Page 79 of Beautifully Damned
“Breathe, Ayla. Breathe,” Elena urges.
I gasp, forcing air into my chest. Roman, not eating. Roman, fading. The thought feels impossible, terrifying. He’s too strong, too proud, too relentless to show weakness. And yet—
“Elena, I have to come back. I’ll pack now—I’ll find a bus or something. Just don’t tell him I’m coming, but please, for the love of God, try to make him eat. Make him—”
Her voice cuts me off, sharp. “No need pack. You have clothes here. One of men already wait to bring you back.”
I freeze. Then whisper, “You planned this?”
A smile edges into her voice. “Da. I know you say yes. And if no… Lev kidnap you.”
Tears streak down my face, but a laugh breaks through them. I shove myself up from the floor, tearing off my pajamas and tugging on the first clothes I find. The tears don’t stop, and I don’t wipe them away.
I’m coming back to the only home left for me.
And this time, God help me, I don’t know if I’ll ever leave again.
?Chapter LII?
Ayla
The moment the car stops, I’m out of it before the engine settles. My knuckles slam against the Bratva’s door until the wood threatens to splinter. The drive back was torture, every mile an agony. I need to get to him. Now.
The door swings open and I nearly stumble inside.
Matvey stands there, exhaustion etched into his face. When his eyes meet mine, relief floods them, and his arms wrap around me before I can speak. He smells of smoke and metal, of the house that was once my cage and somehow became my home.
“Thank God,” he mutters against my hair.
I let him hold me, just for a heartbeat, then pull away. There’s no time for comfort when Roman is somewhere upstairs, wasting away.
Elena is next, kissing my cheek, her hand slipping into mine. Her fingers squeeze, grounding me as we move deeper inside.
Mikhail has his face buried in his hands, shoulders trembling. When he looks up, his eyes are red. Beside him, Lola hovers, her hand clutching his arm.
A thousand memories strike me at once. Her gun pressed against my temple. The cold dismissal at her art exhibit that I was dragged to attend only days after the nightmare of a wedding, her refusal to even look at me as though I were beneath her, even though I apologized to her there. The world fawning over her perfect little fairytale while my own life felt stripped bare.
But the woman who rushes toward me now is not that woman. “Please,” she says, the word distorting her beautiful face. I can tell that she rarely says it. “Please, fix this. Fix him.”
“I’ll try,” I whisper. I don’t know if I can fix whatever Roman has decided to break in himself, but I will tear myself apart trying.
I start toward the stairs, my pulse racing with dread, when her voice calls out again.
“I’m sorry!”
I turn, confused.
“That day… when I pointed the gun at you.” Her hand finds my shoulder. “I did it because it was the only way I could save Mikhail. I’m sorry you were caught in it, but I’m not sorry for choosing him. I would do it again. And now it’s your turn,” she says. “Do everything you can to fix him, Ayla.” A single tear slides down before she wipes it away, almost violently.
Overwhelmed, I nod. Words feel impossible. Elena seizes my hand again and pulls me up the stairs.
Mikhail’s voice echoes after us, cracked and angry. “Why is he doing this? Why does he refuse to eat?”
I don’t stop moving. “Ask him yourself,” I call out.
Elena leads me not to his bedroom, but to mine. My hand hesitates on the door. My chest rises and falls too fast. I whisper a prayer before I push the door open.
Roman sits on the edge of my bed, though he barely looks alive. The man who once filled every room with his presence is shrunken, pale. His body, always carved from stone, has lost lots of its muscle mass. On the nightstand beside him rests a plate with a single piece of toast, untouched.
