"…so grateful, Sera, you have no idea. I thought I lost you forever."
Her voice wavered with thick emotions as she cupped my face. Her touch was hesitant like she was afraid I'd disappear if she held on too tight.
I just stared at her.
Drank her in.
She was real. Flesh and blood. Not a memory, not a dream.
Tears burned the back of my throat, but I swallowed them down. I couldn't afford to break. Not now. Not yet.
Instead, I reached up and placed my hand over hers, feeling the warmth of her skin, the soft tremble in her fingers.
"How are you here?" I asked trying and failing to hide the tremor.
She exhaled a shaky breath and her thin lips curved into something tender. "A kind man brought us here."
My stomach twisted. A kind man? There were no kind men in my world.
I tilted my head, suspicion creeping into my voice. "Who?"
"Judas Romanovski."
My heart stilled.
Of course.
I should've known.
I should've expected it.
But it still sent a slow, sharp shiver down my spine.
My mother didn't seem to notice my reaction. She was still smiling, like she had just spoken the name of a saint instead of a devil.
I forced myself to breathe. "Us?"
Her smile widened as though her eyes glistened. "Yes, Mikhail is also here."
My breath hitched.
Mikhail.
For a moment, I forgot how to think, how to breathe.
"Really?" My voice was barely above a whisper.
She nodded, squeezing my hands. "He didn't want to come just yet. Said he needed time to gather his thoughts before he saw you. But he's here, Sera. He's here."
I swallowed the lump in my throat. My brother. The boy who used to chase me around the house with a wooden sword, the boy who once swore he'd protect me from everything and everyone.
He was here.
But not because of me.
Because of Judas.
Because Judas Romanovski, in all his cruel, twisted ways, had brought them to me.
Of course, my mother had no idea about how he had done it.
She had no idea he had blackmailed me.
Kidnapped me.
Held me in his gilded cage and made sure I had no choice but him.
To her, I was simply a victim of an accident. A robbery gone wrong.
A lie wrapped in silk and presented with a bow.
And the worst part? She believed it.
Her gaze softened as she brushed my hair back, eyes brimming with motherly concern. "But Sera, how could you keep something so special from me?"
I blinked. "What?"
She sighed dramatically as if I had personally offended her. "You and Judas, of course!"
I choked on my own breath.
What?
Her hands flailed as she continued, completely oblivious to the sheer horror on my face. "He told me everything. About the two of you. How much he likes you. How he couldn't bear to be away from you." She shook her head, exasperated. "And you never told me? Not even a hint?"
I gaped at her.
Of all the things Judas had told her, this was the one she was upset about.
"You believe him?" I managed to get out.
She scoffed. "Sera, he looks at you like you put the stars in the sky. Of course, I believe him!"
I closed my eyes for a brief moment. Of course, he did.
Judas Romanovski was nothing if not a master manipulator.
And apparently, my mother was his newest victim.
I sighed. "Mom, it's not like that-"
She gasped, placing a hand over her heart. "Don't tell me you broke his heart!"
I nearly choked. "Mom!"
She clicked her tongue, shaking her head. "Poor man. He was so worried about you, you know. Stayed by your side for two days straight. I had to practically force him to go freshen up."
I frowned.
Two days straight. She had been here for the past two days?
Judas had been here all along.
Even when I thought he hadn't.
Even when I thought he was keeping his distance.
A strange warmth bloomed in my chest, but I shoved it down before it could take root.
This was still Judas.
The man who had taken everything from me and forced me to live in his world.
And yet-
The way my mother spoke about him. The way she looked at me as if I had done something unforgivable by keeping him a secret…
I exhaled slowly. "I think he might've exaggerated a few things."
She raised a brow. "Oh? So you don't mean the world to him?"
I hesitated.
I could lie.
I should lie.
But the words wouldn't come.
Because no matter how much I hated him, no matter how much I wanted to believe otherwise…
I knew the truth.
I did mean the world to him.
And that was exactly what made him so dangerous.
******
I nodded absentmindedly, barely hearing the doctor's response as he adjusted the IV one last time. "Fresh air helps Ms Rosewood. You should go out."
The warmth in my stomach hadn't faded. If anything, it was spreading-something treacherous, something I didn't want to name. I flexed my fingers again, watching the tendons shift under my skin.
My mother left. Saying how I should have plenty of rest and stuff my stomach. We had some catch-up. She told me about the new convenience store she was opening, and how Mikhail had a girlfriend. I listened, truly enjoying it. When she left, I stared at the door for a moment.
Judas.
Why?
Why did he do this?
Bringing my mother here… bringing Mikhail here…
Did I truly mean that much to him?
Would he go to such lengths for me?
I swallowed.
A man like Judas Romanovski didn't do favours. He didn't act out of kindness. Everything he did had a purpose, a weight, a price.
So what was the cost of this?
I let out a slow breath and pulled the blankets off me. "Where's my stuff?"
The doctor, a frail-looking man with sharp eyes, flinched at my sudden movement. "You should be resting, Ms Rosewood."
I swung my legs over the side of the bed, feeling the cool tile under my feet. "You just said fresh air helps."
He hesitated, then exhaled in resignation, gesturing toward the small cabinet in the corner. "Your clothes are in there. But please-nothing strenuous."
I smiled sweetly. "Of course."
He gave me a look that said he knew better but wisely kept his mouth shut.
Once he left, I pushed off the bed and wobbled slightly before catching my balance. My body felt weak, but my mind was buzzing and restless.
I grabbed my clothes, slipping into the soft fabric with slow movements. It was a dress, that flowed down my legs. Plain simple and yellow. Long sleeves and coverednecklinee. Every shift of my muscles reminded me that my body wasn't at full strength yet, but I ignored it.
I needed to move.
To breathe.
To think.
The moment I stepped out of the room, the sterile air of the hospital met me, cool against my skin. The hallway was quiet, empty except for a nurse at the far end, her head buried in a clipboard.
I didn't know where I was going.
I just walked.
Down the hall, past closed doors and flickering fluorescent lights. The hospital had that distinct smell-antiseptic and something faintly metallic. It took me twenty minutes to walk down the hall till I saw him.
By the window. His reflection stretched across the glass-tall, still, untouchable.
Something sharp lodged itself in my ribs.
My breath hitched.
My pulse stammered.
He stood there, hands buried in his pockets like he carried the weight of the world and didn't care enough to set it down.
And yet-
My heart thudded.
Too hard. Too loud.
Because looking at him felt like standing on the edge of something dangerous. And knowing I'd jump anyway.
He looked…
Unravelled.
Not in the way most men did. Not like he was losing control.
No.
Judas Romanovski never lost control.
But there was something in the way his shoulders were set, something in the way he wasn't looking at me, that made my chest tighten.
I took a step closer.
He still didn't move.
Didn't acknowledge me.
But I knew-he knew I was there. A storm waiting to break between us.
I took another step. And my heart pounded louder. My chest tightened.
When I was just barely ten steps away from him, I exhaled softly. "You brought them here."
A long pause. But I swore I could hear his heartbeat.
Or maybe it was mine, hammering against my ribs. There was no shift. Like he was daring me to close the space. To demand the answers he wouldn't give freely. It made me want to cry. To hurt myself. To hurt him.
Then, as if he couldn't bear the sight of my pitiful self, his deep voice caressed my ears. "I did."
"Why?"
Another pause.
I wasn't sure if he was choosing his words or deciding whether he wanted to answer at all.
Then, slowly-deliberately-he turned his head.
Just enough.