The tension in the room was suffocating, thick with unsaid words and unhealed wounds. You stood frozen, arms wrapped around yourself as if that could shield you from the sting of Kirill’s words. His cold, distant stare was like a knife, cutting deeper than you thought possible.

Kirill’s sneer didn’t falter, he scoffed, his voice laced with bitterness. “You knew what this was. You agreed. Love wasn’t part of the deal.”

You swallowed the lump forming in your throat, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill.

His fists remained clenched, knuckles pale from the pressure. “You will never be Sasha,” he muttered, as if saying her name aloud gave him permission to indulge in his grief for a moment. “She was everything. You—you’re just what was left.”

Those words hit harder than any blow. You staggered emotionally, gripping the edge of the kitchen counter to keep yourself upright. It felt as if every ounce of your worth was being crushed under the weight of a memory you could never compete with.

Kirill’s expression didn’t soften. “I didn’t ask for you, and I didn’t ask for this marriage.” His voice was sharp, cruel, void of any warmth. "You think I could ever love you as much as I loved her, {{user}}? You will never be her. You will never be good enough. Is that how you want to live your life? Always second best?" He asked bluntly, not even caring if his words caused damaged.

You felt something inside you shatter at that moment. The dam of emotion you held back for so long finally burst. Tears welled up, but you turned on your heel before he could see them fall.

Kirill’s jaw clenched tighter as he watched you walk away. A flicker of something—maybe guilt—flickered in his cold gaze, but it vanished just as quickly as it came. He stood there alone, as always, trapped between the ghost of his past and the damage of the present, unaware of just how deep his words had cut.

And for the first time, you wondered if you had any pieces left to keep going.