feel. But it’s clear.
His forehead rests gently against mine, and I feel the warmth of his breath mingling with mine. His hands, still trembling in mine, slowly begin to soften, as though he’s allowing himself to breathe, to let go of the tight control he’s held onto for so long.
His grip shifts, less desperate now, but still protective, like he’s afraid to let go, even though he needs to. I don’t pull away, even when the cold bites deeper, when the distance between us feels too vast and too close all at once.
“I don’t deserve you,” he mutters, his voice low and strained, but there’s something different in it this time—less certainty, more doubt, more longing.
“You do,” I say, my voice firm now, a quiet conviction behind every word.
The sea roars beneath us once more, but the storm inside him feels quieter now, the rage, the fear, the sorrow—all of it softened in the calm of our connection. I step closer, pressing my body to his, and he lets me. No words are needed now. The truth lingers between us, unspoken, but understood.
“Thank you, solnyshko.”
For the first time in a long while, he’s not holding everything together—he’s letting go, just enough to let me in. And in that small crack, in the place where the light finally gets through, I know that we’ve both found something we’ve been searching for.