Page 71 of Beautifully Damned
With a tick in his jaw, he gives in. “I’ll be fast.”
He walks out backward, like he can’t quite stand turning his back on me. I manage a weak smile, still trying to process all this… concern. As I eat, Matvey and Elena don’t take their eyes off me.
“He had me hunt the dogs,” Matvey says quietly, almost like he knows he shouldn’t. “Wouldn’t let me come back until each one was taken out.”
I almost choke on my toast. “Matvey… I walked into their home. They didn’t walk into mine.”
That’s when Roman steps back into the kitchen, freshly showered, damp hair pushed back, a clean shirt clinging to him. That must be the fastest shower of all time.
“I killed men for you,” he grumbles. “Why wouldn’t I kill dogs?”
Yeah, never mind. Same old Roman.
?Chapter XLVI?
Ayla
My phone hasn’t stopped buzzing for two days. I had to block Emir’s number after making sure he was alive because I’m not about to put him in more danger than he’s already in. Thankfully, Roman didn’t kill him. I thought he would. Honestly, I was bracing myself for it.
And yet… he didn’t.
I think I know why. Roman has finally figured out that whatever’s been simmering in him might actually be love. The problem? It took me almost dying for him to figure it out. And instead of feeling warm or fluttery, I just feel… empty.
The doctor came by again this morning to jab me with another rabies shot. Roman was planted at my side the whole time, towering over us like he was about to stab me with a machete instead of a needle. He hasn’t been to work in days; he just hovers over me, day and night. Nobody’s ever looked this worried about me before. Not even my parents. Emir texted that they’re concerned, but they haven’t reached out once—not since the wedding, not after the accident. It’s like they tossed me into a fire and walked away.
I drag a brush through my hair, wincing at a knot the size of a small bird’s nest. Maybe if I look halfway presentable, I’ll feel human again. I open my bedroom door, only for Roman to tumble inside.
He gasps awake, eyes wild. “Were you—” I stop, staring at him. “Roman. Have you been sitting outside my door?”
“I told you I’m not leaving until I know you’re fine,” he mumbles, rubbing his eyes.
“I am fine. You’re the Pakhan; you can’t just… loiter in hallways. The Bratva needs you.”
“What kind of man leaves his wife two days after she almost died?” His voice is hoarse, but sharp. “The Bratva can wait.”
That floors me. Nothing in this world ranks above the Bratva for him. He eats, breathes, and bleeds for it. He married me for it.
“Roman, nothing’s changed,” I say quietly, shifting to my good leg. He notices the movement instantly and scoops me into his arms before I can blink. He’s carrying me so much these past few days that his stitches unraveled twice. Seems like they will be unraveling again. “Everything’s changed. You almost died.”
My palms push against his chest. “No. You don’t get to wake up one day and decide I matter only after my blood hits the ground. That’s not how this works.”
We’re still mid-argument when we reach the living room, and my words die in my throat. Flowers. Everywhere. Vases, buckets, crates—roses, lilies, peonies. The air is thick with perfume. Elena moves from bouquet to bouquet like a fairy.
“Oh, Ayla, look what Pakhan brought,” she says, lifting a spray of pink roses to her face. “Beautiful, no?”
I swat at Roman’s shoulder until he sets me down, though his arm stays locked around my waist, taking my weight like he doesn’t trust my legs.
“Why?” The word comes out barely louder than a breath.
Roman glances away for a second, his tongue running over his bottom lip. “When that Emir sent you flowers and you smiled… I realized I’d never given you any. Not acceptable. No man woos my wife but me.”
Elena beams, handing me a bouquet. “Emir got nothing on Pakhan.”
“Damn right,” Roman mutters.
The scent of the roses fills my head when I bring them to my face. And I hate that—even now, even after everything—a part of me still softens at the smell. I’m still Ayla—Ayla who loves gardens but hates bugs, who dreamed of being a vet but can’t stomach blood, who loves to love but hates heartbreak.
The thing about love is that it’s always just delayed heartbreak. One way or another, the person you love will hurt you—by choice, by indifference, by betrayal, or by leaving this earth before you.
