This was the time.
She deserved this moment. This choice. If she wanted to be the one to end him—I’d let her. If she wanted to look him in the eye—well, whatever was left of them—and decide for herself, then that was hers to have. No more secrets. No more stolen moments of violence behind her back.
I looked down at Pakhan, his breath rattling, face ruined. “Don’t bleed out just yet.” I muttered, turning away. “We’ve got a guest joining the show.”
I left the study, walking the familiar halls of the estate. In Kira’s wing, everything was still and dim. I stepped into thebathroom first, scrubbing my hands clean, watching the blood swirl down the sink in crimson spirals.
Then I padded into her room and knelt beside the bed.
She was still asleep—tangled in the sheets, hair a soft halo around her face. My bloodstained shirt was too close to her skin. I reached out gently.
“Malaya,” I murmured, touching her shoulder.
She stirred, eyes fluttering open, disoriented. “Maksym?” she mumbled. “Why are you not in bed?” Then she blinked and saw the dried blood on my clothes. She sat up quickly, her body tensing.
“What happened? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I said softly. “It’s over. But I need you to come with me. Please. Just dress quickly.”
Her brows furrowed. “Why? What’s going on?”
I met her eyes, steady. “Do you trust me?”
She hesitated, then nodded. “Yes.”
“I’m not doing this without you. Not this time. You said you wanted in—now’s your moment.”
Still dazed, she pushed herself up from the bed, brows drawn in confusion. But she didn’t ask more. She moved fast—pulling on her clothes with stiff hands, tension thrumming beneath her skin.
We stepped into the hall, and her breath caught as we reached the stairs. Two of Pakhan’s men lay crumpled on the floor below—bodies still, blood seeping dark into the marble. She froze mid-step.
“Maksym,” she whispered, her voice tight. “What the fuck is going on?” Then she turned to look at me fully, her gaze scanning the smeared stains on my sleeves. “Tell me... whose blood is this?”
My jaw clenched. I didn’t explain. “Just… come with me. You have to see for yourself.”
We reached the door to the study. I stopped her with a hand to her arm, turning so we stood face to face. My eyes locked with hers.
“He’s not dead yet,” I said, eyes hard. “You wanted a say, Kira. You’ve got it.”
She stared at me, brow creased, lips parted in confusion.
Her eyes widened slightly. The silence between us cracked open.
“You’re talking about... my father.”
I gave a small nod.
She drew in a breath, unsteady. “Why?”
I didn’t answer.
“Are you ready to go in?” I asked instead, voice low.
She looked at me, heart in her throat, then gave a single nod.
—Kira—
The smell hit me the second the door opened. Rot. Sweat. Blood. It was thick in the air, sour and metallic, so dense I could almost feel it settling on my skin. I stumbled back a step, gagging, my hand flying to my mouth as I turned my head away.
