“Viktor, please—wait—”
“Evelyn fell from the goddamn fifth floor because of you,” he snarled. “And you’re standing there crying over a little knock to your head? You’re going to the hospital. You’re going to say sorry. And you’re going to get on your knees if you have to and beg her to forgive you.”
My legs were barely holding me upright from the pain, but he didn’t even glance at them. He shoved me forward and slammed me into the passenger seat like I weighed nothing.
The entire drive, I pressed my forehead against the cold window, screaming silently as waves of pain tore through my body. Every bump felt like it was splitting me apart. It honestly felt as though I might fall to pieces before we even arrived.
When we reached the hospital, Viktor didn’t slow down for me. He strode ahead, bursting into the room like he owned the building.
Evelyn lay propped against crisp white pillows, skin pale, eyes glassy. Thick bandages wrapped around her wrists, displayed so deliberately they might as well have been decorations. The moment she noticed me, her eyes widened in perfectly timed fear.
Bitch.
“Benny…” she whispered weakly, her voice trembling. “I—I don’t want her near me. Please… I’m scared of her.”
Viktor crossed the room in three steps. He sat beside her, took her hand gently, like she was something precious and breakable. “Hey. It’s alright. I’m here. No one’s going to hurt you.”
Then he turned toward me.
His gaze froze solid.
“Well?” he demanded. “What are you standing there for? APOLOGIZE.”
I looked at Evelyn. At the frightened little act. At the white bandages. At Viktor holding her like a wounded angel.
Then I asked quietly, “Did I really push you?”
Evelyn’s lashes trembled. Tears spilled instantly. “Mrs. Thorn…” she sobbed softly. “If you don’t want to apologize, it’s fine. I never wanted to create trouble for you.” Her voice shook delicately as she wiped her eyes. “I know Viktor has been spending more time with me lately,” she continued gently. “Anyone would feel hurt. But you and him… your marriage is only business. There was never love. If my background hadn’t been what it was, he wouldn’t have needed to marry anyone else.”
The longer she spoke, the weaker she sounded. The more pitiful her tears became, the darker Viktor’s expression grew.
Then his voice cracked sharply through the room. “Isadora. I told you to apologize, not stir shit.” His stare cut straight through me. “Are you going to do it, or are you testing my patience?”
I stared at Evelyn—at her flawless performance, those wide eyes shining like cracked porcelain.
I knew she was lying.
I knew she hadn’t been pushed.
But I also knew this: if I didn’t cooperate, if I caused even the smallest problem between the Thorns and the Volkovs, my escape would vanish. The hundred million Mrs. Thorn promised would disappear. I would be trapped—this marriage, this cage—forever.
So I swallowed everything.
“I’m sorry,” I said calmly. “It was my fault.”
I turned to leave.
“Not so fast.” Viktor’s voice was colder than steel. “You pushed her. You owned it. So you’re staying.” His eyes were merciless. “You’ll take care of her until she’s discharged.”
I didn’t protest. My fingers curled slightly at my side—but I nodded.
“Alright.”
---
After that, I stayed in the hospital.
Every single day, I attended to Evelyn. I helped her change clothes, brought her meals, fluffed pillows, adjusted blankets—like some mindless service machine. I brushed her hair. Smoothed the sheets. Anticipated her needs before she even spoke.
And Viktor stayed too.
Of course he did.
He ignored cartel matters. Let calls from his men go unanswered. The entire Volkov operation could have collapsed overnight and he wouldn’t have noticed, because Evelyn had a bruised rib and a sprained wrist.
He fed her spoonfuls of porridge. Dabbed her lips with a napkin. Sat beside her bed until she drifted off to sleep.
He had never done any of that for me.
One morning, Viktor’s phone rang. I only caught fragments—“European investors… problem with Dubai… half an hour.” He kissed Evelyn’s forehead apologetically and stepped out.
The moment the door clicked shut, the atmosphere shifted.
Evelyn glanced at the clock, waited a full ten seconds, then slowly turned to me with a lazy, mocking smile.
“Peel the orange, slave,” she said lightly. “And don’t bruise it this time.”
I peeled the orange.
Then she lifted the glass of orange juice and threw it straight at my face.
It splashed loudly against me, soaking my shirt.
“Oh dear,” she said sweetly. “My hand slipped.”
I clenched my teeth.
“Clean it up, Cinderella,” she added casually. “Before Viktor comes back and sees what a disaster you look like.”
Right on cue, the door opened.
Viktor walked in, expression unreadable. His eyes moved from Evelyn… to me.
The spilled juice. My soaked clothes. The shattered glass.
“Evelyn?” he asked, frowning slightly. “What happened here?”
Her eyes filled instantly. “I’m sorry, Benny,” she said softly. “My hand slipped. I didn’t mean to—” Her voice broke.
Viktor sighed. “You don’t need to apologize for her, Evelyn.” He looked at me coldly. “She’s here to serve you. Cleaning up after you is her responsibility.”
The silence that followed was deafening.
My heart should have shattered then.
But it didn’t.
Because there was nothing left to break—it had already turned to ash.
