Page 56 of Captured By the Russian Wolf

"Lily," I said quietly, stepping toward her.

She didn't respond. Her gaze was fixed on the blood pooling beneath Nicholas's body, her breath coming in shallow, uneven gasps. I reached out, my hand brushing against her arm, but she flinched away, her whole body trembling.

"It's over," I whispered, my voice softer this time. "He's gone. He can't hurt you anymore."

Her eyes slowly lifted to meet mine, and the raw emotion I saw there nearly knocked the wind out of me. She wasn't crying, but I could see the tears welling up in her eyes, barely held back. She looked… shattered. Like the last piece of her had just been broken.

"I didn't want this," she whispered, her voice barely audible, trembling with grief. "I didn't want him to die like this."

"I know," I said, my chest tight. "But we didn't have a choice. He would have killed you."

Her lower lip trembled as she swallowed hard, her eyes flicking back to her father's body. "I never thought… it would end this way. After everything, this is how it ends?"

I didn't know what to say. There were no words that could make this better. No promises that would erase the pain.Nicholas Donovan was dead, and while I knew it was the only way, the finality of it still hit hard.

"I'm sorry," I murmured, stepping closer. "I know you didn't want this, but it had to be done. He wasn't going to stop."

She let out a shaky breath, her hands curling into fists at her sides. "I know," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "I know. But it doesn't make it any easier."

I pulled her into my arms, holding her tightly against my chest. For a moment, she stiffened, her body tense, but then she let out a long, shuddering breath and melted into me. Her hands gripped the front of my shirt, her face buried against my chest as she finally let herself cry.

I didn't say anything. I just held her, my arms wrapped tightly around her as the weight of everything crashed down on us. The warehouse was silent except for the sound of her soft, broken sobs, and I felt the knot in my chest tighten.

I had killed Nicholas Donovan. And while I knew it was necessary, I also knew it had come at a cost. Not to me, but to her. I had seen enough death in my life to be numb to it, but Lily… this was different for her. This wasn't just some rival or enemy. This was her father.

And now, she was left to pick up the pieces.

"We'll leave," I said softly, stroking her hair as I held her. "We'll get out of here, go back to the estate. You don't have to see this anymore."

She nodded against my chest, her body still trembling as she tried to pull herself together. "I just… I don't know what to feel," she whispered. "I hated him. I hated everything he did. But he was still my father."

"I know," I murmured, my chest tight with guilt. "And you'll never have to see him again. It's over now."

She pulled back slightly, looking up at me with red, tear-filled eyes. "Is it really over?" she asked, her voice small, fragile. "Can we really move on from this?"

I cupped her face in my hands, my thumb brushing away a tear that had slipped down her cheek. "Yes," I said firmly, meeting her gaze. "We can move on. We'll move forward together. You're safe now, Lily. I promise."

Her lip quivered as she nodded, her eyes closing as she leaned into my touch. But even as I held her, even as I whispered those reassurances, I knew it wasn't that simple. The scars of what had happened here tonight would stay with her, just like the scars from her past.

And deep down, I wasn't sure if either of us could ever truly move on.

Back at the estate, the silence between us was almost suffocating. Lily had barely spoken since we left the warehouse, and I didn't press her. She needed time. Time to process, time to grieve, time to come to terms with what had happened.

I watched her as she sat on the edge of the bed, staring down at her hands, her shoulders slumped with exhaustion. The weight of the night hung heavy in the room, and I could feel the tension still radiating off her.

"You should rest," I said quietly, stepping toward her.

She didn't respond, her eyes still fixed on her hands. I moved closer, sitting beside her on the bed, my hand resting on her back. "Lily," I murmured, my voice soft. "You need to rest."

She finally looked up at me, her eyes tired, but there was a hardness there now—something that hadn't been there before.

"I don't know how to feel," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "I feel… lost."

"You're not lost," I said gently, my hand moving to cup her face. "You've been through hell, but you're not lost. I'm here."

She swallowed hard, her eyes searching mine for something—some kind of reassurance, some kind of promise that things would be okay. But I didn't know if I could give her that. Because while Nicholas was gone, the scars he had left behind wouldn't heal overnight.

"I'm so tired," she whispered, her voice cracking.

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