Chapter 5: I can't love you

“I won’t,” he said, jaw clenched. “You’re not walking another step like this.”

“You don’t get to decide that,” she shot back, struggling—careful even in defiance, as if afraid movement itself would betray her. “My father—your family—if they see—”

“I know,” he cut in, lowering his voice as he turned away from the gallery. “That’s why we’re leaving.”

Her pulse thudded beneath his hand. He felt how rigid she’d gone, how she was holding herself together with sheer refusal.

“You think carrying me fixes anything?” she demanded. “You think this won’t mean something to them?”

“I don’t care what it means to them,” he said. “I care what it’s doing to you.”

That stopped her.

Just for a breath.

Servants appeared at the edges of the corridor—averted eyes, carefully blank expressions. Meaning was already being manufactured. Nikolai adjusted his hold, shielding her instinctively, and moved faster.

Outside, the air was sharp and cold.

He opened the passenger door and eased her inside, movements controlled and precise—nothing hurried, nothing careless. When he straightened, she stared at him as if he’d spoken a language she didn’t understand.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“Home.”

She frowned. “Whose?”

“Our condos,” he said, closing the door gently. “Mine.”

Her confusion deepened. “Why?”

“Because we’re neighbors,” he replied, as if it were obvious. “And because I won’t take you back there. Not like this.”

He drove without spectacle—no speed, no recklessness. The city blurred past in restrained silence, broken only by the hum of the engine and the careful way she shifted in her seat, testing what her body would allow.

“You don’t owe me this,” she said finally.

“I know,” he answered. “That’s why I’m doing it.”

When they arrived, he didn’t ask again.

He lifted her once more, ignoring her sharp intake of breath—not pain, but pride—and carried her through the private entrance, past polished steel and muted light, into his condo.

She looked around as if answers might be written into the walls.

“This doesn’t make sense,” she murmured. “You won’t claim what happened, but you won’t let me walk away from it either.”

He paused at the threshold of the living room.

“That’s because I’m running out of ways to be a coward,” he said quietly.

He set her down with deliberate care, kneeling only long enough to ensure she was steady before pulling back.

Thalia sat there, stunned.

Confused. Wounded. And painfully aware that whatever this was—it was no longer denial.

Outside, only a wall away, her own condo stood close enough to touch.

Neighbors.

Close enough to hear each other breathe.

Nikolai stood in the center of his minimalist living room, the silence of the condo a stark contrast to the suffocating atmosphere of the estate. He looked at Thalia, sitting on the edge of his sofa, her hands trembling in her lap, her face still unnervingly pale.

“I’m going to run a bath,” he said, his voice dropping an octave.

Thalia looked up, a spark of her old fire returning to her eyes. “I can take care of myself, Nikolai. I’m not an invalid.”

“You can barely walk,” he countered, his voice steady but firm. “The heat will help with the muscle tension. And the pain.”

He didn’t wait for her to argue.

He walked into his primary suite and began filling the oversized soaking tub. He added nothing—no perfumes, no oils—knowing her skin was likely sensitive. When steam began to curl into the air, he returned to the living room.

He didn’t ask. He simply lifted her again.

This time, she didn’t fight him. She leaned her forehead against his chest, her breath hitching.

In the bathroom, he set her down on the vanity stool.

“The water is warm, not hot,” he said quietly. “If it’s too hot, it will sting the… torn tissue. It’s just enough to relax the muscles.”

Nikolai stepped out, the heavy bathroom door clicking shut behind him. He didn’t go far. He stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows of his bedroom, staring out at the jagged skyline.

His mind was a battlefield.

Every instinct he possessed—the cold, calculating Ravenhart logic—told him to sign the papers, marry Thalia, and use his power to insulate Yumi from a distance. But seeing Thalia break, seeing the way she moved as if her very bones were shattered, had introduced a variable he hadn’t accounted for.

Guilt.

A clean solution, he thought, watching a hawk circle a skyscraper. Find the leak. If Adrian proves the drugging, the contract is void under duress. I don’t just save Yumi—I burn the legacy down.

Hope flickered. Dark. Vengeful.

Then a sound tore through the silence.

“Ah—God—”

A sharp, strangled cry of agony, followed by the violent splash of water.

Nikolai didn’t think. He didn’t knock. He didn’t care about the boundaries he’d promised to respect.

He burst through the door.

“Thalia!”

Steam swirled around him, and the sight stole the air from his lungs.

Thalia was partially submerged in the tub, doubled over, clutching the porcelain with white-knuckled desperation. She’d tried to lower herself into the water, but the movement had aggravated the tearing and deep muscle bruising he had caused.

She was completely exposed—the curve of her spine, the pale skin of her back, the devastating vulnerability of her nakedness.

But Nikolai didn’t see beauty.

He saw her shaking. He heard the sobs she was trying to swallow.

“Get out,” she gasped, trying to cover herself, her face flushed with heat and pain. “Nikolai, I said—”

“Quiet,” he commanded, his voice raw.

He stepped onto the wet tile and knelt beside the tub. Faint, angry bruises bloomed along her inner thighs—a brutal map of his failure.

“You’re going to faint if you keep tensing like that,” he said, panic sharpening into focus.

He reached into the water, his hands finding her waist.

“What are you doing?” she whispered, eyes glassy.

“Helping you.”

He ignored her weak protest, adjusting her position, supporting her weight so she didn’t have to strain. As the lukewarm water reached the inflamed tissue, she let out a long, shuddering moan of relief, her head falling back against his shoulder.

They stayed like that—bound together in steam and silence.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered into her wet hair.

She didn’t answer. A single tear slid down her cheek and vanished into the water.

The steam thickened. Her body trembled—not only with pain, but exhaustion.

“I can’t hold myself,” she whispered. “Every time I move, it’s like glass.”

Nikolai’s jaw tightened.

Without a word, he unbuttoned his shirt.

“Nikolai—what are you—”

“You’ll slip if I don’t hold you.”

He undressed with grim resolve and stepped into the tub, sitting behind her and pulling her gently back against his chest. She sank into him with a broken sound.

His arms wrapped around her, hands resting carefully on her stomach, far from the injuries.

“Breathe,” he murmured. “Just breathe.”

For the first time in her life, Thalia felt safe.

“Why are you doing this?” she whispered. “You hate this. You hate being tied to me.”

“I hate that they used us,” he said. “I hate that something that should have been yours became a contract.”

“I’ll find a way out,” he whispered. “For both of us. Until then—I won’t let you fall.”You’re a liar,” she breathed

He pulled her closer.

“I love her more than you.”

The words shattered the moment.

“I know,” she said quietly. “I always have.”

A tear hit the water.

“For a second,” she continued, “I thought the lie was dead.”

“We’re victims of the same machine,” he said. “If I lose her, I become them.”

“And what about me?” she asked softly. “Who saves me?”

He hovered, helpless.

“I will protect you,” he said. “Even if I can’t love you.”