But I didn’t. Instead, I just followed her into the daylight, heart pounding like I’d just committed a crime. In a way, maybe I had.
She glanced sideways at me, voice flat. “Did my father really send you?”
“No.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Then what are you doing here?”
I looked at her, all that weight behind her question, and gave her the only answer I had. “I had to see you.”
We reached the car, and I opened the passenger door without a word. She slid in, silent. I walked around to the driver’s side and got in.
Before I could say a single thing, she moved—fast, desperate. Crawled over the console and straddled me in one fluid motion, her arms wrapping tight around my neck as she buried her face against the curve where my shoulder met my throat.
She broke.
I felt it the second her body sagged against mine, the sob breaking out of her like it had been trapped inside for too long. Her tears soaked into my skin, hot and desperate, and for a moment I just sat there, not knowing what the hell to do.
Then instinct kicked in. I wrapped my arms around her, holding her like I’d never let go, one hand cradling the back of her head, the other smoothing down her spine.
“Shhh,” I whispered, trying to calm her, trying to piece her back together even though I had no idea what had shattered.
“What happened?” I murmured into her hair. “Did I do something? Did I hurt you?”
She pulled back slowly, her hands still on my shoulders, her face a mess of tears and anguish. Her voice cracked as she said, “No. God, no. It’s... it’s my father. He sent my mom away. To an asylum. I’ll never see her again. I know he won’t let me.”
Her eyes searched mine, desperate. “I can’t believe he would do something like that.”
I just stared at her, stunned. I didn’t know what the fuck to say. There wasn’t a playbook for this.
She kept crying—shoulders shaking, hands clenched in my hoodie, her whole body trembling like she was about to fall apart and take me with her. Her grief wasn’t quiet. It was violent, primal, unrelenting. And all I could do was be the thing she clung to while it ripped her open.
My throat felt tight. My chest fucking ached.
“Hey. Look at me.” I said, brushing her hair back from her face. “We’ll figure this out, I swear. I’ll find out where she is and I’ll get you there.Just breathe, alright? Please.”
Her lower lip trembled. Then she looked up at me again, that raw hope flickering in her eyes. “Really? You’d do that for me?”
“Yeah,” I said without pause. “Anything for you.”
She kissed me—grateful, heartbroken, desperate. Her lips trembled against mine, and I tasted the salt of her tears. It was the only thing I could give her right now. And fuck, I wanted to give her everything.
She pulled back a little, her breath unsteady. “He sent her away this morning… and still made me go to university. Like everything was normal. He saw me falling apart and didn’t care. He’s such a fucking monster.”
I stared at her, holding the anger down where it belonged. “I’m sorry you had such a terrible morning.”
She brought her hands up to my face, fingers threading through my hair, brushing it back. Her eyes held mine. “I know what he’s done to me. But what about the others? Does he hurt people, Maksym? People who don’t deserve it?”
I didn’t flinch. “Your father’s a terrible man. But so is everyone who works for him. Including me.”
“You’re not terrible,” she whispered.
“Not to you,” I said. “And even that’s probably only because I want to fuck you again.”
I bent and kissed her neck, just beneath her jaw. She let out a shaky giggle.
The sound did something to me. I smiled. Just a little. Just for her.
God, I wanted to fuck her again—right here, right now. The way she was straddling me, the warmth of her body pressed to mine, I was already getting hard. But she was still crying. Still broken. And I… I was there to hold her. Comfort her. Not hurt her.
