Beom jolted upright from the bed, his entire body stiff and aching. "OOOWWW… my waist," he groaned, his hand instinctively rubbing the sore spot on his lower back. His face twisted in frustration and discomfort as he glanced down at himself. His skin looked fresh, too fresh, as if he'd been thoroughly cleaned. He furrowed his brows in realization.
"That asshole…" Beom muttered, his lips twisting into a scowl. "Was he trying to kill me with sex yesterday?" The memory of Yaroslav's relentless intensity sent a mix of embarrassment and irritation flooding through him. Shaking his head, he carefully swung his legs over the side of the bed, only to feel a jolt of weakness shoot through them. His legs trembled so much that standing felt like an uphill battle.
With each unsteady step, he winced, gripping the furniture for support as he shuffled out of the room. His mind raced with a flurry of complaints, most of them aimed at Yaroslav. What the hell does he think I am? Some kind of indestructible toy? he thought, his jaw clenching. And then he just cleans me up and leaves like nothing happened?
Beom descended the stairs slowly, his hand gripping the railing tightly. His eyes scanned the first hall, but it was eerily empty. The quiet made him uneasy. "Speaking of that psycho… where the fuck is he?" he muttered under his breath, his irritation bubbling over as he continued his search.
Eventually, he entered the dining hall, his gaze falling on the neatly prepared breakfast laid out on the table. Beside it was a folded note. Beom snatched it up and read the words aloud in a mocking tone. "'I have things to do. See you in the evening.'" He scoffed, crumpling the note in his hand. "Oh, sure, just leave me here like some house pet while you're off doing God knows what."
Beom dropped into a chair at the table, his stomach growling despite his annoyance. He picked up his fork and began eating, the warm food doing little to melt the icy bitterness he felt inside. Still, he begrudgingly admitted to himself that Yaroslav was a good cook. At least the bastard can make decent food, he thought, stuffing a bite of scrambled eggs into his mouth. But that doesn't excuse anything.
After finishing the meal, Beom cleared the table out of habit, the mundane act offering him a brief distraction from his spiraling thoughts. But as soon as he spotted the box of cigarettes on the counter, he grabbed it without hesitation. He needed a moment to breathe—or maybe to drown out the chaos in his mind.
Stepping onto the balcony, Beom immediately felt the crisp, biting air against his face. Snow blanketed the surrounding trees, their branches heavy with white, creating an endless, serene expanse. He leaned on the cold metal railing, lit a cigarette, and took a long drag. "Haaah…" he exhaled, watching the smoke curl into the frosty air.
His eyes stayed fixed on the snowy horizon, but his thoughts drifted. What am I even doing here? he wondered, the cigarette dangling from his fingers. My family probably thinks I'm dead. Nakwon… Noona… do they even know I'm alive? His chest tightened at the thought of his sister, the one person who had always been there for him. She's probably losing her mind. Christmas is coming, and instead of being home, I'm stuck in this freezing hellhole with a psychopath who doesn't know the meaning of boundaries.
The cigarette burned down to the filter, and Beom flicked it into the snow below. His gaze remained distant, the weight of his situation pressing heavier on his shoulders. I just want to go home, he thought bitterly, his hands gripping the railing as if it could anchor him to some semblance of control. But even if I did… what would be left for me there?
The wind picked up, chilling his skin, but Beom didn't move. He stood there, staring at the endless expanse of white, feeling as if he were as trapped as the trees beneath their heavy coat of snow.
The sleek black car rolled to a stop in front of XX Hospital in Moscow, its polished exterior glinting against the overcast sky. A thin layer of frost clung to the pavement, and wisps of cold air formed clouds with each breath from passersby. The driver swiftly stepped out, opening the rear door to reveal Yaroslav.
Emerging with the poise of a man accustomed to commanding attention, Yaroslav draped a heavy white fur coat over his broad shoulders, its plush material gleaming like freshly fallen snow. Underneath, he wore a deep blue suit tailored so precisely it seemed an extension of his body. A silk tie of the same shade, paired with gleaming cufflinks, completed his sharp ensemble. Every detail spoke of understated elegance and undeniable power.
As he strode toward the hospital entrance, the rhythmic click of his polished shoes against the icy pavement drew the attention of everyone nearby. Conversations paused mid-sentence, and heads turned as people tried to catch a glimpse of the striking figure.
"Wow, so tall," someone whispered, their voice tinged with awe.
Yaroslav ignored the murmurs, his piercing gaze focused ahead. The white fur of his coat rippled faintly with each purposeful stride, the cold air seeming to bow in deference to his imposing presence. When he entered the hospital, the warmth of the lobby met the chill clinging to his coat, sending a faint mist into the air.
He was about to approach the reception desk to ask for a patient named Olga when a familiar voice stopped him.
"I've been waiting for you," Vanya said, his tone relaxed but edged with expectation. "So has Olga."
Yaroslav turned to see his older brother leaning casually against a column, dressed in a smart overcoat. Vanya's expression was one of subtle amusement, though his eyes mirrored Yaroslav's intensity.
"How are she and the baby?" Yaroslav asked as he adjusted the lapel of his coat. Without waiting for a reply, he began walking, Vanya falling into step beside him.
"They're both doing very well," Vanya said, his voice carrying a note of pride. "The doctors say they're healthy, and Olga's already fussing over the baby like only she can."
A faint smile ghosted across Yaroslav's lips at the thought, though it was gone as quickly as it appeared. The two brothers reached Olga's room, the faint scent of fresh flowers spilling into the hallway from within.
Yaroslav opened the door, stepping inside with his usual quiet command. The room was bright and cheerful, the walls adorned with congratulatory balloons and ribbons. Bouquets of flowers in every color imaginable lined the counters, their delicate fragrances mingling in the air.
On the bed sat Olga, her cheeks flushed with the glow of new motherhood. Cradled in her arms was a tiny bundle wrapped in a soft white blanket. She looked up at Yaroslav, her smile warm and welcoming despite the tiredness in her eyes.
"Congratulations, Olga," Yaroslav said, stepping forward and pulling her into a gentle hug. Despite his towering frame and commanding presence, his touch was surprisingly tender.
"Thank you, Yaro," Olga said, her voice filled with genuine affection.
When they pulled apart, Yaroslav reached into his pocket, producing a small velvet box. He opened it to reveal a delicate gold necklace and matching earrings, each piece adorned with intricate detailing that caught the light beautifully.
"Oh, Yaro, this wasn't necessary," Olga said, her eyes shimmering with gratitude as she accepted the gift.
"Nonsense," Yaroslav replied with a faint smile. "A gift for my sister-in-law and my new niece."
Olga chuckled softly, carefully placing the jewelry box on the bedside table. "You spoil us too much. But thank you. Truly."
Yaroslav's gaze shifted to the sleeping infant in her arms. His expression softened, the usual hard lines of his face giving way to something more genuine, almost vulnerable. "May I?" he asked, gesturing toward the baby.
Olga nodded, carefully transferring the bundle into his arms. Yaroslav held the baby with a reverence that seemed almost at odds with his imposing figure, cradling her close as he looked down at her tiny face.
"She's perfect," he murmured, his voice low and full of wonder.
Vanya stood nearby, watching the interaction with a smirk. "First time I've seen you look this soft, Yaro. Don't let it get around; it might ruin your reputation."
Yaroslav shot him a glare, though the corner of his mouth twitched with amusement. As he handed the baby back to Olga, he couldn't help but feel a rare sense of peace, surrounded by family and new beginnings.
"So, have you decided on a name for my niece yet?" Yaroslav asked, his deep voice breaking the gentle silence of the room. His sharp blue-green eyes shifted between Vanya and Olga, curious but composed as he leaned slightly against the edge of the small bedside table.
Olga smiled warmly, her gaze dropping to the tiny infant nestled in her arms. There was a softness in her expression, a maternal glow that made her already serene features even more radiant. "Yes," she said, her voice light with excitement. "I've decided to name her after Yevgeniya."
Yaroslav froze, his brows furrowing as the name hung in the air. His posture straightened, and he crossed his arms tightly over his broad chest. A look of pure incredulity spread across his face as he stared at Olga, then slowly turned his piercing gaze to Vanya, who stood by the window looking far too relaxed for Yaroslav's liking.
"Yevgeniya? Zhenya of all people?" he repeated, his tone incredulous, almost accusing. "You mean that annoying older sister of mine?" His emphasis on annoying was laced with exaggerated disdain, the corners of his mouth pulling downward into a faint scowl. His sharp jaw tightened, and his disbelief was palpable.
Vanya, standing with his hands shoved casually in his pockets, shrugged nonchalantly, clearly unfazed by Yaroslav's reaction. "What can I say? It wasn't up to me," Vanya said, smirking faintly as he glanced at Olga. "Olga liked the name, and I wasn't going to argue."
Yaroslav's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Of course, you didn't argue. You never do when it comes to her," he muttered, rolling his eyes. "But Zhenya? Really? The same Zhenya who used to hide my things just for fun and boss me around like I was her personal servant? That Zhenya?"
Olga chuckled softly, her laugh warm and infectious as she adjusted the baby in her arms. "She's family, Yaroslav," Olga said, her voice calm yet firm. "And honestly, I've always admired her strength and independence. She's a good role model for our little one."
Yaroslav let out a low huff, clearly unconvinced. "Strength and independence? More like stubbornness and chaos." He shook his head, his displeasure theatrical as he cast another skeptical look at Vanya. "And you're just fine with this? Naming her after her?"
Vanya raised an eyebrow, his smirk growing as he leaned casually against the window ledge. "It's a beautiful name," he said simply, the calmness in his tone only irritating Yaroslav further. "And besides, I think Zhenya would be flattered."
"Flattered?" Yaroslav muttered under his breath, rubbing a hand over his face. "She's going to gloat for the next ten years. You know that, right?"