Total pages in book: 49
Estimated words: 45635 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 228(@200wpm)___ 183(@250wpm)___ 152(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 45635 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 228(@200wpm)___ 183(@250wpm)___ 152(@300wpm)
“That’s the life we were born into,” she said gently. “Just be careful. Alexei…I’ve heard rumors. He’s not like other men.”
“I know,” I answered because I did. I’d heard about The Butcher, the way he was bloody with his kills, a weapon his father used. But I also felt it every time he touched me and especially every time he looked at me like I was something he had already claimed.
Saying goodbye to my sister was harder than I expected, and when the call ended, the silence felt worse than before. I stood there for a moment, letting the ache settle in my chest before forcing myself to move again, because standing still only made everything feel heavier.
The rest of the house opened up as I explored, each room revealing little bits about Alexei I knew I would have never learned otherwise. The main living area was large and expensive but felt untouched, as if they existed more for appearance than comfort. Heavy leather furniture sat arranged perfectly, and a fireplace large enough to stand in was the main focal point of the room.
I entered the dining room, which stretched out with a table long enough to seat twenty, polished to a shine that reflected the light above it. I could easily picture men sitting there, deals being made and threats spoken calmly over dinner like they were just part of the conversation.
That was his—our—world, one where power and violence lived side by side without needing to be hidden.
I left the kitchen and made my way into the library. The shelves were lined with books that had clearly been read instead of just collected, and as I ran my fingers along the spines, something else caught my attention. A set of photo albums tucked into one corner, worn enough that they had been handled frequently. I hesitated before pulling one down and sat on the edge of the couch.
I opened it slowly, not sure what I expected to find, but the first few pages nearly broke something inside me. A little boy looked back at me, dark hair messy, a shy smile on his face that didn’t belong to the man I knew. Alexei at six or seven looked almost soft, his small shoulders relaxed, his expression open in a way that felt impossible to connect to the man I had married.
There were photos of him with his mother, her arm wrapped around him, both of them smiling in a way that felt real, and for a moment, it was hard to look at anything else. But the change came quickly with each turn of the page, with each passing year, and it didn’t slow down.
His smiles faded first, replaced by something more serious, more guarded, and by the time he reached ten, there was nothing soft left in his expression. His mother was no longer in the pictures as if she just disappeared.
By twelve, the scars started to show on Alexei. A cut along his cheekbone, another splitting his lip, and bruises dotting his arms and neck that told their own story without needing anyone to tell me how he got them. His eyes changed the most, losing whatever warmth had been there and turning cold in a way that felt permanent.
I turned the pages more slowly after that, watching the boy disappear and the man take his place, broad-shouldered, tattooed, scarred, and detached in a way that felt carved into him. The Butcher didn’t appear overnight. He was built piece by piece, year after year, and seeing it laid out like this made it impossible to ignore what it must have taken to get him there.
I reached out without thinking, my fingers brushing over a photograph where a jagged scar cut across his collarbone, and something heavy settled in my chest as I tried to understand it. I knew our world wasn’t kind to sons raised to lead, but this was more than that. This was something else entirely, something deeper and darker than I had allowed myself to consider.
I closed the album slowly and placed it back exactly where I found it, but the images flashed through my mind as I made my way out of the library. The house felt different now, less like something unknown and more like something I was starting to understand, even if I wasn’t sure I wanted to.
The kitchen gave me something else to focus on, something normal in a way the rest of the house wasn’t.
I stood there for a moment, staring at the clean counters and untouched appliances, trying to figure out what I was supposed to do with myself in a place this big. Everything here belonged to him, every room, every detail, and even though it was my home now, too, it didn’t feel like mine yet.
I thought about those pictures of that little boy and the smile he wore that had long since vanished. I realized I wanted to prepare dinner for him, to offer something that felt normal in a world that was everything but.