Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
Harper
That basement was cold as a morgue.
I wasn't sure how long I'd been down there. Time meant nothing in that place. I was curled up in the corner, tears long since dried up, left with nothing but raw sockets scraping against themselves.
My lower back throbbed where Kirill had shoved me into the staircase railing, but that physical pain was nothing compared to what was tearing me apart inside.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Aiden dying alone in that hospital bed.
Kirill had promised me. He'd sworn he'd get Aiden the best surgeon for the operation. But now he was with that woman, and my brother—my only blood in this world, my entire reason for living—had died listening to those damn dial tones.
I hated myself. Why had I believed Kirill? Why had I waited for his phantom "best doctor"? If Aiden had gotten the surgery earlier, maybe he wouldn't have died. This was all on me.
Guilt and grief were drowning me when a commotion erupted outside. Someone was roaring in Russian, followed by the dull thud of something heavy hitting flesh.
A gunshot tore through the cellar's silence.
Were they coming to execute me? Had Kirill finally decided to make me disappear for hurting his precious woman?
Fine.
Let it end. I had nothing left to live for anyway.
The heavy iron door shrieked as it was thrown open.
Blinding light flooded the dark cell. I had to raise my arm to shield my eyes.
Against the glare, I made out a silhouette.
Olga stood in the doorway, leaning on her signature dragon-head cane. Behind her, the two guards who'd been watching me were on the ground clutching their legs and groaning. Several of Madam Olga's men held them at gunpoint.
"Dear God..."
I heard an old woman's trembling sigh.
Olga threw down her cane and rushed toward me. She dropped to her knees a few feet away—right into the filthy puddles and dirt.
"Child... oh my God, Harper..."
Olga reached out carefully to touch me. Tears spilled down her face.
"So many rooms in this house, why here?" Olga's voice broke. She pulled me into her arms, her palm rubbing my trembling back. "I came too late, Harper. I'm so sorry. That bastard..."
I leaned against her shoulder, breathing in her scent.
But my heart was numb. No anger. No relief. Inside, I was nothing but scorched earth—not even a spark left.
"Madam Olga." My voice came out rough as sandpaper, unrecognizable even to myself. "I want to leave."
Olga pulled back, cupping my face. Pain and fury blazed in her eyes.
"Of course, of course we're leaving. I'm getting you out of this godforsaken place.
I'll have the best doctors examine you. I'll make that fool Kirill get on his knees and beg your forgiveness!
He will pay for this, Harper. I swear it! "
I knew Olga's rage was real. She genuinely cared.
But I shook my head slowly.
"I don't need that," I said.
Olga froze. "Harper?"
"No apology. I don't want him punished either." I looked at her, my gaze empty. "None of it matters anymore, ma'am. I don't want his apology. I don't want to see him ever again."
I braced against the wall, trying to stand. The pain in my back made me gasp, but I bit down hard, keeping silent. Olga reached to help me. I turned away from her hands.
I had to stand on my own. From now on, it was only me.
"I just want to do one thing." I looked at Olga, my voice flat. "I need to arrange Aiden's funeral. He's waiting for me."
Olga's expression went rigid. She clearly already knew about Aiden. In that moment, I saw something I'd never seen before on that iron-willed woman's face—real guilt and helplessness.
"Alright." She choked out. "Alright, child. I'll arrange a car right now—"
"No." I cut her off. "I'll do it myself."
I walked out alone. Out of that dark, damp basement. No one stopped me.
The manor's maids clustered in the shadows. I glanced their way. Most watched me with pity. A few with smug satisfaction.
Before, I would've kept my head down, wished I could sink into the carpet, anxious over their meaningless stares.
Now, I didn't give a damn.
I'd finally learned how not to care what people thought—when your world's already burned to ash, why would you notice a few ants scurrying through the ruins?
I walked past them, spine straight, eyes forward, and left the prison that had devoured all my hope.
The funeral was simple. Or rather, bare.
No priest's grand sermon. No crowds of mourners. No mountains of flowers.
Aiden never had many friends. He'd spent most of his life in a hospital bed. His only social life was online. His only family was me—our parents had long since started new families, tossing us aside like garbage.
I refused Olga's offer of a lavish funeral. I wouldn't spend a dime of the Orlov family's money to lay my brother to rest. That was Kirill's money. Money from the man who'd hung up on my desperate call for another woman.
If I used that money, Aiden wouldn't rest easy in heaven.
I used my savings from working as a caregiver to buy a simple urn.
The rain fell harder. I held that small box, feeling utterly alone.
"Hey, Aiden," I whispered.
Only the wind answered. No weak but gentle voice calling me "sis." No eyes looking at me with encouragement.
"Do you hate me?" I tried to smile, but my face wouldn't cooperate. "I don't think you do."
I reached out, gently tracing the patterns on the urn.
"But I do. I hate myself so much."
I thought God would show me a little mercy after all my fighting.
"I'm sorry." I pressed my forehead against the rough headstone and broke down. "This is my fault. I was all you had, and I wasn't there when you needed me. How could I..."
Guilt wrapped around my throat like invisible hands.
It was over.
My only reason to stay in this city was gone.
I turned, looking at the gray skyline in the distance. The Orlov Group's skyscraper loomed there like a monster watching over insignificant humans.
Time to end this.
By the time I got back to the manor, evening had fallen.
The whole place was eerily quiet. When the servants saw me, they kept their heads down. No one dared speak to me or even look me in the eye. Their expressions held pity and mostly fear.
Olga must have torn into them.
I didn't care.
I went straight upstairs to the room I'd once cherished.
When I opened the door, that familiar luxury hit me. Expensive handwoven rugs, silk curtains, and the faint scent of cedar in the air—Kirill's aftershave.
Once, that smell had made me feel safe. Made me swoon.
Now it just made me sick.
I dragged out my battered suitcase and stuffed in the few things from the bottom of the closet—a couple faded T-shirts, two pilled pairs of jeans, and an oversized hoodie.
I looked at myself in the full-length mirror. Without designer clothes and jewelry, I was back to being that unremarkable caregiver. Pale. Dark circles under my eyes. Bloodless lips.
But this was the real me.
I started gathering other things. Not much to pack, really. A few books. Toiletries. A photo of Aiden.
When I finished, I walked to Kirill's desk and pulled out the bank cards he'd given me, stacking them neatly on the surface. Then I took off the necklace and laid it beside them.
These things were too expensive. I couldn't take them. Didn't want to.
As I turned to leave, something pink caught my eye between some files.
My hands shook as I pulled out the envelope. In the fading light, I saw the intact heart sticker sealing it.
No sign it had ever been opened.
It had just been lying there under his papers, gathering dust on the exposed corner.
"Ha..."
A short laugh escaped me. Then another. And another.
I stood in that empty room, laughing until I doubled over.
Of course.
He hadn't even bothered to open it.
What the hell was I to him?
A convenient bed warmer? A shield to deal with Olga? A stray dog that wagged its tail for money?
I took a deep breath, even though it made my lungs ache.
Slowly, I tore open the seal. Unfolded the paper. My handwriting covered it, cramped and earnest.
I read those shy, sincere words I'd written. Tears finally fell onto the page despite myself.
Harper, you're a fool.
I wiped my face roughly, scrubbing away the tears. I wouldn't cry over him anymore. He didn't deserve it.
I grabbed a pen from the holder. At the bottom of the letter, I wrote one final line for Kirill.
"Kirill Orlov is a bastard."
I refolded the paper, slipped it back in the envelope, and placed it on top of the black cards and ruby necklace.
This was the ending.
I grabbed my suitcase and turned around. Olga stood behind me. She'd been there a while.
Her eyes went to the suitcase. A bitter smile crossed her face.
"Harper, have you made up your mind?"
I stopped, looking at this once-imperious woman. My eyes burned. Tears threatened again. Kirill was a bastard, but Olga wasn't. She'd given me something I'd rarely experienced—warmth from an elder.
"Yes, ma'am." I swallowed the lump in my throat. "It's over."
Olga closed her eyes wearily. "This is my fault. I was too stubborn. If I hadn't forced Kirill to marry you, if I hadn't insisted on pushing you together, you wouldn't have suffered like this. Aiden wouldn't have..."
She clutched her chest, struggling to breathe. "I destroyed you, child. I'm a sinner."
I let go of the suitcase and walked over, gently embracing Olga. Her body went rigid, then she hugged me back tightly.
"No, Olga." I whispered in her ear. "This isn't your fault."
I pulled back and wiped her tears.
"Thank you for everything. Really. You were the only person in this house who made me feel warm."
I picked up my suitcase again, forcing myself to smile at her.
"Take care, Madam Olga."
I made myself ignore Olga's sobs and walked away.
The door opened slowly before me.
The air after the rain was damp and cold. I took a deep breath and stepped through the gate.
Kirill Orlov.
May we never meet again.