Chapter 29 The Fragile King

Chapter 29 The Fragile King
~Nikolai~

I strongly despise when things do not go according to plan. It rattles me in a way few things can.Tonight was supposed to be simple. Have dinner with Liora, watch her eyes widen at the preparations I made, let the evening unfold exactly as I intended. Everything was going fine… until it wasn’t.

Falling sick along the way is one thing.
Being born terminally ill is another.

Living every day not knowing when it will be your last, that is a different kind of curse.

My eyes open slowly, and the first thing I register is the sterile white ceiling. A hospital. Of course. I turn my head, and there she is. Liora, curled awkwardly in a chair beside me, her head resting at an angle that must be painful. Even in sleep, there’s worry written across her face.

I remove the needles from my arm and sit up. Then I lift her easily from the chair and place her on the bed. Watching me collapse must have terrified her. The all‑powerful Nikolai Volkov—her tormentor and captor, reduced to something fragile and human for the first time.

A sight she was never meant to witness.

As I watch her sleep peacefully, something tugs at my chest. The truth is brutally simple. I wouldn’t be alive today if not for Liora. In some twisted, ironic way… she saved me long before she even knew I existed.

I had already decided how my life would end. I was going to donate every cent of my wealth to charity and then take my own life. There was no point dragging around a body that could betray me any day, no point living under the constant shadow of a countdown I couldn’t see.

But then I saw her.

She was lying on a hospital bed just like this. Small, pale and surrounded by machines. She looked peaceful, almost like she was only asleep, but I could see the truth. She was fighting. Harder than anyone I had ever seen.

And I was drawn to her instantly.
.

I donated an obscene amount of money to the hospital that day. Enough to buy her time and keep her alive for a while. Each time I returned, I found myself checking on her, watching the rise and fall of her chest, watching the stubborn way her body clung to life.

Her parents were always there, hovering beside her, worn down by worry but refusing to give up. She was their only child. Their entire world.
And they were losing her painfully.

Maybe that was why I kept coming back.

Maybe that was why I couldn’t walk away.

Her mother used to play a particular movie for her whenever she was awake. I often stood by the door, watching from the glass panel. It became a strange comfort… seeing her eyelids flutter and watching her breathe.

But one day, when I arrived, the room was empty.

The bed was stripped. The machines were gone.

I learned from the doctors that she had gotten worse, so much worse. Her condition had reached a point where treatment required money her parents simply didn’t have. From the hallway, I could see her father pacing, phone pressed to his ear, voice breaking as he begged for help no one was willing or able to give.

That was when I approached him.

I handed him more money than he had probably ever seen in his life, telling him he could pay me back whenever he could. That was a lie, of course. I knew I’d be dead before any repayment ever happened. Any money returned would’ve gone straight to charity. That was the entire plan.

What I didn’t realize then was that Liora had already slipped into my heart without permission.

I visited the hospital every single day just to see her face, just to make sure she was still breathing. A stalker, you might call me. And perhaps you’d be right. But somewhere along the way, I stopped counting the days until my planned death. I stopped thinking about it entirely.

Because the thought of seeing her, this girl fighting so fiercely to stay alive kept me alive too.

Eventually, I approached Mr. Reynolds again. This time, there were no pretenses or half-truths.

I told him that once his daughter recovered… once she grew into her life again… I wanted her.

Not as repayment or charity.
But because I couldn’t walk away from her anymore. I wanted to keep her. Keep her with me for a long, long time.

It was the first time in my life I had ever been drawn to someone so completely. A foolish thing, maybe. A dangerous thing, certainly. But if I was destined to die anyway, if my own body was a ticking clock, then why not spend whatever time I had left on something that made the world less grey?

And Liora… she was colour.
A brightness I never expected to crave.

It genuinely amused me when I learned she was set to marry another man. Adrian Calloway. As if someone like him could ever keep her. As if Mr. Reynolds truly believed I had forgotten the agreement he made with me. He must have assumed I had moved on, or that time had wiped the memory from my mind.

But I never forgot.

I watched her life unfold from a distance. I watched because I was obsessed… and I still am. She became the reason I woke up each morning, the reason I forced myself to keep breathing even when my body protested. She became the reason I stayed alive long after the date I had planned to end everything.

But obsession has its curses.

My health is deteriorating with each passing day. I can feel the decline. And yet, the one thing I cannot allow is for Liora to find out.

She must never know.

I want her to fall hard for me slowly, deeply, helplessly. I want her to love me the way I already love her, not because she pities me, not because she feels obligated to soften the blow of my inevitable death. I will keep her in the dark for as long as I can. 

It’s selfish.
I know that.

She will be devastated. Destroyed, even, when death finally comes for me. But just because she will hurt later… doesn’t mean I will let her go now. Pain is no excuse to release something this precious.

If my time is limited, then I will fill every second with her.
I will give her a life so bright, and full, that even death won’t be able to take it from her.

Not all stories end happily.
But I’ll make damn sure ours is beautiful before the end comes.

The door opens, snapping me out of my thoughts, and a doctor steps inside. His eyes widen the moment he sees me upright and Liora sleeping on the bed I put her on.

“You’re awake already, you—”

“Did you tell her anything?” My voice interrupts his sentence. I don’t bother softening my tone. “About my condition.”

The man pales instantly, shaking his head.

“No, sir. We didn’t. Should we have—”

“No.”
The word is sharp. I drop my gaze to my hands which are trembling again and I exhale slowly. “I’d like to be discharged immediately. I have a honeymoon with my wife to return to.”

He studies me, lips pressed together, and I can see the conflict in his eyes. Pity mixed with medical caution. It irritates me.

“I think you should stay a few more days,” he ventures carefully. “You need treatment. Your condition is very unstable.”

“I said,” I lift my eyes to his, letting him feel the weight behind my words, “I want to leave. Immediately.”

That settles it.

He nods quickly. “I’ll… go get the papers,” he murmurs before slipping out of the room, eager to escape.

It’s just me and my wife now.

The thought settles into my chest and before I can stop it, a small smile curves my lips. I never imagined myself married. Never imagined living long enough for something so foolish. Love. Yet here I am, hopelessly, pathetically in love with a woman who still insists she feels nothing for me.

She whimpers softly in her sleep, and I straighten instantly. She’s waking.

I move to her side without hesitation.

Her lashes flutter… and then those eyes, those maddening, gentle eyes find me.

“Nikolai,” she breathes, like the sound of my name itself is relief. She pushes herself upright, worry already tightening her features. “Are you fine?”

I nod once. “Yes, Wife.”

But she studies me with that stubborn intensity that makes lying difficult. I slide my hands out of her view before she notices the tremor I can’t control.

“Are you sick, Nikolai?” she asks quietly, her voice thick with concern.

My jaw locks.
There it is.
The look I fear more than death itself. Concern that will eventually sour into pity.

I smother the ache in my chest with a slow, amused smile.

“It’s good to see how worried you are for me,” I drawl. “And you say you feel nothing for me?”

She rolls her eyes at me, and the sight nearly makes me laugh.

“I still feel nothing,” she mutters firmly.

If she knew how desperately I want to pull her into my arms, she’d run.
If she knew how badly I want to bury my face in her neck and breathe her in, she’d think I was insane. But I can’t touch her.
Not now. The involuntary shake of my hands, brought on by my sickness, would give me away. She’ll see the truth I’ve fought so hard to bury.

Instead, I hold her gaze.
I would kill to know exactly what’s running through her mind, though I have an inkling already.

She’s conflicted.

Part of her is relieved I’m awake when she must have believed, even for a moment, that I’d died.
Another part… the part she refuses to acknowledge… feels something for me now. 

But her loyalty still clings to Adrian. She thinks being near me is a sin. She thinks wanting me is betrayal. She’ll learn.
Slowly… she’ll come around.

I inch closer and her eyes widen instantly.

“What are you—” she starts, then stumbles over her own breath. “Shift back. Don’t—”

My gaze drops to her lips and everything inside me goes silent. Before she can say another word, I cup her face and claim her mouth in a fierce kiss.

And God.
She tastes like heaven.

She jerks back, wriggling free because I don’t tighten my grip. I can’t. Not when my hands are trembling from my illness. Shee might notice.

And then it happens. Her hand lifts.

Before the sound even hits, I already know what she’s about to do, but I don’t move. Her palm cracks across my cheek in a sharp slap.
I stay perfectly still.
My jaw warms from the impact, but my eyes never leave hers.

She just hit me.

My lips curl slightly.  My cruel little thing. I should be furious, but all I can think about is how much I want to kiss the palm that struck me.

She notices I’m not even phased by the slap, and her brows draw together. 

“You… you’re not upset?” she asks quietly. “I hit you.”

“You could hit me a hundred times,” I whisper. “And I’d still choose you… every single time.”

I let my eyes linger on her trembling hand.

“And the sick part, little bride?” I lean in, lips brushing her ear.
“I’m starting to think I like it when you try to hurt me.”