Whispers In The Smoke.

3 | Amir Ivanov

I was standing with some of my business associates, nodding at their empty words, when my attention drifted. The conversation around me faded into the background as my eyes landed on a familiar figure by the bar, her laugh cutting through the noise like a shot to my chest.

Évera.

My chest tightened as I watched her, effortlessly blending in with these shallow people, as if she belonged here. But I knew the truth. She didn't. She belonged with me. No matter how much she tried to bury the past, to pretend she moved on, I could see it – the flicker of pain beneath that smile, the walls she kept so carefully intact.

I muttered something to my associates, an excuse they didn't question, before walking towards the bar. My steps were slow, calculated. I had learned long ago that patience was my best weapon. But my patience was wearing thin.

As I got closer, I noticed Cyrus Volkov at her side, his hand resting on the bar, far too close to hers for my liking. My blood boiled at the sight. Volkov. The man was a nuisance – another power-hungry gool trying to worm his way into her life, into my life.

My grip on the glass I was holding tightened, but I forced myself to stay composed. Rage wouldn't help me now.

Just as I was within earshot, Cyrus leaned closer, his voice low, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. "May I have this dance?" he asked, his tone dripping with charm.

That did it.

I wasn't going to stand by and let him get away with it. Before she could answer, I stepped forward, my voice cutting through the air like a knife. "The lady is clearly not interested."

Cyrus turned, surprise flashing across his face as his gaze met mine. The smirk faltered, replaced by something else. Concern, maybe. Fear, even better. He knew who I was, what I was capable of.

Évera, though, didn't flinch. She stood there, her expression carefully neutral, but I could see the subtle tension in her body. She wasn't expecting me. She didn't want me here. But it was too late. I wasn't going anywhere.

Cyrus straightened up, eyeing me with cautious defiance. "Amir? What are you doing here?"

I ignored him, my eyes fixed on Évera. For a moment, neither of us said anything, the weight of our history hanging between us like an unspoken threat.

"I came to talk to her," I finally answered, my tone steady but laced with an edge.

"You've got to be kidding me," Cyrus said, his voice rising in frustration. "The Lysanders and Ivanovs have been enemies for decades, Amir. This isn't a joke."

My eyes narrowed. "This has nothing to do with our families," I said coldly, taking a step closer to Évera. "This is about her."

Évera's eyes flashed with a mixture of hurt and disbelief. She crossed her arms, her posture rigid, a barrier between us. "You didn't choose me, Amir," she said, her voice laced with bitterness. "When it came down to it, you let the rivalry between our families dictate everything. But now, you show up and tell me this is about me?"

She finally got down from the stool and stepped closer, her gaze piercing through the walls I had built over the years. "You can't just erase what happened, Amir. You made your choice back then, and it wasn't me"

Her words cut deeper than I expected, bringing back the painful memory of the moment I let her slip through my fingers, allowing the weight of our families' feud to crush what we had. The tension between us was thick, years of unresolved emotions hanging in the air.

I clenched my fists, struggling to find the right words, but Évera wasn't done. "You act like you can just waltz back into my life and make it all about me now. But what about the night you set fire to my parents' mansion while they were inside? You have no idea how it felt to think I could lose everything because of you!" Her voice softened, but it carried a raw edge of vulnerability, the cracks in her facade showing for the briefest moment.

She wasn't wrong. I did choose our families' rivalries over her. But that was because I had that as the only choice. He threatened to hurt her physically, forcing my hand in a game I never wanted to play. No matter how powerful I am in this ruthless world, when it comes to her, I am weak to my knees. But the truth is, even after everything, even though he is the closest to her, I couldn't bring myself to leave her alone with him. I had always been near her. Wherever she was, I was there, lurking in the shadows, watching over her, consumed by the need to protect her, even if it meant putting my own heart on the line.

"I did it for you, Évera," I wanted to say, but my voice was betraying me, caught somewhere between desperation and regret. The words hung in the air heavy with meaning, but the truth is; I was afraid she wouldn't believe it.

I just stood there, unable to speak. I do not remember myself ever being this weak. But I am the weakest man in the world in front of her.

"I'm not doing this, not here," she said, shaking her head. "Let's go, Cyrus."

The way she reached for him, clinging to him like a lifeline, sent a wave of possessive anger through me. I clenched my fists, barely holding back the urge to tear him away from her.

"You think he can protect you?" I asked, my voice dangerously quiet. "You think this guy knows what you need, Évera? You think any of this," I gestured around the room, "can protect you like I can?"

Her eyes flashed with anger. "What I need, Amir, is for you to stop pretending like you care. You have already made your choices."

"And you made yours," I shot back, stepping closer, my voice dropping to a near whisper. "But you know it does not matter. No one will ever keep you safer than I will. You can hate me all you want, but deep down, أنت تعرف أن هذا صحيح."
(You know it is true.)

Her breath hitched, and for a moment, I saw it. The crack in her armor, the vulnerability she worked so hard to hide. But just as quickly, it vanished, replaced by that same icy exterior she had perfected over the years.

"Amir, stop," she said, her voice trembling slightly. "This is over. لقد انتهينا."
(We are over.)

But I could not stop. Not now. Not after everything. I took one final step forward, my voice softening but losing none of its intensity. "I would take a bullet for you, Évera. I would burn this entire world down if it meant keeping you safe. You know that. You have always known that."

"That is the thing about you, Amir. You always said you would, but أنت لم تفعل ذلك." she whispered; her voice barely audible.
(You didn't.)

And with that, she walked away, leaving me standing in the wreckage of everything I had fought so hard to hold onto.