Chapter 20
Chapter Twenty
Kirill
"I shouldn't have done that last night."
Genevie's voice hit me the second I stepped into the hospital room, soft as crystal about to shatter. She sat on the bed, blonde hair spilling over her shoulders, face chalk-white, looking fragile as hell.
I didn't answer. Just stood in the doorway, letting the morning light stream in behind me. A sleepless night had left my eyes burning, temples pounding. Fuck. I should be here caring about my first love, but my head was full of someone else.
"Kirill?" Genevie called tentatively.
I finally moved, crossing to the chair by her bed. My movements were stiff as a goddamn robot. "How are you feeling?"
"I'm fine." She rushed to say, then bit her lower lip. "I mean, last night when I kissed you—I shouldn't have. I was just so scared. I thought... I thought I'd lose the baby. I couldn't control myself..."
"Don't." I cut her off, voice colder than I'd intended.
Genevie froze, hurt flashing in those blue eyes. Shit. I didn't mean it like that.
But I really didn't want to talk about this.
"Discharge papers are done." I kept my eyes down, pulling a slip of paper from my pocket and handing it over. "This is your new address. Pack your things from the manor, then go straight there. It's safer. Better for the pregnancy."
Genevie took the paper, fingers trembling. "You're... you're kicking me out?"
"I'm protecting you," I corrected, still sounding like a complete asshole. "Julian's people might still be looking for you. The manor's too exposed. The new place is more secure."
It was true. But really, I didn't want her to stay in that house anymore. Didn't want her anywhere near Harper. If she still harbored those old feelings, it would only make Harper's misunderstanding about me worse.
Genevie bit down hard, staring at the paper. Her lips trembled like she wanted to say something.
But before she could, my phone rang.
I glanced at the caller ID—the guard from the basement. My heart seized for no damn reason.
"What?" I answered, voice three degrees colder than when I'd spoken to Genevie.
A nervous voice came through. "Boss, Mrs. Orlov left the manor."
My spine went rigid. "What?"
"Madam Olga brought her people, shot Victor in the leg, then forced Mrs. Orlov out. We couldn't stop her, boss. You know we couldn't shoot the Madam..."
Goddammit. I'd kept my end of the deal with Olga—sent Genevie away.
But Olga couldn't wait a single night. Harper had the balls to push Genevie down those stairs at the gala, probably because this stubborn old woman had her back.
"Kirill? What's wrong?" Genevie asked with concern.
I didn't answer. Rage tore through my nerves. Harper pulled that shit—nearly killed two people—and thought one night locked up squared it?
She thought Olga's little stunt would work? She had to pay for this. Had to face the consequences.
"Kirill..." Genevie's voice came again, tinged with hurt and anxiety. "Is it about Harper?"
I turned to look at her. She was biting her lip, watching me carefully.
"She's out," I said shortly.
Genevie's face went whiter. "She won't... she won't come after me again, will she? Kirill, I'm really scared. I don't want—"
"She won't." I cut her off, more impatient than I meant to be. "You're going to the new place. You'll be safe there."
Genevie fell silent for a few seconds, then suddenly stood and walked over to me. She reached out, gently tugging at my sleeve.
"Kirill, don't go after her anymore, okay?"
"What?"
Genevie lowered her head, voice barely above a whisper. "Don't pursue what she did. I know she just acted on impulse. She must love you so much that jealousy made her lose control."
She looked up, eyes full of understanding and kindness. So pure. So innocent. Like the Virgin Mary herself, forgiving and gracious.
"I get her," Genevie's voice suddenly caught. "She just loves you too much, like I do. If she did something wrong out of jealousy, I can understand that. I don't blame her, Kirill. Really."
Then she wrapped her arms around me.
This should have softened me. Should have moved me. Should have made me realize—this was the woman worth protecting. Kind, forgiving, understanding Genevie.
But I just mechanically raised my hand and patted her back. Like comforting a stranger.
Because my head was full of Harper again.
Harper's look when they dragged her away last night—the way she'd turned back to look at me.
Like I'd killed her.
"I'll get you justice," I heard myself say, voice flat and distant. "I'll find her. Make her answer for what she did."
"If you have to do this..." Genevie said softly. "Then I can't stop you. But Kirill, please remember—no matter what happens, I'll stand by you. I won't leave you. Won't betray you like Harper did."
I didn't answer. Because my phone rang again. Boris this time.
"Kirill, Harper left the manor." His voice was careful. "Madam Olga escorted her out. Our men tried to follow, but the Madam's people blocked them."
My chest suddenly tightened, like someone had punched me in the ribs.
"Where'd she go?"
"Don't know. But..." Boris paused. "According to the maids, Harper only took one small suitcase. Packed with her old clothes. She left all the bank cards, jewelry, and the necklace Madam Olga gave her in your study."
Fuck.
I hung up and headed for the door.
"Kirill?" Genevie looked startled.
"Rest up." I kept walking without looking back. "Boris will arrange transport to the new place."
"Wait, where are you going?"
"Home."
I practically fled that hospital room.
The car tore through New York streets. I floored it, mind racing.
What did this mean? She was cutting ties? She thought this marriage was over?
A nameless rage burned in my chest.
Who the hell did she think she was? What gave her the right to do what she did and then just walk away like it was nothing? She thought leaving a few cards and some jewelry erased her crime?
She was my wife. Whatever she'd done, whatever she wanted—she was my wife.
And she wasn't going anywhere until I said so.
The car screamed into the manor. I practically jumped out before it stopped.
"Kirill—" The butler tried to speak. I waved him off.
I charged upstairs and shoved open the bedroom door.
Empty.
The room still carried her scent, but she was gone.
Like she'd never lived here at all.
Like I'd never existed at all.
My chest started hurting. Sharp. Sudden. Made it hard to breathe.
I walked to the desk and saw the pile of bank cards and the necklace. Neatly stacked. Like some silent accusation.
Then I saw the pink envelope.
My hand shook as I picked it up.
This was the one she'd given me the day after our wedding. I remembered. I'd been dealing with the fallout from Genevie's divorce, and had no time for some card. I'd said "I'll look at it" and tossed it in a drawer.
Then forgot about it.
Now it sat under the cards and jewelry, like she'd left it there on purpose.
I slowly opened the envelope.
Inside was a handmade card. The handwriting was childish but careful—every stroke deliberate and cautious.
I started reading.
Every word was a knife, stabbing straight into my heart.
She said she liked me. Had liked me from the first time she saw me at the nursing home.
She said she knew she wasn't good enough for me, but she'd fallen for me anyway.
She said she'd do anything to make me happy—even if it was just standing beside me, watching me, she'd be content.
She said she hoped one day I might love her back. Even just a little.
The last paragraph was written in shaky letters.
"Kirill, I love you. This is probably the bravest thing I'll ever do. Whether you feel the same or not, I want you to know—there's a girl in this world named Harper Evans who loves you."
Then, at the bottom of the card, a new line had been added. The pen had pressed so hard it nearly tore through the paper.
"Kirill Orlov is a bastard."
I stood there, card in hand, suddenly not knowing what to do.
My throat felt blocked. Breathing became difficult.
She loved me.
She'd always loved me.
And I...
What the fuck had I done to her?
"You're back."
Olga's voice came from the doorway, cold and detached.
I turned to see her standing there, face expressionless.
"She's gone," Olga said calmly. "I let her go."
"What gives you the right?" My voice came out ragged. "What gives you the right to decide that?"
"Because I was wrong." Olga met my eyes without flinching. "I was the one who forced you to marry her. I was stubborn, thought I could control everything. Now I'm correcting my mistake."
"What gives you the right to decide?" I roared, voice so hoarse I didn't recognize it. "Did you ever think about what I feel!"
"You forced me to marry her! You held your own life over my head, made me marry a stranger! Now I'm in love with her! And you're taking her away from me?"
My voice broke. Words I'd never said to anyone came pouring out like a flood.
"Do you know how long it took me to admit I loved her? How much time I spent before I dared touch feelings I thought were dead? I finally... I finally—"
"It's too late, Kirill." Olga's voice finally trembled. "The moment you believed Genevie over Harper, you killed your wife with your own hands. Kirill, do you know Aiden's dead?"
My brain exploded. The card nearly slipped from my fingers.
"...What did you say?"
"That boy died on the operating table." Olga's eyes filled with sorrow. "And his sister—the one locked in your basement—Kirill, you won. You completely destroyed the only girl who ever loved you."
"She's not coming back, Kirill." Olga turned to leave. "I set her free. It's the one right thing I can do for her."
"No." I finally found my voice. "No, she's my wife. She can't just leave. I'll find her. I'll—"
"You'll what?" Olga stopped in the doorway without turning around. "Apologize? Explain? Tell her you didn't mean it?"
She turned her head, eyes full of grief.
"It's too late, Kirill."
Then she left, leaving me alone in that empty room.
I looked at the card in my hand, at that line—"Kirill Orlov is a bastard"—and suddenly felt something bitter rise in my throat.
Too late.
Those words echoed in my head like a curse.