The man stepped closer, towering over him.

“She leaves with me—now, or later, after I have you locked up. Your choice.”

“Dad!” Nadya cried, falling to her knees before him. “Please, don’t hurt him! It’s all my fault! I forced him to marry me!”

“What?” her mother gasped for the first time, breaking her silence.

“I’m sorry!” Nadya sobbed, burying her face in her hands.

Spartacus stepped forward.

“It doesn’t matter how it started. We’re a real couple now. We have feelings. We live like husband and wife. Whoever tries to tear us apart is making a huge mistake.”

“Get up,” her father said, reaching down and pulling her to her feet. “Go to the car. We’re done here.”

Nadya looked back at her husband through tear-filled eyes—then walked out the door.

Spartacus lowered his head.

“And you,” the man said, his voice sharp, “go to the registrar’s office tomorrow. File for divorce. They’ll tell you when to come pick up the certificate. Your role in my daughter’s life is over.”

He turned to leave, but then looked back one last time.

“And if you ever try to contact her again… I won’t be merciful.”

Then he was gone.

Spartacus stood frozen. A crushing silence settled on the house, thick and suffocating. His mother was crying, speaking—maybe pleading—but he didn’t hear a word. His chest was heavy, like someone had dropped a mountain onto him. His fists clenched. His jaw locked tight. You can’t be too happy. The higher you soar, the harder you fall. And the fall… Hurts like hell.

He tossed the car keys onto the table.

“They’re in the car. Gifts for you and the others. Nadya and I picked them out.”

His mother watched him in stunned silence as he turned and walked into their bedroom. A few minutes later, she followed him, worried. He stood by the window, hands resting on the sill.

“Did you get the stuff from the car?” he asked without turning around.

“I… I haven’t yet,” she replied, her voice unsure.

Spartacus glanced at her, then sighed.

“I’m not weak, Mama. People who take their own lives… they’re the weak ones. Don’t worry.”

“Oh, son… I really got scared. You’re just so calm.”

“I’m not crazy, Mama. I promise.”

She gave him a trembling smile.

“Everything will be fine. I know she loves you.”

“I know too,” he said softly.

She hesitated a moment, then asked, “Did she take the brooch with her? The one from my mother?”

“No. It’s in the drawer,” he said, nodding toward the dresser.

“Good,” she whispered and stepped out, gently closing the door behind her.

Spartacus stared ahead, jaw tight, thoughts spinning. He opened the drawer and pulled out a small velvet box. Inside lay the brooch—and his Swiss wristwatch. He turned the brooch in his fingers, studying the emerald and diamonds, the careful design. Then he placed it back, locked the drawer, and hid the key. Nadya. On her knees. In tears. At that bastard’s feet. He wanted to scream.

What am I doing just standing here? He walked outside and slid into the driver’s seat. He had to do something. Anything. Sell the car? Go after her? Hide out in the woods with her? File a report against her father?

“God… what am I thinking?” he muttered, rubbing his face.

He gripped the wheel tighter and pulled onto the road. The deeper the silence got, the more it ate away at him. She’d been ripped from his hands. And he had just stood there. No. Never. He wasn’t going to that divorce office. Not tomorrow. Not ever. He was going to Moscow. Now.

He called his stepfather and asked him to tell his mother not to worry. Something urgent came up. By early morning, he was near Voronezh. Exhaustion clouded his brain. He couldn’t remember why he was even driving anymore. What’s the point? They won’t even let me near her. They’ll have me arrested. Framed. Destroyed. But he couldn’t go back. He couldn’t live like he used to. Not now. Not after her. Maybe… maybe he could reason with her father again. Surely the man was human, wasn’t he?