“You do realize,” she said calmly, “that Ruslan made it very clear: if I feel harassed by you—even on day one—he will have you shipped out immediately. No mercy. No negotiations. No second chances.”
Each word landed with surgical precision.
“But you won’t do that,” I said quickly, desperation clawing its way into my voice before I could stop it. “You won’t, will you, Penelope?”
I hated how ruined I sounded. How bare. This wasn’t the voice of a man who ruled empires. This was a man stripped of armor, kneeling in the dust of his own wreckage.
“Please,” I went on, the word breaking as it left my mouth. “Don’t send me away. Not like this.”
She said nothing, merely watched.
“I know the truth now,” I said, forcing myself to keep going, because stopping would mean drowning. “About our teenage years. About everything I blamed you for.”
I swallowed hard. “You didn’t supervise my mother’s death willingly. You were drugged. Your parents used you—propped you up like a puppet on that hill—because they knew it would destroy me.”
Her expression didn’t change.
“You never cheated on me,” I continued, voice shaking now. “That night—I was wrong. They orchestrated it. They drugged you again, erased your memory, paid that man to stage the scene so I’d walk in and see exactly what they wanted me to see. They wanted me gone. They wanted us ruined.” I laughed weakly, bitter. “And I let them succeed.”
I bowed my head for a moment, breath coming uneven. “I punished you for lies I was too arrogant to question. I called you a liar when you were telling the truth. I abandoned you during the first months of your pregnancy—when you were terrified, alone, carrying our child—and instead of protecting you, I demanded you abort him. I didn’t even listen. I didn’t want to hear.”
My throat closed.
“I locked you in that room,” I whispered. “Days without light. Without air. Without mercy. I told myself it was discipline. Control.” My voice cracked. “It was cruelty.”
Tears burned, humiliating and unstoppable. I didn’t bother wiping them away.
“The body-shaming. The words. The way I reduced you to something I owned instead of someone I loved.” My hands clenched into fists against the floor. “I shattered you, Penelope. I know that. I carved wounds into you that may never fully heal.”
I looked up at her again, forcing myself to meet her eyes. “I don’t expect forgiveness to come easily. Or at all. But I will pay for what I did—every day—for the rest of my life if that’s what it takes. If my life is the price, take it. If my suffering gives you peace, I’ll accept it without complaint.”
My voice dropped to a rasp.
“Just don’t cast me out. Don’t erase me from what remains. Let me atone. Let me show you—slowly, patiently—that the love I buried under rage and pride was real. Is real.” I shook my head once, helpless. “I’m begging you. Give us a future.”
I stayed on my knees, the cold tile bleeding through the fabric of my trousers, but it barely registered.
The pain inside my chest was sharper, deeper, relentless. Every breath felt like penance.
“I would be miserable without you,” I said hoarsely. “Completely. I don’t just want to be a father to our son—I want to be your husband in truth this time. Not by force. Not by fear.” My voice faltered. “By choice.”
I leaned forward slightly, as if proximity alone might bridge the chasm I’d created.
“I want to earn your love. Every day. I want to be the man who stands between you and the world, not the one you need protection from. Your provider. Your protector.” A bitter smile flickered. “Your partner. Not your jailer.”
My chest tightened. “You were always meant to be my everything. And I destroyed that.” I swallowed. “Please, Penelope. Give me the chance to prove I can be better. I am begging you.”
I searched her face for anything—any fracture in the ice. A flicker of doubt. A tremor of memory. The smallest softening around her mouth.
There was nothing.
Her expression remained immovable, carved from something harder than stone. Beautiful. Untouchable.
She tilted her head slightly, studying me with detached curiosity, as though I were no longer a man on his knees, but a puzzle she had already solved—and set aside.
“Since you seem to have recovered your memory so conveniently,” she said at last, her voice low, level, edged with frost, “tell me something.”
I stilled. Every muscle in my body went rigid, instinct screaming before reason caught up.