Kairus' POV :
The training hall door slammed behind me like a gunshot.
But the sound didn't empty me—it echoed.
I kept walking. Fast. Hard. Like maybe if I moved quickly enough, I could outpace the ghost of her taste on my tongue.Like I could outrun the memory of her fucking lips.
Like I could bleed her out of me.
"Suka…"
My voice was low, guttural.
"Tvoju mat'… Blyad' Kairus! "
My fist slammed into the nearest wall.
The concrete cracked. My knuckles split.
I welcomed the pain. It was cleaner than the chaos inside my head.
Good.
Pain meant I was still in control. Still human.
Still the monster I needed to be.
But then I remembered her gasp.
Her fucking whimper when I lifted her—
When her legs wrapped around me like I belonged between them.
Like she wanted me.
Like I wasn't poison.
"Yob tvoyu zhizn' . Yebaniy durak. "
(Fuck your life. Stupid fucking fool.)
What the fuck was I doing?
How the fuck did I let that happen?
One kiss. One goddamn kiss and I forgot everything—
The rules. The control. The reason she was here.
She was nothing.
A pawn. A debt.
A means to an end.
Not a temptation. Not a salvation. Not someone I should've wanted with that kind of violence in my blood.
I didn't need her. I didn't want her.
Not in any way that mattered.
But gods, the way she looked at me…
Not with fear. Not yet.
She looked at me like I wasn't a monster.
And I let myself believe it.
And that was the problem.
I saw the way her lips parted when I touched her.
The way her hips moved against mine—
Like we were made for ruin together.
And then I went and said it.
"This means nothing. "
Liar.
It meant everything.
I ran both hands through my hair, breathing hard, trying to exorcise her from my system.
But it wasn't just lust clawing at my spine.
It was need. The kind I hadn't felt in years. The kind I'd buried in graves and silence.
"Don't you fucking forget, Vasiliev." I hissed the words out loud, grabbing the edge of the mirror and slamming it down until the glass spidered and cracked. "She's just leverage. She's nothing."
Then why the fuck did I stop?
Why didn't I take what she'd already offered in that kiss?
Why did I walk away like some fucking coward?
Because deep down I knew—
If I crossed that line, I wouldn't stop.
Not after one taste.
Not after one night.
Not until I destroyed her.
And that—
That scared me more than anything else.
She was the one thing I couldn't control.
And I'd rather die than admit that truth.
The scent of her was still on my skin.
A phantom. A curse.
I gritted my teeth and leaned against the shattered mirror, glass dust glittering like frost in my bloodied knuckles. My jaw clenched as a memory broke free—
uninvited, but never far.
The first time I saw her.
Under the rusted lights of a bare-knuckle pit fight.
Her fists were cut open, her lips busted, and yet—
She stood like a storm.
No fear. No mercy. Just fire.
"Kto ona ?" I had asked Mikhail beside me.
("Who is she?")
He told me her name.
Raven Moreno.
And I watched her crack a man's jaw like it was glass.
Watched her spit blood and walk away like the devil owed her rent.
That night, I didn't leave after the fight.
I watched her in the alley, slumped against the wall, pressing ice to her ribs.
No one came.
No one cared.
And she didn't cry.
That was the moment.
The moment my world bled color again.
Not all of it—just her. Just red.
And I couldn't look away.
The funeral came next.
Her brother's casket. A rainy Tuesday.
She stood alone in black.
Didn't shed a single tear.
Didn't flinch when they dropped the body six feet under.
Didn't pray.
Just clenched her fists at her sides, the skin over her knuckles barely healed.
I was there.
In the shadows. Watching.
Wondering why I felt... hollow.
I told myself it was strategy. That I needed to learn her.
That I was studying her weakness before I made my move.
But when I confronted her about the debt, told her she had seven days—
I didn't expect her to fight back.
She fought everything.
Fought fate. Fought sleep. Fought men twice her size.
She bled for every cent.
I watched her crawl into the worst pits in the city, let her body be broken so she could earn more.
Watched her lose. Win. Lose again.
Watched her never quit.
And gods help me—
It made me hard as rock.
It made me want to ruin her.
But it also made me want to kneel.
I knew then: she wasn't mine to break.
She was mine to burn with.
But I buried that thought.
Deep.
Cold.
Like everything else that could destroy me.
"You're justa debt," I muttered under my breath.
The lie had become my prayer.
"Just a fucking contract. "
But no matter how many times I said it—
Her fire still scorched through every inch of me.
And I hated her for it.
Almost as much as I needed her.
I didn't know how long I stood there.
Hands stained red. Heart heavier than stone.
The mirror was broken.
The lie was not.
And yet…
The second I heard the door creak open behind me—
I turned.
She stepped out of the training room, a shadow with fire under her skin.
Raven.
Her hair clung to her sweat-damp skin.
Her lips were swollen—mine.
But her eyes…
Dead.
Cold.
Distant.
She didn't look at me.
Didn't pause.
Didn't even breathe in my direction.
Just brushed past like I was air—
no, like I was nothing.
And fuck, it stung.
A pang cracked through my chest, foreign and sharp.
Worse than guilt.
Worse than fury.
She had always fought me with words, fists, fire.
But this—
This silence?
It was her deadliest weapon yet.
"Raven."
Her name slipped out before I could stop it.
She didn't answer.
Didn't flinch.
Just kept walking—each step echoing down the marble hallway like a verdict.
And I stood there.
For the first time in years…
Feeling like the one left behind.
I din't mean to follow her.
Didn't mean to chase.
But my legs moved before my pride could stop them.
I tracked her steps like a soldier returning to the battlefield—
Only this time, the enemy didn't even spare me a glance.
She climbed the stairs with her fists clenched, her shoulders stiff.
Not a word.
Not a single goddamn look back.
I caught the door just before she could shut it.
"Babochka," I rasped, one hand braced on the frame.
"Wait."
She froze.
Barely.
Just for a heartbeat.
But she didn't turn around.
Didn't say a word.
And then—
SLAM.
The door shut in my face.
Silence fell like a guillotine.
I stared at the wood, breath shallow, hand still hovering in the air.
Heart beating like I was the one being hunted.
I could break it down.
Force it open.
Remind her who I am.
But instead—
I just stood there.
A man with blood on his knuckles, fire in his chest, and no fucking clue why he suddenly felt like he couldn't breathe.
I rested my forehead against the door.
Swallowed the burn crawling up my throat.
This means nothing.
But if that were true…
Why the hell did it feel like everything?