42. Chapter 33 #2
I shake my head—not to deny it, but because I don’t know what else to do. I can't breathe. My body is throbbing from pain. But it’s not the physical pain that unravels me—it’s the ice that slides through my veins when I realize what he’s furious about.
“You know I was going to let the sickness take him,” he says, voice calm now—too calm. “Nice and clean. A quiet natural death for an old king.”
I lift my gaze slowly, bile rising in my throat.
“But now?” He leans in, his voice a whisper made of knives. “Now I may have to kill him myself before you start getting ideas in your head.”
My lips part, but I swallow back the nausea and say nothing.
He smiles, looking satisfied with my silence and horror, and continues talking. “There will be no matches for your father’s because he is on a ticking clock, and I’m winding down the last minutes.”
The back of my head presses into the leather seat, my fingers digging into my sides where the pain flares hot, and my pulse stutters at his words.
So Cristóbal is planning on executing my father by delay.
I stare out the window with blurry vision.
My home, my family, my father—they're all being dismantled piece by piece.
And I handed Cristóbal the blade. While it is true he already had his plans in place, my taking Maksim and walking into his den handed him the last piece to topple my father completely.
I don’t say a word for the rest of the ride. But inside me, something old and sacred snaps loose. Something that will never heal until Cristóbal ’s gone.
But how do I make him disappear?
The pain hasn’t settled—it throbs in waves, dull and sharp, like aftershocks. My arms remain tightly wrapped around my torso, but I force myself to breathe evenly. To think.
We’re halfway home. The silence in the car is thick. Cristóbal taps his thumb rhythmically on the armrest like he didn’t just crush the air from my lungs minutes ago.
I shift in my seat, slow and careful. The seatbelt bites into my side, and I flinch. But I speak anyway.
“What if…” My voice wavers. I clear my throat and try again. “What if my mother is a match for him?”
His laughter erupts so suddenly that I jolt.
“You really are cute sometimes,” he says, shaking his head like I’m a child who just asked why the sky is blue.
I don’t speak. I don’t move. I just watch him, trying to understand how my family ever thought this monster was a friend.
“The doctor’s been told what to say,” he continues, still smirking. “Your father’s not getting a match. Even if one turns up.”
My mouth goes dry. “You’re controlling the doctor?”
He turns toward me, eyes gleaming like a predator who enjoys the moment his prey realizes it’s already too late.
“I control everyone and everything, mi esposa. Everything that matters.”
I swallow hard and gaze out the window. The city rushes by—gray buildings, blurred trees, intersections I once knew. Yet everything feels foreign and cold. As if the world is slipping away from me, and I’m sinking into something I can’t name.
Something I may never escape.
I swallow hard and fix my gaze on the skyline.
The temperature in the car feels subzero. My skin is clammy. My hands tremble, hidden in my lap.
He’s not just a brute. He’s meticulous. Strategic. I thought I could play along, keep Maksim safe while I worked out a plan. But I didn’t account for this level of control.
For this level of evil.
He looks out his own window, like he’s bored now that he’s delivered his monologue.
“I’ll make it quick for him,” he says softly. “For your sake.”
I want to scream. I want to reach across the seat and claw the smug off his face. But I don’t. I can’t. Not when my child is still in his house. In his grasp.
I bite down hard on the inside of my cheek until I taste blood.
Outside, the gates of his estate come into view, crawling open like the jaws of a beast waiting to devour.
And I know—truly know—that I am not married to a man. I am chained to a monster. A monster who’s sealing my father’s death with a smile.
The gates creak open slowly—too slowly, like they resent the idea of letting us back in. The black SUV glides forward, its tires crunching the gravel with the low, steady growl of something returning home to a den of predators.
I sit frozen in the passenger seat, my hands folded neatly on my lap, though every muscle in my body wants to break formation. I want to run. I want to scream. But I do neither.
The house appears, looming at the top of the circular driveway, as grand and imposing as ever. But today it feels bigger. Hungrier. The shadows stretching along the walls seem to reach for me.
The car rolls to a stop.
A guard approaches, nods sharply at Cristóbal through the window, then backs away like a well-trained dog. Another takes position by the front door, already opening it before we’re even out of the vehicle.
I don’t move.
Cristóbal steps out first, all polished menace and calm arrogance. He doesn't glance at me. Doesn’t offer a hand. Why would he? The performance ended the moment the front door of my parents' estate closed behind us.
I force my legs to work and step out. My heels hit the stone path, and I wobble slightly from the pain in my ribs. I steady myself before anyone notices.
The door swings open, and my stomach tightens. Each step toward the threshold feels like walking deeper into quicksand. The kind that’s disguised as marble floors and chandeliers, and engulfs you with a smile.
I think about Maksim. I imagine him bouncing on the bed, or quietly drawing dinosaurs the way he does with a concentration too intense for a boy his age. My heart twists so sharply I nearly stagger. But I have to keep it together for him.
As we step inside, Cristóbal hands me off to one of his men and disappears down a corridor without a word. His staff members glide by like ghosts, avoiding eye contact. The air is cold and still. Every inch of this house is polished and gilded, yet all I feel is suffocation.
I walk slowly to the stairs and stop halfway up, placing a hand on the banister just to feel something solid.
Pain sears through my lungs with every breath I take.
Panic sits on my chest like a boulder, and I want to cry, but there are no tears left.
Only the dull ache of exhaustion and regret hangs in the air.
If only Zasha had wanted me, then Maksim and I would have been safe. I press my fingers harder into the banister and stare at the hallway that leads to my son’s room.
Would Zasha even care now? Would he come if he knew? My throat tightens as I realize he’d despise me for hiding Maksim and for walking with him into this prison.
But if his hatred is the price to save my son—
Then I’ll pay it.
Over and over again.