Elena’s POVb: /b

“Elena”

Her voice cut through the room like a de. I flinched and stared harder at the bTV /bremote in my hand, pretending to fumble with the buttons, even though the Turkish drama was already ying

Yeah. It had been a couple of hours

Three in the afternoon, and I still hadn’t told her.

Good thing she couldn’t move much, because I was fairly certain she was about five seconds away from summoning the strength to strangle me with her IV line. I could feel the fury radiating from her bed like a furnace. My sweet, fragile mother who was recovering from open heart surgery looked ready tomit murderb, /b

I cleaned my throat, flicking through episodes we’d already seen a hundred times. “Episode fourteen offered weakly.

She narrowed her eyes. “Elena.”

This was bad.

She’d taken a two–hour nap earlier. I’d bused /bthe time to breathe, to n, to gather the courage to tell her everything.

I hade up with exactly zero strategies.

There was only one viable option now, panic and blurt the btruth/b, then pray she didn’t keel over and die a second time out of sheer frustration.

A knock on the door interrupted the tension like a deus ex machina. I leapt to my feel, practically jogging toward it with a breath of relief.

“Must be the nurse. I muttered

I opened the door, expecting a meal tray

And froze.

Oh, for the love of

My heart dropped to my toes.

Standing there, in all his six–foot plus glory, was Nik Vetrov. Tailored bsuit /bbouquet of white lilies in hand, eyes calm band /bbimpassive /bbas /bever.

No. No. Not yet.

I wasn’t readyb. /bThis was way too soon.

He looked past me into the room with a polite nod. “Good afternoon

I felt my bjaw /btighten.

He was going to blow my coher

I hissed under my breath, “What the hell are you doing bhere/b?”

He raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t tell her yet?”

“She just woke up!” I whispered furiously.

“Elena!” My mother’s voice floated from the bed. Is a Dmitri

I physically winced

Niki’s brows shot up. He gave me a look that clearly said you have got to be kidding me.

Before I could m the door in bhis /bface, bhe /bstrode in with quiet confidence, bouquet still in hand.

“Hello, Mrs. Kovalyova,” he said smoothly,

My mother blinked at him in confusion.

13

b8:35 /bbPM /b

“Oh.. bthank /byou,” she bsaid/b, epting the flowers. “You’ll have to forgive me, I’m a little groggy. You bare/b.

“Niki Vetrov,” he said with a practiced smile.

She willed. Then let out a shortb, /bawkwardugh.

“Right. I know that name. The renowned billionaire. But you’re here!” Her gaze flicked between us, confusion blooming

Oh no

bI /bbsaw /bbthe /bexact moment she put the pieces together. Her eyes dropped to bmy /bdress–the one Niki had boughtst night. She studied the cut of the fabric. Her brows lifted. Damn it, obviously she was btoo /bsmart not to understand.

Then she turned back to him, and her voice was sharper now,

“You’re the one who paid the bills?*

I opened my mouth to intervene, but she was already ring

Niki remained calm. “It wasn’t much trouble. Please don’t worry yourself

Her attention snapped to me again. “I’m sorry, bNiki/b, this is the first time we’re meeting—I had expected Dmitri

I could practically see the gears turning in her head. She knew something was off. She always did. She was my mother, after all

Niki flicked his gaze to me, and I could tell he was silently basking/b. Want me to take over!

I squared my shoulders and took a deep breath. I wasn’t a coward. My mother didn’t raise one.

“I broke off the engagement with Dmitri,” I said quietly,

Her expression froze.

I continued, “He cheated on me. I walked in on him.”

The silence that followed bwas /bdeafening.

My mother closed her eyes. Pain twisted her features. I hated that I had to hurt her this way. She’d loved Dmitri. Not as a son, but she respected him Trusted him to take care of me.

And now I had to shatter that illusion.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered.

Mom had always hated cheaters

It wasn’t just a preference–it was a boundary carved deep into her bones. A line drawn by experience, by betrayal. One that made her guard her heart so fiercely, it took years before she ever let someone close enough to call à partner.

She sighed then, rubbing her temples slowly, the weight of everything pressing down on her face. “Tree,” she murmured,

That was it

No angry outburst. No dramatic bgasp/b. Just… quiet, Tired,

The kind of tired bthat /bsettled in your bones when life had already proven, more tharance, that people don’t always choose to stay bloyal /b

And God, I hated how bheavy /bshe looked like the strength I balways /brelied on in her had been chipped away bit by bit–and this was just another

blow.

Her first real rtionship–her first long–term boyfriend–had shartered her trust. He’d lied, cheated, gaslit her until she questioned her own instincts. It left scars she never tried to hide, only learned to live with. After that, she never looked at love the same way again.

It took byears /bbefore someone came along who didn’t run from her fears. Who didn’t call her “too much for needing reassurance. That someone was George Anderson.

He didn’t mock her paranoia. He didn’t get defensive. Instead, I had watched as he handed her his phone and said, “Track me if you need to, I don’t want you guessing I want byou /bto feel safe.”

And bthat /bwas it.

1835 bPM /b

That was the moment Mom let him in.

Because sometimes love doesn’t look like flowers and grand gestures.

Sometimes it looks like transparency.

Like patience,

Like trust rebuilt from the ground up.

She opened her eyes slowly. Her voice was quiet. “Did you at least punch him? Break his nose!”

I blinked, “What!”

“That little rat cheated on my daughter after bfour /byears? bYou /bshould’ve at least broken a bone!

0