I didn't want to face the truth.

I didn't want to face the fucking reality of what I had become, what I was caught in. Not with Zakhar. Not with Zinoviy. Not with Blake. Not with anyone.

I had thought Zin was my only escape, the only person who could give me some kind of relief from that hell. But Zakhar... Zakhar made it clear that nothing was safe anymore. Not even the fragile illusion I had clung to.

Escape? It wasn't an option anymore.

I used to think all that shit I felt was because of the outsiders—because of the things I had done to myself. But lately? It wasn't them. It was the people I should have trusted the most. My own fucking family. My brother. They were the ones making me feel like I was suffocating under the weight of their expectations. And I didn't know how to escape it.

I didn't have to face the outsiders anymore. I was forced to face my own fucking brother instead. And how the hell was I supposed to fight him? How could I tell him what I really needed when he had already locked me out of his world?

He used to be my refuge, the one person I thought I could count on—but then he wanted to "protect" me? From what? From him? From myself? How the fuck could I explain that mess to him when it felt like I had already lost him?

Every time he was near me, it was like a goddamn mirror, reflecting all the shit I had done. His presence reminded me of my mistakes, of the things I had done that I couldn't undo. His scar, that ugly reminder on his forehead, was like a fucking anchor pulling me back into the chaos of the past.

No one knew me—not really. Not my friends. Not Zinoviy. Not even him. They didn't know what was lurking inside me. They didn't know the darkness I carried around every day. Everyone thought my parents just died in some accident, but that wasn't the truth. No one knew what had really happened. No one knew the kind of mess I had lived through.

I felt like I was drowning in it all. The air felt thick, heavy, suffocating. And my stomach? It twisted into knots, a constant churn that made it hard to breathe.

Some days, I just wanted to fucking end it all. To disappear, to erase everything I had started. But I couldn't. Because of them. Because of the people I cared about. My brother. My uncle and aunt. My friends. And... Zin.

My circle was too small, and their attention was always on me. I should have been fucking grateful that my people cared, that they gave a damn about what happened to me. But instead, I felt like I was under a microscope, like everyone was waiting for me to crack. Their eyes were always on me, and I couldn't shake the feeling that I was being judged, evaluated. The pressure was suffocating.

It felt like I was stuck in a fucking cage of their expectations, forced to wear that mask every damn day. I should have been able to move past it, to let go of the past, but instead, they kept me tethered to it. I was exhausted from hiding. Exhausted from pretending I was fine when every part of me was falling apart. The truth was—I was fucking tired.

When Blake stood in front of me, asking his endless questions, I felt like I was fucking naked. Like he had peeled back every layer of me and was staring straight into the mess of who I was.

"What do you mean 'him'?" I tried to feign ignorance, my voice wobbling despite my best efforts.

Blake's eyes narrowed, sharp and accusing. "I know what you're doing, Vi. Don't fucking hide anything from me. And don't think you're slick about it either."

"Blake, I don't know wh—"

"Shut the fuck up and go home," he snapped, cutting me off like a blade slicing through the air.

The venom in his tone made me flinch. Without another word, I turned and started walking, my legs heavy with dread. Blake trailed behind me, his presence like a storm cloud looming over my shoulders. The silence between us wasn't just uncomfortable—it was suffocating. But I didn't dare break it.

When we stepped inside, the door slammed shut with a deafening bang. The sound reverberated through the house, pulling my uncle and aunt out of the kitchen.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing? Him? Zinoviy, Vivi? Seriously?" Blake's voice was raw with anger as he stormed into the living room, throwing his words like knives.

I stumbled over my response. "It's not what you're thinking, Blake—"

"I know what I'm thinking!" he roared. "I know fucking everything. Don't you dare lie to my face!"

"Kids, what's going on? Why are you yelling at your sister, Blake? Calm down," my uncle said, his tone firm but confused.

"Ask her," Blake spat, his arms crossing like he was barricading himself from reason, from sanity, from me.

The familiar, suffocating feeling rose, my throat tightening like a fucking vice. I felt like I was about to throw up right there on the pristine hardwood floor.

"Vivi, dear, what happened?" Aunt Irina's voice was gentle, soothing even, but it did absolutely nothing to calm the chaos building inside me. It only made me want to crumble faster.

"I..." My voice cracked, faltered. Did I tell them? Could I even explain without everything spiraling out of control and turning into a full-blown disaster? Taking a shaky breath, I summoned the last scrap of courage I had left. "I... am in a relationship with someone." My eyes stayed glued to the floor, like it would open up and swallow me whole if I begged hard enough.

For a moment, there was only silence.

Then, Uncle Matthew sighed and spoke, his voice calm, almost amused. "That's it?"

My head snapped up in disbelief. "You're not mad?"

He chuckled softly, his expression warm and fucking oblivious. "Darling, why would I be? I'm happy for you. Don't pay attention to Blake—he's just being his overprotective self."

Aunt Irina stepped forward, wrapping me in a hug, her arms soft and warm. "I'm happy you've found someone," she whispered gently, her embrace like a cocoon. But my own arms hung limply at my sides. I couldn't move. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't fucking feel anything except the ice spreading through my veins.

Blake's voice cut through the tender moment like a knife, sharp and merciless. "Why don't you tell them who you're in a relationship with?"

My stomach twisted into knots as I glanced at my uncle, my voice barely above a whisper. "His name is... Zin. Zinoviy."

Blake didn't let me off the hook. Oh no. He was there to finish the job. "How about the full name? Go ahead, tell them," he said, his words dripping with venom. "Tell them you're in a relationship with Zinoviy Kalashnikov."

The weight of his name crashed down like a thunderclap. The air left the room in an instant. My head bowed again, my gaze fixed on the floor, as if hiding from the explosion that was about to blow everything apart.

Aunt Irina gasped softly, her hand flying to her mouth like she had seen a ghost, while Uncle Matthew's eyes widened in sheer disbelief. The room spun, their shocked silence pressing down on me like the weight of the fucking universe.

Uncle Matthew cleared his throat, his voice low and deliberate, each word edged with something I had never heard from him before—something dangerous. "Zinoviy Kalashnikov," he repeated, like he was spitting out poison. "Vivian, please tell me you're joking."

I shook my head, eyes glued to the floor. "I'm not," I whispered, the words barely audible, but loud enough to break everything.

Aunt Irina's face drained of color as she staggered back, clutching her chest like the mere mention of his name was a blow. "The Kalashnikovs," she muttered, her accent thick with emotion. "Vivian, do you even understand what you've done?"

Blake let out a harsh scoff, pacing like a caged animal. Each step was a thunderstorm of fury. "Oh, she knows exactly what she's done," he snapped, his glare slicing right through me. "Don't let her play the victim. She fucking tangled herself with them. The Black Serpent, Vi! Are you out of your goddamn mind?"

"Enough!" Uncle Matthew's voice exploded, reverberating through the room and freezing everyone in place. He took a sharp breath, dragging a hand over his face, frustration rolling off him in waves. "Vivian, do you have any idea who that family is? What they're capable of?"

The weight of their judgment crushed me, suffocating and relentless. "I know what I'm doing, Aunt Irina," I muttered, though my voice sounded fragile, wavering, even to me.

Blake's dark laugh sliced through the tension, cold and cruel. "You know? You think you know, but you don't, Vivian. These people don't give a shit about you. Not the way you want them to. They'll use you, destroy you, and leave you with nothing."

"Stop it!" Aunt Irina finally snapped, her trembling voice holding an unexpected steeliness. "Blake, enough. Can't you see she's terrified? Let her speak!" She turned to me, her eyes glistening with worry and something deeper—disappointment. "Vivi, how long has this been going on?"

I hesitated, the room spinning around me as their eyes burned holes into my skin. "A few months," I murmured, my voice barely more than a threadbare whisper.

"A few months?" Matthew repeated, disbelief and anger coiling around every word. "And you didn't think to tell us? Didn't think to come to us for advice? Do you even understand the kind of fire you're playing with?"

My fists clenched at my sides as I fought the tears stinging my eyes. "Let me be. I'm not a child."

Blake stepped closer, his voice dropping to a venomous growl. "Vi, leave him. Or I'll kill him."

His words hit me like a slap. My head jerked up, my breath hitching in my throat. "So... so that's why you hit him? That day?"

"Yes," he said without hesitation, his tone icy and final. "And I'll do worse if it means keeping you safe. Leave him. What I said is final."

Something inside me snapped, the rage bubbling beneath the surface finally breaking free. "No! No, no, no!" I shouted, my voice cracking under the weight of my fury. "You can't do this to me, Blake. You don't get to control my life! I make my choices—not you, not anyone!"

For a fleeting moment, his expression softened, his voice lowering to something almost pleading. "You can make your choices. But not now, Vi. I'm trying to protect you. I just want you to be safe. I want you to be happy."

My laugh was sharp, bitter, and wholly unhinged. "Happy? You want me to be happy?" My voice rose, each word slicing through the suffocating air. "Protect me from what? If you really wanted to protect me, you'd protect me from myself! From my own goddamn mind!" My chest heaved as the storm within me raged on. "You don't know what I've been through, Blake. Seven fucking years of living in this endless hell. Seven years of feeling trapped in my own skin, of wanting to die every single day. You think you know, but you don't know shit! I've been holding on for you, for everyone—but I'm not happy, Blake. I'm not happy here, not anywhere. Not even in my goddamn sleep!"

Tears streamed down my face, hot and relentless, but I didn't care anymore. "Zin is the only thing keeping me alive. The only thing that gives me a shred of happiness. And you want to take that away too? You want to rip away the one thing that makes me feel human?" My voice broke, but the anger fueled me forward. "You're always trying to control me—telling me what to wear, who to talk to, what I can and can't do. I'M NOT FUCKING HAPPY! And you know what? I want to die. Do you all hear me? I want it all to end! Let me fucking be! If you can't handle me like this, then I'll fucking leave."

The room was deathly silent, the weight of my words crashing over everyone like a tidal wave. My chest heaved with the effort of breathing, and I felt the tears drying on my flushed cheeks. I didn't wait for their reaction. I couldn't.

I stormed up the stairs, slamming my bedroom door behind me. My heart was a raw, bleeding mess. My mind, a storm of chaos.

The echoes of the door slam lingered like a judgment passed, a verdict I couldn't escape. I leaned heavily against the wood, my legs trembling as the adrenaline drained from me, leaving behind nothing but hollow exhaustion. Slowly, I slid down to the floor, pulling my knees to my chest. My arms wrapped tightly around me as if they could shield me from the chaos downstairs, from the storm that felt endless. Pressing my palms hard against my ears, I tried to drown out their voices—their anger, their disappointment, their misguided attempts to "fix" me.

I squeezed my eyes shut, but the weight of their words refused to fade. Why couldn't they see it's not just about Zinoviy? It's about me. It's always been about me. About the broken, shattered girl they'd spent seven years trying to patch together with forced smiles and hollow reassurances. The girl who was never truly whole to begin with.

How much longer did they expect me to keep everything bottled up? I was exhausted. Tired of this constant, suffocating weight. Should I leave? But where would I go? Sasha's apartment? A dorm?

The tears I'd held back for years finally broke free, spilling down my face like a relentless waterfall. But no—I couldn't allow myself this weakness. This was my fault. All of it. If I hadn't been so fucking stupid in the past, none of this would've happened. It was on me.

I sat there, frozen, the weight of everything crushing down on me. I couldn't move. I couldn't speak. Was I stuck like this forever?

Did anyone even know what kind of hell I was living in? If I told someone, would they believe me? That I had caught the attention of a monster? That I couldn't breathe freely anymore because he was always there, watching, waiting? That he had threatened to destroy anyone close to me? No. No one would have believed me. Who would? Who the hell would have believed that I had caught the eye of the Black Serpent's leader?

An hour slipped by like a blur.

My phone chimed, pulling me out of my thoughts. I glanced at the screen.
Sasha: "Where the hell are you? Class already started."

I sighed, dragging myself up to get ready. Within half an hour, I had showered and thrown on clean clothes. I avoided everyone—my so-called family. I couldn't stomach the idea of facing them. Skipping breakfast, skipping lunch, I walked out the door without a word and headed straight for the university.

My professor glared at me the moment I stepped into the classroom. I couldn't bring myself to care—there were bigger problems in my life than his disapproving stares. Without a word, I slid into my seat, completely detached from the lecture droning on. I didn't belong there, in that room, in that body. The world felt foreign, like I was a misplaced puzzle piece.

My phone vibrated on the desk, breaking the silence in my head. For a moment, I contemplated smashing the damn thing, but my gaze betrayed me, flicking to the screen.
Zin: "Did you cry?"

My eyes instinctively scanned the room, then landed on the window. There he was. Standing outside of the classroom, casually leaning against a railing, his phone in hand. A small smile tugged at my lips before I could stop it. He raised an eyebrow in return, smirking slightly, and began typing.

Another vibration.
Zin: "Answer me. Did you cry? What happened?"

I sighed, fingers moving across the screen.
Me: "Blake saw us together at the park and lost his shit. For the record, he already knew about us. That's why he fought you that day. He told my uncle and aunt, too."

The message sent, and I glanced out the window again. Zin's expression shifted, his easygoing demeanor faltering as he read my reply. A second later, his phone lit up, and another message came through.

Zin: "What are you going to do?"

Me: "I'm planning on moving out."

I saw his eyebrows raise slightly before his lips curved into a smirk. Of course. I should've expected his next message.

Zin: "Move in with me."

I startled, staring at the screen. That bastard. Zin had asked me that a thousand times before, and every single time, I had rejected him.

In his family, there had been an unspoken rule—everyone stayed in the family mansion, no matter how many villas, penthouses, or mansions they owned elsewhere. Zin often talked about Elena's desperation to leave that house, how she'd begged for her freedom, but no one had allowed it. I smiled faintly at the thought, my gaze drifting back to the window. He noticed.

Zin: "Is that a yes?"

I began typing a reply, but another message popped up on my screen—different chat.

Zakhar: "Don't even think about it."

My breath hitched. My heart pounded wildly as sweat beaded on my forehead. How did he know? Fingers trembling slightly, I responded to Zin instead.

Me: "Let's talk in person."

With that sent, I hesitantly switched over to Zakhar's chat.
Me: "How did you know?"

Zakhar: "If you're thinking about moving somewhere, my penthouse has been empty for years. You can move there. Or you can stay and rot in that house of yours. But you're not going anywhere with my brother."

My jaw tightened as I typed back.
Me: "Answer my question."

Zakhar: "I'm the one who asks questions, Malyshka. I've already given you choices. Pick one and stick with it. Oh, and your kiss with my brother at the park...I'll deal with that later."

My heart stopped, a jarring, gut-punch kind of freeze. How the hell had he known? Didn't he have anything better to do than fucking stalk me? Panic buzzed beneath my skin as I glanced at Zin. He looked completely clueless, oblivious to the silent chaos unraveling inside me. But the second his eyes locked onto mine—confusion mixed with fear etched all over my face—his expression shifted, his brows furrowing in quiet concern.

My fingers trembled as I quickly texted him:
Me: "Go to your class, Zin. Let's talk later."

He stared at me for a few long, agonizing seconds, his hesitation clear as if he wanted to press me for answers. But eventually, he gave a small nod, turned on his heel, and walked away, leaving me to deal with the crushing reality I couldn't outrun.

The air felt heavier with every step he took, but I barely had time to breathe before my fingers flew across my phone screen. I texted Zakhar a couple of times, desperate for answers. Nothing. No reply.

This bastard... He had the audacity to control every damn detail of my life, yet he couldn't be bothered to answer a simple fucking question?

What the hell did he actually want from me?