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NINE

MAXIM

T he joy I feel from Sophia actually eating, after all the obstacles we’ve faced, fills me with an almost absurd sense of elation. I never thought something so small would mean this much, but it does. Even if it meant going to her mother for soup, it was worth it. She’s savoring the last spoonful now, her eyes closed, as if the flavors are healing something inside her.

“You know, it’s a little creepy that you’re staring at me while I eat,” she says, a hint of amusement in her voice. The lightness in her tone is like a breath of fresh air, something I didn’t know I was missing. We’re far from being in a good place, but this small moment—this playful exchange—feels like a gift. I’ll take what I can get.

I tilt my head with a smirk, trying to ignore the weight in my chest. “How can you expect me not to stare at my reason for living?” A faint blush tints her cheeks, so subtle that anyone else might miss it, but I know Sophia too well to let it slip unnoticed.

“Since when are you the romantic type, Maxim?” Her eyes soften as she meets my gaze, a fleeting smile tugging at her lips.

“Since you barged into my life and turned it upside down.” Her gaze shifts from me to the wall, her expression drifting into something far more distant. I can feel the shift, the unease settling between us. I grip the edge of the table, my hands sweating. I’ve been walking on a razor’s edge with her, and now, I’ve said the wrong thing.

“Will you teach me how to defend myself?”

The question knocks the wind out of me. I blink, trying to process her request. Of all the things I expected her to say, this wasn’t even on the radar. My brow furrows. She’s asking me to help her protect herself.

“Yes,” I whisper, bracing myself for her to follow it up with a demand for space or time alone now that she has eaten. Instead, she thanks me and walks to her room. The bed creaks as she lies down, and I sit in stunned silence, trying to hold onto the hope her request represents.

But it’s hard to cling to hope when guilt claws at me, reminding me of all I’ve done—and failed to do. Her once vibrant face is now shadowed, her eyes dull, cheeks hollow from days of barely eating. I lean back, exhaling deeply, wishing I could do more.

“Maxim?”

I immediately get up and move to her room, not wanting to waste a second. She’s lying there, the comforter half-lifted, patting the bed for me to join her. Without hesitation, I remove my shoes and climb in beside her. She turns toward me, and I hold her close, inhaling her scent and feeling her warmth seep into me.

“This doesn’t change anything between us, Maxim,” she murmurs, already half-asleep. “We still have a lot of issues. I’m still angry at you. But maybe you can chase the nightmares away for me.”

I hold her tighter, brushing her hair away. “I love you,” I whisper into her hair, allowing myself to close my eyes and let the rhythm of her breathing lull me into a sense of peace. Maybe, just for tonight, we can help each other sleep.

But then, I jerk awake. My stomach twists in pain, a deep, sharp ache that has me gasping. A grunt escapes me, and I clutch my side. What the hell? I blink, disoriented, but no one’s there. Then, I hear it—Sophia thrashing beside me.

I watch in a daze as she flails, her arms and legs kicking in every direction. Her eyes are closed, her breath shallow, her body trembling. Is this a nightmare?

Her leg kicks out, barely missing my groin, and I quickly stand, unsure of how to help. She screams—loud and raw—and I rush back to her, lifting her into my arms and pulling her gently but firmly into my lap. I whisper words she can’t hear, my hand brushing through her tangled hair, trying to soothe her with my voice as much as my touch.

“You’re okay. You’re free. You’re safe.”

Slowly, her body relaxes. Her breathing slows, and her violent movements cease, leaving only the soft sound of her labored breathing. Tears slip from her closed eyes, and my heart aches for her—feeling a pain I can’t fix. This takes me back to when Andrei was just a kid, so scared of the world. I remember holding him, soothing him the same way, wishing I could take away his pain.

All I want to do is take her pain away and inflict it upon those that hurt her. We are no closer to finding the people who did this, but between my obsession and her anxiety, we will never heal. Right now, I need to focus on Sophia. We both need healing, and we're not going to get it alone.

Sophia tilts her head back and opens her eyes, and the sadness in her gaze punches the air from my lungs. It’s a weight I wasn’t prepared for. I gently caress her cheek, my thumb tracing the soft skin, and then lean in to kiss her forehead. But she turns away, just slightly, and my heart tightens.

Ignoring the ache in my chest, I grab a bottle of water from her nightstand and hand it to her. She takes it with trembling fingers, and I place a hand under her shoulder, gently helping her sit up so she can drink without spilling.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers after a few sips, handing the bottle back to me. I place it on the nightstand, my own breath shaky.

“What reason do you have to be sorry?” I snap, harsher than I mean. The words are out before I can stop them, and I feel them land like daggers between us, guilt cementing inside my heart. But I can’t take them back. She doesn’t need to apologize for this. I’m the one who failed her. My chest tightens as I wait for her to react, but she just shrugs, lifting her palms in surrender.

I don’t let her look away. I grab her face, holding her gently but firmly, forcing her to meet my gaze, to see the love I have for her—the admiration I want her to believe in, even when she’s at her lowest.

“You listen to me, Sophia,” I say, my voice rough but earnest. “You never need to apologize for your pain, for how you’re dealing with this… You’ve been through hell, and you don’t owe anyone an apology for it.” She tries to pull away, but I won’t let her. “No, don’t you dare look away from me. Please, don’t.”

Tears are welling in my eyes, and as if on cue, a single tear slips from hers. I rest my forehead against hers, my breath shaky.

“I know it feels like you’ll never escape the darkness, but you will. You are so goddamn strong, Sophia. You are,” I whisper, my voice breaking. “You’ll make it through this.”

She breaks in front of me, sobs wracking her body, and I hold her close, letting her cry as the tears burn my own cheeks. “You’ll get through this,” I repeat, letting the words fill the space between us. “I have faith in you.”

But then, the anger comes—loud, desperate, and so raw. She punches my chest with all her strength, her tiny fists pounding against me like they want to break me, and I let her. I take every hit, every sob, every question that shreds my heart.

“Why? Why did this happen to me?” she yells, and with each question, the walls I’ve built around my guilt crack, piece by piece. “Why didn’t you rescue me in time?” Her voice cracks, and my chest tightens. The pain in her words slices me open.

I hold her tighter, letting her anger wash over me. I can’t speak or explain the weight I carry in my heart. I just hold her, taking it all, wishing I could take her pain away.

She stops hitting me, her fists falling limp at her sides, and she buries her face in my shoulder. Her breathing is shallow and ragged, and I don’t move, letting her lean into me, knowing this moment—this release—is a step in the right direction. We stay like that for what feels like hours, and when she finally lifts her head to look at me, her eyes are filled with so much emotion, I can barely breathe.

“Will it get better?” she asks, her voice barely a whisper.

“Only you can decide that, my love,” I say, my throat tight. Her tear-streaked face breaks me all over again.

“I wake up sometimes,” she says quietly, her hands trembling in her lap, “and I just want it to end. To make it all stop.”

My heart stops, the words sinking into me like daggers. A world without Sophia? I can’t imagine it. I can’t bear it. She fidgets with her hands, avoiding my gaze, but I can see the torment in her eyes.

“I’ve thought about it,” she murmurs. “About grabbing the knife. About making it stop. I’m so tired of everything—the memories, the pain. It’s like a movie I can’t turn off.”

My chest tightens, and my body feels cold like gravity’s pulling me into a black hole. But she’s right in front of me, still here, still holding on.

“But I can’t do that,” she says, looking up at me with so much sorrow in her eyes. “I can’t hurt the people I love.”

And that…that is the only thing keeping her tethered. I release the breath I didn’t even realize I was holding, but the weight of her pain still hangs between us, heavy and real. And I know no matter what happens, I’ll never stop fighting for her.

I grab her face with both my hands, my heart hammering as I lean in, our foreheads touching. “The world would be a much darker place without you in it, Sophia,” I say, the words spilling out before I can stop them. I’m not sure if that’s the best thing to say. I probably should have stayed quiet, but something inside me—my heart, maybe—screams at me to remind her how precious she is so loudly, I can’t help myself.

My cruel mind conjures up a vision of Sophia’s lifeless body in a casket, and a surge of rage floods through me. My chest tightens, suffocating with the thought of losing her. The anger threatens to consume me, a powerful forcethat feels like it could destroy everything in its path.

I gently caress her cheek, my thumb tracing a soothing line, trying to remind myself that she’s here, she’s alive. I tell myself over and over: if she was to leave this world, I would follow right after. My life has no meaning without her.

She yawns, and I take it as my cue to leave. I rise from the bed, and she sits up, crossing her legs, her eyes soft with a hint of confusion. “You’re leaving?” she asks, a small frown on her face.

“Not if you don’t want me to,” I reply. She shakes her head, her frown fading, and she lays back down, scooting to the center of the bed to make room for me. I stand there for a few seconds, watching the rise and fall of her chest, the simple rhythm of her breathing soothing the storm inside me.

“Are you going to lay down anytime soon or stare at me until tomorrow?” she teases, amusement dancing in her beautiful eyes.

With a playful roll of my eyes, I slip off my shoes and shirt, then lie down next to her. When I settle into place, she scoots close to me, lifts her head, and rests it on my shoulder. Her eyes peek up at me through her lashes, and I kiss her forehead, lingering for a moment. There’s a small glint in her eyes as she looks at me. If my imagination isn’t getting the best of me, she looks…happy. At least, I hope that’s what I’m seeing.

She yawns again. “Go to sleep, moya koroleva. Tomorrow is another day.” She closes her eyes, and I just watch her for a while, my mind racing through the past few months, wondering what the future holds.

I don’t know how long I lie there before my phone vibrates. I debate looking at it, not wanting to disturb her sleep, but what if it’s important? I sigh and reach for it with my right hand, opening the message app. A text from Andrei.

How is she doing?

I think for a moment before responding. I don’t want to share too much. Sophia is a private person. She hasn’t told anyone about her pain, and it’s not my place to do so.

She’s breathing and alive.

It’s the best I can give him without crossing any boundaries. If Sophia ever decides to share more, that’s her choice.

After checking a few emails and messages, my eyelids grow heavy. I place the phone back on the nightstand, close my eyes, and try to relax, knowing she’s safe next to me. But then, the thought crosses my mind: she wants me to train her.

I grab my phone again and quickly text Andrei.

Tell Stephano to have the gym ready for me. And let the men know the gym is closed for the next few weeks, maybe months. No one is allowed inside until I say otherwise.

I don’t know how long she’ll need before she’s ready or when she’ll want to start, but I’m making sure nothing will rush her. No one will make her feel uncomfortable. Not my men, not anyone. The gym is closed, no exceptions. She needs to feel safe to heal in her own time, and if that means cutting off everything else, then that’s what I’ll do.

After a few minutes, Andrei replies with an, “okay,” and I finally set my phone down.

I pull her closer, feeling the warmth of her body pressed against mine, the steady rhythm of her breath soothing the chaos in my heart. My lips find the crown of her head, and I whisper softly, ‘Good night, moya lyubov.’ My heart swells with a love so fierce, I can barely contain it. She’s here. She’s safe. And I’ll protect her with everything I have.