26. The Confrontation #2
The orchids are still blooming—Elena's orchids, still alive after all these years. They don't care about the violence that just occurred. They just keep growing, keep reaching toward the light, indifferent to the family falling apart around them.
I sink onto the bench. I put my head in my hands.
I don't cry. I'm past crying. I'm past feeling anything except the hollowness in my chest.
I think about Elena. About the way she looked at me when she was alive. About the way she said my name like it was something precious.
I think about Monika. About the way she looked at me when she told me what Nathan did. About the way she said "stop" like it was the only thing keeping her from falling apart.
I think about Nathan. About the monster I created. About the boy who used to sit on my knee and ask me to read him stories.
I think about everything I've done. Everything I've built. Everything I've destroyed.
And I realize, with a clarity that feels like a knife, that I've lost.
Not the empire. Not the power. Not the wealth.
But the people. The family. The only thing that ever mattered.
I hear footsteps.
I look up. Monika is standing in the doorway. She's still in her nightgown. She's still pale. But there's something different in her eyes now—something that looks almost like resolve.
"I need to talk to you," she says.
"I know."
She walks toward me. She sits beside me. She doesn't touch me. She doesn't reach for me. She just sits there, in the silence, and lets the weight of everything settle between us.
"I'm not going to let you kill him," she says.
"I know."
"I'm not going to let you destroy him either."
"I know."
"I'm going to save him." She looks at me. "I'm going to save all of you. Even if you fight me every step of the way."
I stare at her. The woman I love. The woman I've been trying to protect. The woman who's stronger than any of us ever realized.
"How?" I ask.
"I don't know yet." She reaches for my hand. Her fingers are warm against mine. "But I'm going to try. I'm going to try until there's nothing left of me."
"You'll destroy yourself."
"Maybe." She squeezes my hand. "But maybe that's what it takes."
I don't answer. I don't have words.
She's right. She's always been right.
I lean toward her. I press my forehead to hers. I breathe her in—the smell of soap and sleep and something that might be hope.
"I love you," I whisper.
"I know."
"I'm sorry."
"I know."
I kiss her.
It's not a gentle kiss. It's not a tender kiss. It's the kiss of a man who has lost everything, who is about to lose everything, who has finally found the one thing worth holding onto.
She kisses me back.
Nathan finds us.
He's standing in the doorway of the greenhouse, his face bruised, his lip split, his eyes dark and wild. He's been looking for us—I can tell from the way he's breathing, from the way his hands are clenched at his sides.
"Of course," he says. "Of course you're here. Together."
"Nathan." Monika's voice is steady. "Go back to your room."
"No." He steps into the greenhouse. "I'm not going anywhere. Not until I know what you're planning."
"We're not planning anything."
"You're lying." He looks at me. "You're both lying. You're going to try to destroy me. You're going to try to take everything I've built."
"There's nothing to take," I say. "You've already destroyed it."
"I've built something better." He walks toward us. "I've built something stronger. And I'm not going to let you tear it down."
"You don't have a choice."
"I always have a choice." He stops in front of us. He looks at Monika. "You're with him. You're choosing him. After everything I've done for you. After everything I've given you."
"You gave me pain," she says. "You gave me fear. You gave me a child's broken arm and a woman's dead body. You didn't give me love."
"I gave you everything!"
"You gave me nothing." She yells while she stands and faces him. "You gave me nothing but a cage. A golden cage, Nathan. A beautiful, suffocating cage."
"Then why did you stay?"
"Because I had nowhere else to go."
"You could have left."
"I couldn't." She steps toward him. "I couldn't leave because you would have found me. You would have hunted me down and dragged me back and punished everyone I loved until I returned. I stayed because I was afraid."
"You're not afraid now."
"No." She shakes her head. "I'm not afraid of you anymore, Nathan. I'm not afraid of anything. You took the last thing that I had to my name, my dignity. My choice. My agency."
He stares at her. His chest is heaving. His hands are shaking.
"I'll kill him," he says. He looks at me. "I'll kill him, and then you'll have no one else to choose."
"You won't."
"I will."
"No." Monika's voice is sharp. "You won't. Because if you do, I will never forgive you. I will hate you for the rest of my life."
"You already hate me."
"No." She reaches for him. She touches his face—the bruised, bloody face of the monster who hurt her. "I don't hate you. I should. I want to. But I don't."
"Then what do you feel?"
"Pity." She touches his cheek. "You're a monster, Nathan. But you're also a boy who was never loved. A boy who never learned how to love. A boy who's been trying to fill a void that can't be filled."
He stares at her. His eyes are wet. He's crying—I realize—silent tears sliding down his cheeks.
"I don't want to be saved," he whispers.
"I know." She pulls her hand back. "But you need to be."
She leaves us.
She walks out of the greenhouse, and neither of us moves to stop her. We just stand there—father and son, predator and heir, two men who have destroyed everything they ever loved.
"She's wrong," Nathan says. "I don't need to be saved."
"You do."
"I don't."
"You do." I look at him. "You need to be saved from yourself."
"I don't need anything."
"You need her." I step toward him. "You've always needed her. From the moment you saw her, you've been obsessed with her. You've been trying to own her, to control her, to make her yours. But you can't."
"I can."
"You can't." I stop in front of him. "She's not a possession. She's not a prize. She's a person. And she's going to save you whether you like it or not."
"I don't want to be saved."
"Too late." I touch his face—the way Monika touched him, the way a father touches a son. "You're going to be saved, Nathan. Whether you like it or not."
He doesn't respond. He just stares at me, his eyes dark and wild and full of something that might be fear.
I find Monika in her room.
She's sitting on the bed, her knees drawn up to her chest, her hair falling over her face. She doesn't look up when I enter. She doesn't need to.
"Aleksander," she says.
"Monika."
I walk toward her. I sit on the edge of the bed. I reach for her hand.
"You meant what you said," I say. "About saving him."
"I meant every word."
"How?"
"I don't know yet." She looks at me. Her eyes are red-rimmed, her face pale. "But I'm going to figure it out."
"Why?" I ask. "Why do you care about him? After everything he's done to you."
"Because someone has to." She squeezes my hand.
"Because no one ever cared about him. No one ever taught him how to love.
He's a monster because you made him one.
Because you were too busy with the empire, too busy with your grief, too busy with Elena's ghost to notice that your sons were growing up without a father. "
I feel something crack inside me.
"You're right," I say. "I failed him. I failed both of them."
"Then help me fix it." She holds my gaze. "Help me save him. Help me save the children. Help me destroy the empire."
"You want me to destroy my own empire?"
"I want you to build something better." She touches my face. "I want you to be the man I know you can be."
I stare at her. The woman I love. The woman who's stronger than any of us ever realized.
"I don't know if I can," I say.
"Then let me help you."
She leans in. She kisses me—soft, tender, the kiss of a woman who has made peace with her fate.
I kiss her back.
We make love.
It's not like the other times—not the desperate, angry coupling of two people trying to destroy each other. It's slower. Softer. The kind of lovemaking that comes from two people who have been through hell and come out the other side.
She undresses me. She touches every scar, every wound, every mark on my body. She kisses my chest, my throat, my lips. She tells me she loves me.
I don't believe her. But I want to.
I lay her down on the bed. I undress her slowly—the way I did the first time, the night I made her mine. I touch every inch of her skin. I kiss every bruise, every mark, every place where Nathan hurt her.
"You're beautiful," I say. "You're so beautiful."
"Show me," she whispers. "Show me how much you love me."
I do.
I make love to her—slowly, gently, the way I wish I had from the beginning. I hold her close. I whisper her name. I tell her I love her, over and over, until the words lose all meaning.
And when I come, I come inside her. I fill her. I claim her.
Not because I own her. But because I want to be part of her.
She comes too. She cries out my name and I feel it everywhere. In my chest. In my gut. In the broken, shattered place where my heart used to be.
When it's over, we lie together. Her head on my chest. My arms around her. The fire crackling in the hearth.
"I love you," I say.
"I know."
"We're going to get through this."
"I know."
"We're going to save him."
"I know."
I close my eyes. I breathe her in.