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He turns to look at me. His eyes go impossibly wide.

“D…did you just call me your boyfriend?” The disbelief in his voice would almost be funny if it weren’t so painfully genuine.

Is he…not my boyfriend?

I nod. Instead of retreating behind him again, I step up beside him and his fingers immediately lace through mine.

“You’re not taking her away from me—” he cuts himself off mid-sentence, and my sister’s eyes sharpen, suspicion flickering across her face.

“Watch me.” She says, her voice clipped. “She is my sister. She’ll do whatever I say.” Her glare pins me in place, and I drop my gaze, unable to meet it.

I thought—stupidly—that after months apart, she might at least hug me. Instead, she looks at me like I’ve done something unforgivable.

“Sergei—”

“No, Elara.” He argues, his grip tightening around my wrist, I feel his chest rise and fall again. “You are not leaving me.” He orders.

His eyes darken again, the light inside them dimming until it sniffs out entirely. For a fleeting second I can almost see the panic fighting its way to the surface.

In the span of a heartbeat, his gaze shifts from furious to something dangerously close to pleading, and I swallow hard.

It feels like fighting a losing battle, so I curl my fingers around his hand and tug him toward the stairs.

“Come here.” I murmur.

He’s already breathing too fast, his gaze locked on my sister with an intensity that sends a chill racing down my spine. Every muscle in his body is taut, like he’s one word away from snapping.

Still, he follows me without a single protest. I nod toward the bed as we step into his bedroom.

He sits on the edge without taking his eyes off me, and I move to stand between his knees.

The way Amara was staring at him was making a whirlwind of emotions swirl within my chest—all bad ones.

Rage. Jealousy. Fear.

“I’ll be back in the morning.” I cup his cheek, my thumb brushing slowly over his skin.

He leans into my touch for the briefest second before catching himself, turning his face away as if it physically hurts to look at me. His eyes drift toward the window instead.

“You’re not going anywhere.” He growls.

“She’s my sister, Sergei, I haven’t seen her in months.” I argue.

Except the truth settles more complicatedly in my chest, because I’m not even sure I missed her the way I was supposed to.

And that thought alone makes guilt churn within my stomach, like I’ve failed not only as a daughter but as a sister too.

The guilt overrides logic and the need to compensate is alarmingly loud, forcing me to listen to her.

Be better. Be grateful she came at all.

Because she did come.

And she’s here. For me.

“I said you’re not leaving.” He grumbles, his fingers clutching firmly on the hem of my tube-top.

“I haven’t seen my sister in—”