“But this—my heart, my soul, whatever the fuck is left of me—it’s yours. I’ll do my best to love you right. I swear it.”
My breath hitched, stuck somewhere in my throat. Did he really just say that? A sharp ache spread through my chest at the sound of it.
He lifted his head, eyes burning into mine.
A rough breath.
“Please let me love you, Malaya,” he rasped, voice cracking at the edges. “Because I love you so fucking much it’s killing me.”
My throat tightened until breathing hurt, tears stinging hot behind my eyes. God, I despise this weakness—despise that he’d hurt me so deeply and still my body wanted to fold into his, to offer up every last scrap of love as if it could erase the damage.I shouldn’t feel this. I shouldn’t crave him. And yet...
Before I could stop myself, I reached up and cupped his face, his expression still fractured in a way I’d never seen before.
“I l—”
He pressed two fingers to my lips, silencing me gently.
“Don’t,” he said, voice thick. “I didn’t say it so you’d say it back. You can give me those words when I’ve earned them again.”
His throat bobbed. “Just… tell me you’ll stay. Tell me you’ll give this fucking bastard one more chance.”
The confession lodged in my throat. He wasn’t demanding. He was offering—raw and bleeding, without expecting anything in return.
“I’ll stay,” I whispered.
I reached for him, pulling him up from his knees and onto the bed beside me. He didn’t resist. He let me guide his heavy, powerful body down, still holding himself back like he was scared one wrong move would shatter everything.
I shifted closer and pressed myself against him, resting my head against his chest. His arms came around me slowly, almost cautiously at first, then tighter, like he finally let himself have me there.
His heartbeat was steady under my cheek. Grounding.
“I’m so tired,” I murmured.
“Understandable,” he said softly, his voice low against my hair. “You had a rough evening yesterday. Rest some more. I’ll be here when you wake up.”
I didn’t answer. I just stayed there, listening to his heart, letting it pull me under.
When I opened my eyes, the room was dim. For a second I didn’t move. I just stared at the ceiling, disoriented, like my body hadn’t caught up with the day yet. Then I turned my head and saw him.
Maksym was lying beside me, back against the headboard, a book in his hands. He looked up the second I stirred, the corners of his mouth twitching just slightly.
Outside, through the crack in the curtains, I could see it was already dark.
“Shit,” I muttered, sitting up too fast. A jolt of panic kicked through me. “I have to be home—my father’s probably looking for me. If he finds out—”
“Relax,” Maksym said calmly, lowering the book. “One of my guys covered for you. Told him he drove you to Valeria’s to study.”
I blinked at him. “One of your guys? They work for my father.”
He raised one brow. “Do they?”
I frowned at him, not following, a flicker of suspicion settling in the back of my mind.
He held my gaze for a beat, then looked away like it didn’t matter. “How are you feeling?”
I pressed my palm to my forehead. “I think I’m fine.”
“Any headache?”
