Braelyn’s POV
"I’m glad you care about my life," he said softly. "But I can’t leave now. If I step away... everything I love will really collapse. I can’t watch it all burn."
The words hit harder than I expected. He would rather let himself burn than what he loved.
I stared blankly at this man. His actions puzzled . "So you are ready to risk your life for the company?" I asked, a smile curling on my lips. I always knew of his devotion to the company. That was why I knew the best way to hit him was by hitting the company.
"I have to do this. I am the only one in this family who can handle things," he defended. I scoffed at him.
"Your father isn’t dead." He clutched his sheets.
"Dad isn’t dead, I know. He is also doing his best, and I will try to handle everything smoothly," he said quietly, his voice carrying a scent of regret that made my head squeeze.
Ronan was the chairman of the company, but Raphael carried out a lot of the planning. It wasn’t that Ronan was incapable. If anything, he and Raphael had always been terrifying geniuses. Ronan was the one who grood Raphael, but as chairman, he could not handle the grassroots operations.
While Raphael handled internal affairs, Ronan stabilized the external affairs and shareholders. I drew in a deep breath. "One question, Raphael," I blurted.
He glanced up at with those hooded eyes. A slow smile curled on his lips.
"What is it, Lynn?" he asked.
My heartbeat steadied. "What do you love the most? The company, , or yourself? Because from the look of things, you are ready to give your soul to the company." My fingers curled into a fist.
He stared straight at , his gaze burning intensely. I felt like laughing. Of course he couldn’t answer that question.
Then Raphael smiled at . It was a slow curve of his lips. "Isn’t the answer obvious?" he asked.
I smiled. Of course it was obvious. He was ready to do anything for the company. At tis I wondered if the reason he played Alia’s gas was to protect the Volkov na.
"I understand," I muttered, but he cut off.
"It is you, Lynn," he said.
My stomach didn’t flutter, nor did my heart skip a beat. If anything, I felt dread when our eyes locked. His hazel eyes held sothing dark. Control. Desire. Obsession.
He continued. "I know I have been a bad husband, Lynn, but the one thing I love is you. I always did. Every version. From the girl who used to sneak out of lectures for street food... to the woman I hurt."
I just stared.
"On your father’s deathbed, he made swear to protect you. Our family committed sins. We have to carry the burden. And the only way to carry that burden is for Volkov Apex to stand," he admitted.
"Without Volkov Apex, I can’t protect you from the Orlov wrath or even cherish you as the princess you are. I need the power because bones never stay hidden. The Orlovs will find out one day, and they will co for us," he explained.
"They will destroy the Volkov family, then co after you. So please let protect you. I can do this. I will save the company."
His words struck sothing in my heart. The way his eyes reddened. I opened my mouth to respond, but the door suddenly swung open.
"My dear boy!" a female voice cried, choked with tears.
Natalia rushed in first, tears already falling as she hurried to his side, fussing over him, touching his face and his hands as if he might disappear.
"My dear, are you alright?"
"I am so useless. I can’t even help my son," she cried as Raphael was drowned in his mother’s affection.
Ronan followed more quietly, his expression grave but controlled. He was still as sharp as ever, but I could tell he was troubled.
"The doctor told everything," Ronan’s voice bood. "You need to rest. I will get the best assistants for you." He walked to his son’s side and gave a faint smile of acknowledgnt.
I felt out of place in the room, out of the mont. My chest was heavy with emotions I didn’t understand. It wasn’t regret or guilt. It was sothing akin to pity. Raphael looked like a man struggling to hold everything together when it was already lost.
I stepped back, then slipped out of the room altogether. I needed space to breathe.
The hospital corridor felt too bright. I walked aimlessly until I found a door that led to a quadrangle. There was a garden and a playground for patients to relax. I stepped into the night. The cold air blew across my skin, making shiver.
I felt pity for him, and that terrified more than hatred ever had. My fists clenched as I bowed my head, trying to control the anger surging through . How dare he speak like that after all this ti?
It felt too late. Instead of being touched by his words, I felt frustrated and burdened with pity. It was too late to stop because Lucien wasn’t going to stop, and neither could I expose him.
It wasn’t because I was an accomplice. It was because of sothing I didn’t want to admit.
Why was I so weak?
Lost in my thoughts, I didn’t hear the footsteps approaching. A warm jacket draped around my shoulders, wrapping in that comforting sandalwood scent. I froze, unable to glance up.
A hand gently tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. His fingers brushed my skin, sending sparks through .
My gaze dropped first, taking in polished shoes and tailored trousers. Then I looked up.
His hazel eyes t mine.
Lucien.
He smiled softly, like we were eting by coincidence and not in the middle of a war he had started.
"You look stressed," he murmured. "I heard my dear nephew fainted. You really do care about him, don’t you?"
His voice was light, almost teasing, but I could barely hear the words over the pounding of my heart.
All I could think was...
Why are his eyes so beautiful, even now?
And why did that thought make dread crawl down my spine?
Is love about who makes you feel alive... or who would quietly die for you? Or could I love both?
This was so wrong. How could my heart ache for Raphael and yet flutter at the smile of the man destroying him?
I couldn’t tell Raphael who the man destroying him was, and yet because of old love buried under so many ties, I couldn’t enjoy the revenge I once wanted.
My heart never forgot Raphael, but now it knew soone else. I didn’t know exactly when it started, but the thought made my stomach churn.
I loved my husband’s uncle.
I loved the wrong Volkov while still unable to let go of old feelings.
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