On the third day after the surgery, a faint scent of medicine still lingered in Nikolai’s apartment.
“How are you feeling today?” Nikolai came over with freshly cooked vegetable soup, his hand gently brushing the top of my head, his face filled with tender concern.
“Much better.” I took the bowl, my fingertips accidentally brushing against the back of his hand. The warmth of that touch slipped away too quickly.
Nikolai paused, his gaze fixed on me. For a moment, it seemed he wanted to say something soothing, yet he only let out a soft sigh.
“Tonight is my father’s sixtieth birthday banquet. He really wants to see you. Will you come with me?”
“Alright.” I met his hopeful eyes glowing beneath the sunlight and smiled as I gave my answer.
I really couldn’t bring myself to refuse this version of Nikolai.
By evening, he had changed into a black, custom-made suit. At his cuffs gleamed the sapphire cufflinks I had once given him; he seemed especially fond of them, wearing them almost every time he dressed in a suit.
“Let’s go.” He reached out and steadied my wrist, the warmth of his fingertips seeping through the sleeve, steady and reassuring.
Just as we opened the door, a figure rushed out from the shadows of the hallway.
“Alina!”
Leandro stood at the doorway, his suit disheveled, eyes bloodshot, as though sleep had abandoned him for days.
His gaze locked onto Nikolai’s hand holding mine, his face dark with fury.
“So it’s true!” he spat. “We’re not even divorced yet, and you’re already in another man’s house?”
I didn’t bother with a reply and lifted my foot to walk past him, but his hand clamped hard around my wrist, the pain slicing sharply.
“Let go,” I said, my voice cold.
“Come home with me! Do you even know what people are saying outside?! You’ve completely disgraced the family!”
Nikolai stepped forward, his hand clamping down on Leandro’s wrist with such force it almost sounded like bones creaking under pressure.
“Leandro.” His voice was cold as ice. “If you touch Alina again, I won’t hesitate to cripple this hand of yours.”
Leandro’s face drained of color. He wrenched himself free, his voice breaking into a furious roar.
“Alina, don’t forget—the divorce certificate isn’t in your hands yet. You’re still my wife!”
I looked at his twisted expression and let out a weary sigh.
“Leandro, you look truly pathetic like this.”
With that, I turned toward the elevator. Nikolai followed close behind, his tall frame standing like a silent shield between me and Leandro.
As the elevator doors closed, I still felt the burning weight of Leandro’s eyes drilling into me.
But what did that matter to me? Why should he, the one who chose divorce, now act as though love consumed him?
By the time the banquet ended, night had already deepened.
As Nikolai went to get the car, a voice I knew all too well sounded behind me, freezing me in place.
“Alina, let me take you back to the villa.”
Leandro stood at the steps, his tone calm, tinged with a quiet plea. “Enough of this nonsense, alright?”
I noticed the curious glances of nearby guests. Since this was Uncle Winston’s birthday banquet, I had no desire to cause a scene.
“Let’s go,” I replied flatly.
Leandro’s eyes lit up at once. He rushed forward, reaching as though to steady me, but I avoided his hand and walked directly to his car.
He hurried to open the door, his voice ingratiating. “Alina, let’s talk properly.”
The nightscape outside the window blurred past. I leaned back against the seat, closing my eyes in fatigue.
“Leandro, what is it you want to say?”
