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His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t look away.
“But you?”
There’s a pause.
And then, quieter—
“I never hated you.”
A hollow ache opens beneath my ribs.
Because there’s no hesitation in his voice. No bitterness. No lie I can pick apart and hide behind. Just the truth, laid out plain in front of me in a way I don’t know how to handle.
“Bullshit,” I snap.
But the word comes out weaker than I want it to, stripped of most of its bite. It sounds fragile and defensive in the worst way.
“You expect me to believe that?” I ask. “After the way you looked at me at your penthouse? You looked like you were about to beat the shit out of me.”
“You threw a fucking mug across the wall and scared the life out of Lucas,” Alex fires back, frustration finally breaking through the control in his voice. “You know how protective I am of him. You know what he’s been through, and you know I would never let anyone hurt him. I don’t care who it is.”
“I care about Lucas too,” I shoot back, the shame rising so fast that it comes out defensive. “I would never hurt him. I already apologized—”
“I know you care about him, Maksim,” Alex says, cutting me off.
That stops me because his voice changes there. Not softer, exactly. But steadier, less angry and more tired.
“I know that,” he says again. “Yes, I was furious that day, but I was not going to hurt you.”
He pauses, and something in his face shifts. The anger is still there, but underneath it is something heavier. Something rougher and harder to look at.
“I was angry at the whole situation,” he continues. “I was angry because I couldn’t help you. I was angry because you kept spiraling and pushing away the people in your life who would burn the world down for you if that’s what it took. I was angry because there was nothing I could do to stop whatever was going on in my brother’s head.”
A bitter, broken sound slips out of me before I can stop it. I try to turn it into a laugh. I really do. But it collapses halfway through, turning into something wet and ugly that makes my own skin crawl.
Alex’s expression softens when he hears it, but he keeps going.
“You looked out of control,” he says, his voice lower now, rougher somehow, carrying a weight I can’t ignore. “And I couldn’t reach you. I couldn’t get through to you, no matter what I said.”
He takes a step closer.
“Do you have any idea what that feels like?” he asks.
The silence that follows is thick, suffocating. My shoulders shake once before I lock them down.
“I didn’t know.” I manage to say.
The words sit there between us, small and useless and still somehow the truest thing I’ve said all day.
No one speaks for a second.
Anton stays where he is, silent in that deliberate way of his, like he knows this isn’t something he can fix by stepping in. Alex just looks at me.
And I hate that I can’t read anger in his face anymore.
Anger is easier.
Anger, I know how to deal with.
