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23

Yelena

The first two days are the hardest. Pain pulses through every inch of my body, dragging me in and out of consciousness. My vision is a haze, a shifting blur of shapes and muted colors. Every time I try to focus, my head pounds as if a sledgehammer is slamming against my skull. The world feels distant, voices muffled, reality shifting like a mirage I can’t grasp.

The grogginess is relentless. Time slips away, moments blending together until I can’t tell if minutes or hours have passed. The beeping machines tether me to the waking world, but disorientation pulls me under again and again. I try to speak, but my tongue feels thick, my throat raw and tight. The doctor’s voice filters in and out, calm but clinical, assuring someone that I am stabilizing, that my vitals are improving.

Even when I’m awake, I feel untethered. A drifting sense of detachment clings to me. At times, I swear I see people who aren’t there. Shadows moving at the edge of my vision, ghosts of memory or hallucination—I don’t know. My mind fights to stay clear, to hold on to the present, but exhaustion is a current that pulls me under.

Then, slowly, the world starts returning to normal. On the third morning, I blink, and for the first time, the ceiling above me comes into focus. My body still aches, but the suffocating weight pressing against me has lessened. The doctor checks my eyes, his penlight not as blinding as before. The words he says finally make sense.

“She’s out of immediate danger. We’ll continue to monitor her. Once we are satisfied, we will discharge her. I think she’ll be more comfortable at home.”

Home. The thought both comforts and unsettles me. But I am too weak to argue. Right now, all I want is to leave this place, to be anywhere but under the hospital’s harsh fluorescent lights.

It has been a week since I was discharged from the hospital, but it still feels like I am trapped inside my own body. The doctor said the symptoms would gradually wear off, but at this point, I am beginning to think he lied.

Fatigue clings to me like a second skin. My limbs feel heavy, weighed down by an exhaustion I can’t shake. No matter how much I rest, the lethargy refuses to leave. Even sitting up for too long has my muscles aching, my breath coming short. It’s frustrating. I want to move, to shake off this weakness, but my body refuses to cooperate.

I'm currently trying to push myself, to force my way through it, but Aithan will have none of it.

"Don’t be stubborn, Yelena," he warns, catching me just as I try to swing my legs off the bed.

I huff, crossing my arms over my chest. "I’m not made of glass, Aithan."

"You’re acting like you are," he counters, standing at the foot of the bed, arms crossed, a mixture of concern and authority in his eyes. "You still get tired even from doing nothing. What do you think will happen if you start pushing yourself too soon?"

I hate that he’s right. I hate even more that he’s the one stopping me. But deep down, I know he’s only looking out for me.

Still, I refuse to admit it. Instead, I roll my eyes and sink back against the pillows, muttering under my breath. "You’re being overprotective."

"If keeping you from doing permanent damage to your body makes me overprotective, then so be it."

I don’t argue, not because I agree, but because I am too damn tired to keep my eyes open.

The evening is quiet, almost too peaceful. Aithan and I finish dinner in the privacy of our bedroom, the warm glow of the bedside lamp casting soft shadows along the walls. My body still feels sluggish from the poison, but for the first time in days, I don’t feel like a complete prisoner inside of it.

Aithan hasn’t said much tonight, his usual sharp and teasing remarks replaced by something quieter. He watches me too closely, his gaze carrying a weight I can’t quite decipher.

I set my empty glass on the nightstand and look at him. "You’re staring."

His fingers tighten around the edge of his own glass, knuckles briefly going white before he lets out a slow breath. "There’s something I need to tell you."

Something in his tone makes my stomach clench. "What is it?"

He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he reaches for my hand, threading his fingers through mine. His touch is warm, steady, but there’s something in his expression that has me stiffening.

"Yelena," he says carefully, his voice controlled but laced with something raw. "The night of the attack… you lost a baby."

The words hit like a gunshot to the chest. I flinch, my breath catching in my throat as if I’ve been physically struck.

I blink. Once. Twice. Trying to make sense of a world that is tilting on its axis.

"What?" The word is barely a whisper.

Aithan’s hold on my hand tightens, but I yank away as if burned. My pulse thunders in my ears.

"No," I shake my head, pushing away from him, from the bed, from the room, from this awful reality he’s just forced me into. "No, that’s not possible. I—I didn’t even know I was pregnant!"

"I know," Aithan says, his voice strained. "Neither of us did."

A sharp, cold breath rushes out of me. My hands shake violently, curling into fists as anger and grief slam into me all at once. "And when were you planning to tell me?" I spit, my voice cracking. "How long were you going to let me walk around in ignorance?"

His jaw clenches. "The doctor wanted to tell you, but I told him to wait. You were too weak, and I—" he swallows hard "—I didn’t want you to go through this on top of everything else while your body was still healing."

"You decided that for me?" My voice is high, disbelieving.

I push off the bed, needing space, needing air. The walls are closing in, suffocating me, crushing me under the weight of what I’ve just learned.

I lost a baby.

Our baby.

The sob escapes before I can stop it. A ragged, heart-wrenching sound that tears through me. I cover my mouth, but the grief is relentless. My knees buckle, and before I can collapse, Aithan is there, catching me, pulling me into his arms.

I don’t fight him this time. I don’t have the strength to.

My fingers clutch at his shirt, my body shaking violently against his as I break down completely. "I didn’t even know," I whisper through my sobs. "I didn’t get a chance to—" My voice cracks, unable to finish the sentence.

Aithan presses his lips to my temple, holding me close, his own breath unsteady. "I’m sorry, agápi mou. I’m so damn sorry."

The grief swallows me whole, and I let it. Because at this moment, there is nothing else.

The past one month has been a blur of silent grief and quiet strength. Aithan has barely left my side. He’s been my shadow, my anchor—never pushing, never demanding, just there. It’s the only reason I’ve managed to crawl out of the darkest pit of my sorrow. Every time I felt like I was slipping, drowning in the weight of my loss, he caught me. Held me. Grounded me.

Alina has been here too, never straying far, always watching me with those knowing blue eyes that mirror my own. My twin, whom I've shared almost everything in my life with, has left everything to be right here. And I can tell she feels my pain as if it’s her own. But today, she’s leaving. Viktor is coming to discuss some things with Aithan and will take the opportunity to escort her home.

I stand in the bedroom, watching Alina zip up her suitcase. The sight of her packing twists something deep in my chest. I should feel relief that she’s going back to New York, back to the familiarity of her life. But instead, I feel something else—something heavier.

Alina looks up, her expression unreadable at first, but then she softens. “Are you sure you don’t want to come with me?” she asks, her voice quiet but firm. "Even if it's for a few days?"

I know this question has been burning on her tongue for days. I knew it was coming.

I let out a breath, walking to the window and pulling the curtain back slightly. Outside, the Philadelphia skyline stretches before me—this is my city now. My home.

“There’s no need for that,” I say, turning back to her.

Alina tilts her head, her long black waves falling over her shoulder. “Why? Because Aithan says so?” There’s no malice in her voice, just genuine curiosity.

I shake my head. “Because I say so.”

She studies me for a moment before slowly walking over. Standing toe to toe, she looks into my eyes, searching for cracks, for doubt. “You don’t have to act tough with me, Yelena. I know you.”

I offer her a small, sad smile. “I’m not acting tough. I’m being realistic.”

She sighs, crossing her arms. “Tell me, then. Why are you staying?”

“Because danger in our world doesn’t care where we are, Alina,” I say softly. “Look at our father. Look at what happened to me, right under all that security. It doesn’t matter if I’m in New York or here. If someone wants me dead, they’ll come for me.”

Alina’s face tightens at the mention of our father. It’s still a fresh wound, even after all this time. We don’t talk about it often, but the loss still lingers in the air between us, shaping our choices, our fears.

“You’re not wrong,” she finally murmurs. “But it doesn’t make it easier to leave you behind.”

I reach out and squeeze her hand. “I’m not alone.”

She snorts, glancing toward the door as if expecting Aithan to storm in at any second. “No, you’re not. He hovers over you like a dragon guarding treasure.”

I laugh for the first time in days, the sound foreign even to my own ears. “He’s been… different.”

Alina arches an eyebrow. “Different how?”

I hesitate, thinking of the way Aithan has held me through my worst nights, how he’s sat beside me in silence while I cried, how he’s put aside everything else to make sure I wasn’t alone.

“Less of a ruthless mafia boss and more of a…” I struggle for the right word.

“A loving, devoted, and doting husband?” Alina supplies.

I give her a look. “Let’s not go that far.”

She smirks. “Yet, you’re still staying.”

I roll my eyes. “Yes, I’m staying. And you need to get ready before Viktor gets impatient.”

Alina groans. “I swear, that brother of yours finds joy in making people uncomfortable.”

I laugh again, this time with less effort, and pull her into a tight embrace. “Be safe, sister.”

“You too,” she whispers.

When we pull apart, I see it in her eyes—the same thing I’ve seen in Aithan’s. A promise. A silent vow that no matter what happens, she will always come for me.

And I know, deep down, I would do the same for her.

Alina studies me closely, her electric blue eyes scanning my face like she’s peeling back every layer I’ve carefully constructed. Then, with that uncanny twin intuition of hers, she tilts her head and asks the question I didn’t want to hear.

“Are you staying because you feel obligated to fulfill the reason for this arranged marriage, or…” she pauses for a beat, her gaze piercing. “Or is it because you’ve fallen in love with your husband?”

My stomach tightens. A sharp exhale slips past my lips as I avert my gaze, suddenly finding the pattern on the carpet far more interesting than my sister’s scrutinizing stare. The truth has been sitting heavily in my chest for days, pressing down on me like an unbearable weight. I know what I feel.

But saying it out loud? That’s an entirely different beast.

I don’t answer. I don’t deny it, but I don’t admit it either.

The silence stretches between us, speaking volumes. Alina’s eyes soften, the sharp edge of her teasing replaced by something more profound, more understanding. “It’s alright to admit it, you know,” she says gently, a knowing smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

I swallow hard, but still, I don’t respond. I’m not ready to say the words.

Not yet.

Alina sighs, but there’s no disappointment in it—only amusement. “I’m happy for you,” she finally says, her voice warm with sincerity. “It seems every one of our siblings has found love except for me.”

That gets my attention. I snap my gaze up to her, a flicker of surprise crossing my face. My twin—the soft, yet confident, and always composed Alina—feeling left out in the grand scheme of love?

Without thinking, I reach forward and wrap my arms around her, pulling her into a tight embrace. It catches her off guard, and for a moment, she stiffens in surprise before relaxing into it.

“You’ll find love, Alina,” I whisper against her shoulder. “I believe that.”

She chuckles as I pull away, shaking her head in amusement. “I must have sounded so pathetic if you’re actually hugging me.”

I arch a brow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” she smirks, “either I was actually sounding miserable, or love really does make people act out of character.”

I roll my eyes, but before I can swat her arm, she’s already grinning and darting out of reach. “Love definitely makes people act crazy,” I mutter, shaking my head.

But even as I say it, a part of me knows—it’s too late for me. I’m already falling.