Page 51 of Beautifully Damned (Sinful Fates #2)

AYLA

A month. That’s how long it’s been since I left. Since Roman kissed me like it was the last breath he’d ever take, told me not to take off the ring, and promised he would always be watching.

A month, and I should feel free. Instead, I’m suffocating.

Classes are fine. Better than fine, actually. I’m catching up fast, and part of me is proud of how quickly I’m finding my footing. The old me would have been horrified at the strings Roman pulled to get me in so late, but I’m allowing myself to be selfish for once.

I should be happy here. I wanted this—dreamed of it—but the nights are longer without him.

My mind keeps circling back to the way he let me go with just a kiss that burned and a warning that clings to me even now.

Some selfish, ugly part of me wanted him to fight harder. To not give up on me so easily.

The phone has been ringing since the party Roman threw, my parents calling relentlessly.

The first time I picked up, my father didn’t even ask how I was—just told me to use Roman’s “weakness” for their advantage.

I hung up before he could finish. Since then, I’ve been rejecting every call.

Every time their number flashes, something in me twists.

I wanted to believe family mattered. That they loved me, in their own way.

But the minute I got married off, I became nothing but leverage.

With a sigh, I try to focus on my homework. My pen scratches across the page, but none of the words stick. Roman’s face presses in from the edges of my mind. Why hasn’t he called? Not once. Not a single word in a month.

My phone lights up again. My stomach knots—I’m ready to throw it at the wall if it’s them. But when I see the name, my heart jolts.

Elena.

I answer before the second ring. “Elena,” I breathe, and for the first time in weeks, I feel my face stretch into a real smile. “How are you?”

“Not good,” she spits.

I laugh softly. “Why not?”

“Home feel empty without you.” Her words are quick, her voice low, like she’s hiding in some corner of the house.

Warmth pushes through my chest so suddenly it aches. I press a hand against my sternum.

“Ayla…” she whispers. “I should not say, but I will. We are not only ones who miss you. Pakhan too.”

The relief slams into me, heavy enough I sink to the floor.

My back hits the wall, phone clutched to my ear with both hands.

I miss them all—the men, their terrible English when they first land in New York, Elena’s cooking, the guarded warmth of that house.

But I miss Roman the most. I miss waking up to wonder how he’d try to win me back, how he’d manage to crawl beneath my skin without asking permission.

“Roman misses me?” My voice is barely a whisper.

Elena’s breath hitches. “Ayla… Pakhan, he is not well.”

My pulse thunders in my ears. “What do you mean not well? What’s wrong with him?”

“He is not eating. He fades. Bratva hide it, pretend all fine. But Ayla… Bratva needs you. He needs you.”

My lungs seize. I can’t drag in enough air.

“Breathe, Ayla. Breathe,” Elena urges.

I gasp, forcing air into my chest. Roman, not eating. Roman, fading. The thought feels impossible, terrifying. He’s too strong, too proud, too relentless to show weakness. And yet—

“Elena, I have to come back. I’ll pack now—I’ll find a bus or something. Just don’t tell him I’m coming, but please, for the love of God, try to make him eat. Make him—”

Her voice cuts me off, sharp. “No need pack. You have clothes here. One of men already wait to bring you back.”

I freeze. Then whisper, “You planned this?”

A smile edges into her voice. “ Da . I know you say yes. And if no… Lev kidnap you.”

Tears streak down my face, but a laugh breaks through them. I shove myself up from the floor, tearing off my pajamas and tugging on the first clothes I find. The tears don’t stop, and I don’t wipe them away.

I’m coming back to the only home left for me.

And this time, God help me, I don’t know if I’ll ever leave again.