Chapter 25
Chapter Twenty-Five
Varlam
"You're not going anywhere."
I closed Brinny's medical report and set it back on the nightstand. She'd already changed out of the hospital gown, standing in front of the mirror in a pale sundress, adjusting her earrings. Her hair was braided loose.
"I'm fine now." Her voice was light.
"The doctor doesn't think so."
"The doctor would keep me in bed for the rest of my life if he could." She turned around, the dress swaying against her slender calves.
"My friends have been asking me out for weeks," she said. "If I keep refusing, they'll think I'm dying."
My mouth tightened.
"Don't joke about that."
"Okay, no jokes. Just a little while at the beach. I won't swim. Won't drink. You can have the driver take me. Hell, send your bodyguards too." Brinny paused, then smiled at me.
She made it sound easy, like the accident a few days ago was already ancient history. I could still see her thrashing in the water. Still see her limp in my arms. Still see that bloodless face when I pulled her onto the platform.
Twenty-some years ago, I'd watched her first heart attack at a party. She'd collapsed by the table, glass shattering everywhere. I'd picked her up, discovered for the first time how a person could weigh almost nothing. Since then, protecting her had become reflex.
"Fine," I said.
Brinny's smile deepened.
"You're coming with me."
"I have work."
"Right. You always do." She studied me, searching for something in my face. Finally looked away.
She grabbed her purse, walked to the door, then turned back.
"See you later, Varlam."
I nodded once. The door closed behind her.
The room went silent. No trace of her perfume. No laughter from her friends on the phone. Just the slow tick of the wall clock. I should leave. Gleb had already sent the day's documents to my inbox. Two meetings waiting at the office.
But I didn't move. Another face filled my mind. Wet blonde hair. Brown eyes. Briony.
I'd seen her in the ambulance, lying on another stretcher under a thermal blanket. I'd glanced at her once, confirmed she was alive, then returned my attention to Brinny.
Briony was strong. At least in my memory, she'd always been full of fight. A woman like that shouldn't be taken down by falling in the water.
That conclusion had seemed reasonable then. Now it sounded like a cheap excuse.
I grabbed my coat and left the room. I remembered Briony's room number—hadn't realized it was directly across from Brinny's.
I pushed the door open. Empty bed. Sheets folded neatly. Nothing on the nightstand. My chest constricted.
"Where's the patient from this room?" A nurse passed in the hallway. I stopped her.
She glanced at the door.
"You mean Miss Cox? She's been discharged."
"When?" I stared at her.
The nurse flinched at my tone.
"I'm her employer. She got hurt at a company event. I need to know she's safe." I softened my voice.
It was true. Just missing some parts.
"Couple days ago. She recovered well enough, insisted on leaving early." The nurse relaxed slightly.
Couple days ago.
I'd been just down the hall. She'd left, and I never saw her.
"Did she leave alone?"
"No, a young man picked her up. Even opened the car door for her. Looked like Miss Cox's boyfriend, I'd say."
My stomach twisted into a fist.
"What did he look like?"
The nurse looked confused, clearly didn't understand why I was asking.
"Tall, dark hair, well dressed. Drove a black sports car."
Makar. Of everyone Briony knew, only he fit that description. The name burned straight from my chest to my throat.
Why the hell was he back in Briony's life? His marriage to Chloe was over, I knew that. But ending a shitty marriage didn't mean he could circle back to Briony.
"How was she when she left?"
"If the doctor cleared her, there was no immediate danger." The nurse answered carefully. "But she needs rest."
"Anything else?"
"Sorry, I can't disclose patient test results."
I didn't stop the nurse again.
I stood in the empty room, staring at the bed. Why the hell had I left Briony alone here? She'd been one hallway away, and I hadn't knocked on this door for two whole days. The tightness in my chest grew heavier. I loosened my tie and walked out.
My phone buzzed in my pocket. I thought it was Brinny. The screen showed a company email instead.
Subject line: Resignation.
Sender: Briony Cox.
My feet stopped. People moved around me—doctors, nurses, orderlies pushing wheelchairs. Sounds washed over me, then seemed to cut off. I could only see the name on the screen. I opened the email. Short. Formal. Professional. Like every moment between us had vanished into nothing.
I called her directly. Two rings, then she hung up. Called again—already off.
My lungs felt blocked. Air went in but didn't reach the bottom, just scraped around in my chest.
"Pick up." I texted her.
Message failed. I stared at those words, temple throbbing.
She hadn't confronted me, hadn't argued. She'd just left. Didn't give me a chance to stop her.
I hated losing control. Hated even more when someone disappeared from my life. Brinny had left once. Now Briony was doing the same thing?
No. They weren't the same.
The thought came too fast, too certain. Brinny's departure had made me angry, hollow. Briony's departure made my chest feel empty, like someone had suddenly removed an organ that had always been there. Something I didn't want to name was slowly chewing through my control.
I started the car and pulled away from the hospital. Afternoon traffic clogged the streets. Every red light tested my patience. I gripped the steering wheel, right pinky aching from the pressure.
Makar. I didn't want to admit that name bothered me more than the resignation. Briony had loved him once. They were close in age, shared a chunk of life I'd never been part of. He knew what she liked, what she'd fight about, how to use some old memory to make her soften.
The scene at sea flashed back without warning. When I jumped in, all sound got swallowed by waves. I saw Brinny in the distance, saw her arms slapping wildly at the water. There'd been another figure somewhere.
I'd swum past that person. Briony.
I'd assumed the crew would get her. Assumed she was strong. Assumed she'd hold on. Every assumption made me sound like a goddamn idiot.
Red light. A notification chimed in the car. My phone screen lit up, showing a photo update from social media. Brinny had posted new pictures.
She'd grabbed my phone once, followed her own account. Said if I wouldn't come see the world with her, I should at least know where she went.
Over the years, I'd click through sometimes. See her on snowy mountains, in foreign cafés, dressed in expensive gowns at galas. She was beautiful, living the life the Vasiliev family had laid out for her. Plenty of people followed her feed—what she ate, what she wore, who she traveled with.
Today, that notification blocked the GPS.
I should've swiped it away. But thinking about her condition, my finger paused. I opened it.
The photo loaded. Background—clear blue sea. Brinny was completely submerged, long hair floating behind her, slender body stretched out like a fish.
No struggle on her face. No fear. Her arms moved through the water with practiced ease. Next photo, she'd gone deeper, reaching down to pick up a shell from the seabed. Next one, she was turning underwater, smiling at the camera.
A chill spread through my stomach. The post was dated today. Caption said she was finally free from the hospital, best way to recover was getting back to the ocean.
I zoomed in on the photo again. Eyes open underwater. Expression relaxed. No trace of fear. Someone who couldn't swim couldn't do this. Even with help off-camera, you couldn't instantly learn breath control, diving, turning.
Brinny could swim. And she was good at it.
The scene at sea replayed in my head. Her slapping the water, screaming, body sinking.
When I'd reached her, eyes closed, seemingly unconscious.
Everything had made sense then. She had a congenital heart condition, weak body, had told me she wasn't good with water activities. I hadn't questioned it.
Now these photos cut those images wide open. Her movements in the water had been too big, but she'd never actually gone under.
More importantly—
Why had she fallen in at all?
I stared at the photos, back slowly tensing. I'd been betrayed before. Thought I could spot lies. Rehearsed answers and genuine reactions were never the same.
But I'd never looked at Brinny with that kind of scrutiny. Because she was Brinny. Because I'd placed her beyond all judgment.
That realization pissed me off more than the deception itself. Light turned green. I pulled over.
Fingers in the comment box. One sentence.
"You can swim."
Less than ten seconds later, my phone rang. Brinny. I answered. Didn't speak first.
Background noise—music, waves, young people laughing. Someone called her name in the distance. She walked a few steps away before her voice cleared.
"Varlam, are you mad at me?"
She sounded amused. Light. My blood went cold.
I didn't confront her.
"What makes you think I'm mad?"
Silence on her end.
"Because your comment was so serious." She hesitated. "I can swim, but just a little."
"A little?"
I looked at the photo of the woman diving down to collect shells.
Brinny didn't answer. The few seconds of silence were enough. She knew what I was asking. Knew what I suspected.
"Varlam, I really was scared that day." Her voice changed.
"I'm not healthy, you know that. The water was cold, it was getting dark, and once I panicked, I couldn't do anything.
Briony and I were both in the water. She's so much stronger than me, so much younger.
Everyone would save her first. I have a heart condition—if you hadn't come, I might really have died. "
I stared at the traffic outside. The answer came through the phone—pale, thin, weightless.
When she mentioned Briony, something sharp edged her tone.
"So you lied."
"Being able to swim doesn't mean I could swim then. I'd just left the hospital. Why are you interrogating me like this?"
Her voice started shaking. In the past, that tremor would've made me stop. I'd remember her pale face, the doctor saying she couldn't handle stress. I'd take back the question, tell myself she was just being difficult. This time, I only heard the holes.
"I'm not interrogating," I said. "You're the one volunteering explanations."
Brinny's breath caught. Then more words poured out. The waves were huge. Her leg cramped. In that moment she couldn't control her body. Those photos were just good angles, friends watching her the whole time.
Each sentence patched up the last. Each one made the cracks wider.
I didn't interrupt. The more she talked, the more she felt like a stranger.
The woman on the phone had the same voice as the Brinny in my memory.
They both had that slight lilt at the end of sentences.
But the girl in my memory used to hide injured birds in her coat.
Used to sneak me medicine after my father punished me.
She was willful, but not cruel. Never treated life like a game.
Had that girl ever existed? Or had I stitched together a few childhood memories into someone who wasn't real? For the first time, I couldn't be sure.
"Varlam, believe me."
"I only believe facts."
She went quiet. I remembered how she'd cried, said Briony splashed water on her, looked fragile and innocent. While Briony had bristled like she'd tear into someone. I hadn't even asked what happened.
And this yacht trip—Brinny had insisted I bring Briony along. Then they'd both ended up in the water. Hard to keep calling that coincidence.
Briony's resignation letter floated back into my mind. She usually had a temper, fought for every inch. But this time, she didn't even waste energy cursing me out. What the hell had happened to her?
Done listening to Brinny's repetitive, hole-filled explanations, I hung up. Silence filled the car again.
I opened my messages with Gleb.
"Investigate every contact between Brinny and Briony since Brinny came back. I need to know what happened between them."
"Understood, Pakhan." Gleb's message popped up.
I'd made the stupidest mistake in the world. I'd known they were completely different, but still judged the present with old habits.
I'd abandoned Briony when she actually needed me, for reasons that sounded pathetic now.
This was on me.
Right now I just wanted to see her. Hear her curse me out. Let her throw every word she didn't put in that resignation letter straight at my face.
Then I'd ask her exactly what the hell happened on that yacht.