26. Damien
26
DAMIEN
The hospital smells like bleach, blood, and artificial lemon.
I hate it.
Oleg’s in the bed, tubes in his arm, bruises up his side, a thick white bandage across his midsection. He’s pale, but alive.
Barely.
Roman stands at the foot of the bed, arms crossed, silent as I step in.
“You’re late,” Oleg rasps, barely able to turn his head.
I drag a chair beside him and sit. “You look like shit.”
“Good,” he grunts. “That means I’m still prettier than you.”
Roman huffs a breath through his nose. I crack half a smile.
But it doesn’t stay.
Because underneath the dry humor, there’s guilt curling like smoke in my chest. It sits there, low and heavy.
This happened because of me.
Lev was aiming for me. He always was. But Oleg took the hit.
And it could’ve been worse.
It could’ve been Sasha.
The thought lands like a punch.
I rub a hand over my face and lean back in the chair. “Security outside your room’s been doubled,” I say. “You’ll be fine here.”
Oleg shifts, groaning. “You didn’t have to send me here. I’ve had worse.”
“You bled through my car seats.”
“Only a little.”
I almost laugh. Almost.
He looks at me, then squints. “You look worse than I feel.”
I don’t answer.
Because while he’s been lying in this bed, I dropped Sasha off at her apartment like she was baggage I couldn’t carry anymore. Like she wasn’t the only bright thing in weeks of darkness.
She thinks I used her. I know she does.
That I pulled her in, ruined her life, and tossed her out when I got bored.
She has no idea I posted two men outside her building. That I’ve had her routes tracked. That I already switched out her lock and had a decoy ID created in case I need to relocate her again.
She doesn’t know because she’s not supposed to.
Because if she does—she’ll come back.
And I’ll break.
Roman clears his throat. “You’re sure about this? Pushing her away?”
I nod once. “She was almost taken. This war—Lev—it’s escalating. I won’t let her be a casualty just because I couldn’t keep my dick in my pants.”
Oleg snorts. “Romantic.”
I exhale and stand.
What must she be thinking right now?
Well, I know exactly what she’s thinking. “She thinks I sent her away because of Nina.”
Roman raises a brow. “Is she wrong?”
“You know better to ask me that question,” I say. “Sasha thinks Nina might be helping Lev.”
“They did know each other from before, right?” Oleg says. “Isn’t he her distant cousin or something?”
“Lev killed people close to her,” I say. “Nina would never help him.”
Besides, Nina isn’t important. All my thoughts are consumed by Sasha.
Does she hate me?
Is she hurt?
Is she still wearing that oversized hoodie she stole from my closet and pretended she didn’t like?
I push the thought down and adjust my coat.
“She’s safer away from me,” I say, more to myself than anyone else.
Even if every second without her feels like a mistake I can’t take back.
* * *
It’s days since I pushed her away, and I’m driving. No destination.
Just miles of road under my tires and silence pressing in from all sides.
My phone sits face down on the passenger seat, screen black.
But I feel it.
Like it’s vibrating under my skin instead.
Every red light tempts me. Every quiet moment.
I could text her.
One message.
Just to check on her.
Just to hear something. Anything.
Is she sleeping?
Did she eat?
Did she make it home okay from work?
Is she still mad?
Does she miss me— at all?
I don’t know what I’d even say.
Hey. You okay?
Sorry for pushing you away to protect you while also stalking you with private security.
Yeah. That’ll go over well.
I grip the steering wheel tighter.
I can still picture her standing outside her building, chin tilted high like she wasn’t seconds away from breaking.
And God, I wanted to reach out.
To pull her back in.
To say screw the risk, screw Lev, I want you anyway.
But Oleg was bleeding out in my arms.
And Sasha…Sasha was trembling in my bed after throwing up half the night and still trying to act like she was fine.
She deserves normal.
Safe.
Not this.
Not me.
I sigh and finally snatch the phone. The screen lights up. No messages. Not from her.
I open our last thread. Scroll past the messages—the teasing ones, the filthy ones, the ones where she told me things no one else knew. Her childhood. Her fears. The way she gets nervous on elevators but acts like it’s nothing.
My fingers hover over the keyboard.
Then I type.
Me: You okay?
Two words. Simple. Nothing dangerous.
Just me, checking in.
Just a man losing his mind in the absence of her voice.
I don’t hit send. I know she didn’t come in to work yesterday. Her supervisor says she’s taken the rest of the week off. It’s been four days since I last saw her, four days since I left her at her apartment.
I stare at the message until the screen goes dark again, swallowing the words whole.
Texting her means pulling her back into a world I promised I’d protect her from.
And even if it kills me?—
I won’t break that promise.
The moment I pull through the gates, I know something’s wrong.
The estate feels off—too quiet.
No usual nod from the guard at the post.
No movement at the front porch.
Just silence.
I park the car and step out slowly, scanning everything.
The main door is open. Slightly ajar.
No.
I break into a run.
“Roman!” I yell as I push into the house. “Status!”
He meets me halfway through the foyer, jacket off, face grim. “We just finished sweeping the perimeter.”
“What happened?” My voice is low, dangerous.
He doesn’t answer right away, just jerks his head toward the west wing. “You need to talk to your mother.”
My heart thunders. I move.
I find her in the drawing room, seated but stiff-backed, a blanket around her shoulders even though she’s never cold. One of our security men is checking her blood pressure.
She looks up when she sees me. “I’m fine,” she says, her voice clipped. “A little shaken, but fine.”
“What the hell happened?”
“We don’t know how he got in yet,” Roman says from behind me. “But it was him.”
Lev.
My mother nods once. “He was inside. Walked right into the garden like he belonged there. Looked straight at me and smiled before one of your men fired a warning shot and he disappeared again.”
My hands curl into fists.
He came here.
He came to my home.
“I want every camera checked. Every footprint traced. Every goddamn window and gate?—”
“We already pulled something,” Roman interrupts. He pulls a tablet from under his arm and shows me a paused frame of a surveillance video. A blurry outline of a man entering the back storage access—one only used by vetted personnel.
Roman’s voice is like ice. “The code used to unlock that door belongs to someone who’s been here before. It wasn’t forced. It wasn’t hacked.”
I stare at the footage. The timestamp. The familiar access point.
Roman meets my gaze. “Looks like an inside job.”
My stomach turns.
My eyes flick to the screen again, then to my mother. She’s watching me carefully, like she knows exactly what I’m thinking.
Someone let him in.
Someone who stood in these halls, ate at my table, looked me in the eye.
Later in my office, Roman and I review the footage.
Roman leans against the edge of the table, arms crossed, watching me with that unreadable look he wears when he’s winding up for something.
“Not going to like this,” he says finally.
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Let’s assume I’m already not liking any of this. What now?”
He gestures to the footage again—the timestamp, the access point, the familiarity of it all. “I’ve been going through the entry logs from the last three months.”
I raise a brow.
“And?”
He gives me a look. “It’s strange that Nina showed up just days before the breach happened.”
I don’t react. Not outwardly.
He waits a beat. “You still think she wouldn’t?”
I stare at the screen, jaw locked. “She’s known my family for two decades.”
Roman shrugs. “And Lev knew yours for longer.”
He crosses his arms, quiet for a beat. Then, in that too-casual tone I’ve known long enough to be suspicious of, he says, “You remember what Sasha said about Nina?”
I don’t look at him. “Yeah. I remember.”
“She said she didn’t trust her,” Roman continues, leaning against the doorframe.
“I thought she was jealous,” I say flatly. “Which I didn’t mind at the time.”
Roman chuckles. “Sure. But the thing is—jealous people notice things the rest of us don’t. Small things. Subtle shifts.”
I glance at him now, eyes narrowing. “Get to the point.”
He shrugs, all harmlessness. “Just saying…you trust Nina. Sasha didn’t. And now we’ve got someone using a code that only insiders know. Could be coincidence. Could be someone riding the line between both sides.”
“Don’t.”
Roman tilts his head. “Don’t what?”
“Don’t turn this into something it’s not. Nina wouldn’t betray me.”
He holds up a hand. “I’m not accusing. I’m just…laying out possibilities. You’re the one who always says trust needs proof. And Nina’s the only one around here who’s never had to prove it.”
I clench my jaw.
I hate that what he’s saying isn’t completely off base.
But if I believe it—if I let that crack in—I’ll have to admit I’ve left the door open for the devil.
And worse, I’ll have to admit that Sasha was right.
Again.
I say nothing.
And Roman doesn’t push.
But I feel the damage in the silence.