Chapter 88: 88● “How far did what go?”
88● “How far did what go?”
HARPER PETROVSKY
The room is still dark. From the moment I closed the door behind me, I didn’t dare to turn on the light. I stand there, feeling the weight of the silence, as if lighting the space would force me to look straight at things I still don’t know how to name. My mind won’t stop. Thoughts collide, overlap, none of them reaching their end intact. And in the middle of all this confusion, there is a low, constant pain, one that doesn’t scream but doesn’t fade either — the pain of Dmitri’s reaction.
I never thought I would want so badly to hear any word from him. Anyone. A comment, a question, even a complaint. Ever since we got together—since everything changed between us—I never imagined his silence could hurt like this.
But nothing came.
He noticed. I’m sure of it. Dmitri always notices. He saw it, felt it, and understood that something happened between Viktor and me. That’s the only explanation for him not having said a single word. That’s the only explanation for him walking past me as if I weren’t there, as if I were a mistake he chose not to face.
I lean back against the door and close my eyes, taking a deep breath, trying to draw in the air properly. The silence in here is different from the silence downstairs. There’s no built-up tension, no cutting glances. There’s too much space. My breathing comes out uneven, and only then do I realize how tired I am. Not in my body — not only there — but inside. From the entire day. From the chain of decisions that didn’t feel like choices at the time. From the boundaries that shifted without giving me time to hold them in place.
And yes… from what happened with Viktor.
It wasn’t an isolated moment. It wasn’t something simple that I could shove into a drawer and pretend never existed. Viktor was part of my childhood, just like his brothers, but what happened—how it made me feel—was far too different to erase, to pretend nothing truly happened.
Viktor touched parts of me that I had kept tucked away since before boarding school, since before I learned how to protect myself from everything and everyone. And Dmitri, with a single gesture—or with its absence—struck me in a way that went even deeper.
Because his silence isn’t a good thing for me. I feel more than I should.
I open my eyes, even though I can’t see anything, and let my body slide slowly onto the bed. I still don’t know what this means. I don’t know what will be left when daylight comes. I only know that something shifted today.
When I finally let my body relax on the bed, allowing the weight of all my actions to pull me back to reality, my muscles give in, my head sinks into the pillow, and for one moment far too short, I think that maybe sleep will come.
It doesn’t, and along with the frustration, someone knocks on the door.
The sound is sharp, direct.
My body stiffens again, rest cut short before it even begins. I don’t answer. Maybe whoever it is will think I fell asleep and give up.
But the click of the handle makes me lift my head as the door opens.
Alexander steps in and closes the door behind him. He doesn’t turn on the light. He doesn’t ask if he can. He simply takes up the space, the way he always does. I turn onto my side on the bed, propping my forearm on the mattress, my hair falling over my face. I’m still too tired to pretend anything.
“You didn’t sleep,” he says.
“I didn’t even come close,” I reply.
He moves a few steps closer, enough for me to notice the bandage beneath his open shirt. My gaze goes straight there before I can stop it. “You should be lying down,” I say. “Not walking around the house.”
“Later,” he replies. Always later.
Silence settles between us without effort. Alexander never tries to fill it. He watches. He waits. That bothers me more than questions ever could.
“I’d like to talk,” he says.
I nod slowly. “I figured. And I can probably guess what it’s about.”
Alexander tilts his head slightly, as if confirming it, then crosses his arms over his chest.
“Where did Viktor take you?”
The question comes straight—no detour. Too straight for someone who, minutes ago, made it clear he didn’t want to know.
I lift my gaze to him, feeling the irritation rise before I can even shape an answer.
“I thought you didn’t want to know,” I say. “That’s exactly what you told me downstairs.”
“I said you didn’t owe me explanations,” he corrects. “Not that I didn’t want information.”
I let out a short, humorless laugh. “Convenient.”
He doesn’t react. He just waits.
I cross my arms too, mirroring the gesture without realizing it, and sit up on the bed. “Why now?” I ask. “Why does it matter where he took me if, in practice, everyone here decided I should just obey and rest?”
“Because context changes,” Alexander replies. “And I need to know how far it went.”
“How far did what go?” I shoot back. “The situation? Or me?”
The silence lasts a second longer than usual. Not because he doesn’t have an answer, but because he’s choosing how to give it. “Both,” he says at last.
I take a deep breath, feeling the weight of it. “You want to know for safety,” I say. “Or because this affects Dmitri and you?”
“Both,” he admits without hesitation.
I nod slowly. “So it’s not curiosity.”
“No.”
“Not concerned for me either,” I continue.
“That too,” he replies. “But not only that.”
His honesty disarms me more than any attempt to soften it. “You talk about me like I’m a variable,” I say, my voice lower now. “Something that needs to be measured before it gets out of control.”
Alexander holds my gaze. “Today, that’s exactly what you are.”
I fall silent for a few seconds, feeling the uncomfortable truth of the statement. “He took me outside the city,” I say at last. “We changed routes twice. He shut everything off so no one could track us.”
Alexander nods. “And then?”
“Then,” I answer, choosing my words, “he took care of me.”
His expression doesn’t change, but something adjusts inside him. “Don’t give me too many details, Harper. I want to know where he took you.”
I tilt my head slightly, feeling the urge to provoke grow precisely because he’s trying to control the pace. “Interesting,” I say. “You say you don’t want details, but you want location. Sounds like what bothers you ben't what happened. It’s how far it slipped out of your reach.”
He holds my gaze. He doesn’t back down. “I need to know where you were.”
“Need,” I repeat. “Or want?”
The silence lasts a second. I let it last. “You always decide what’s necessary after it’s already happened,” I go on, far too calm for my own good. “Today, everyone decided for me. Now you want to check whether the decision was… appropriate.”
“Harper—”
“Relax,” I cut in, with a half-smile that doesn’t reach my eyes. “If it were something you truly couldn’t handle, I wouldn’t be here.”
He doesn’t answer. He waits.
I sigh, finally giving ground by one step. “It was north. Outside the city. A cabin.”
He walks toward the window, stopping beside the bed. I can feel him there without needing to look. The weight of his presence shifts the air in the room, making everything more alert. Alexander clears his throat once, as if pulling himself together, then adjusts his stance, sliding his hands into his pockets.
He doesn’t say anything right away.
I turn my face slightly, watching his profile outlined by the little light coming through the curtain. He’s thinking. Calculating. And that, coming from him, is never harmless.
“The family cabin,” he says at last, his voice low, steady. “Which is his now?” A brief pause. “I understand.”
The way he says it makes my stomach tighten. There’s no surprise there. There’s recognition. As if something clicked too late—but still in time to change the course.
“Understand what?” I ask, even though I know I might not want to hear the answer.
Alexander turns slowly toward me. There’s no judgment in his eyes. No reproach. Just that cold attention that always comes before difficult decisions. “That Viktor didn’t take you just anywhere.”
I swallow hard. “Does that matter now?”
He doesn’t answer right away. He simply watches me for a few seconds that last far too long. “It matters more than you think.”