To My Gentle Dictator – Chapter 015

Ulrich set down the damp towel and stepped closer to the bed.

Droplets of rose-tinted water clung to his golden hair, shimmering where it fell messily around his forehead.

“I sent some agents to your home, just in case. You were in such bad shape that I considered sending you to the hospital, but in the end, I brought you back here. You don’t seem to like doctors.”

Sasha stared blankly at him, watching as he opened a cigarette case.

She should have been more focused on how she had ended up back here—
But instead, she couldn’t stop noticing how… different Ulrich looked.

And it wasn’t because he was wearing only a bathrobe.

“If you’d prefer, I can still send you to the hospital. You don’t seem very comfortable here.”

His voice was neither warm nor cold—
It hovered somewhere in between.

His expression, too, remained serene, completely undisturbed.

And yet—
There was something unfamiliar, something chilling in the air.

Even though he looked more relaxed than ever—
He felt farther away than when he had been wearing his NSS uniform.

“T-That’s not it. I’m sorry, Ulrich, I—”

“Sorry for what? For begging me to take you in, only to run off with someone else?”

His words sounded almost playful—
But as he exhaled a slow trail of smoke, his blue eyes remained utterly cold as they met hers.

The warmth had vanished from his gaze.
And that hurt more than anything.

Sasha bit down anxiously on her lower lip.

Why now, of all times?

Why did she suddenly remember everything from that night—
What she had said in her fevered state, what Ulrich had answered in return?

Of course, it hadn’t been serious.

But whether Ulrich had meant it or not—
The way she had disappeared like that, after the way he had treated her so generously—
It wasn’t right.

He must have been shocked.

He had every reason to be furious—
And yet, instead of showing it, he had spent his time and resources tracking her down—
And even now, he was still treating her with kindness.

“I really am sorry. What happened was—”

“It’s fine, Shura.”

Ulrich cut her off effortlessly, his voice light.

“You don’t have to explain anything to me.”

Ulrich’s words felt like a door shutting politely in her face—and with it, a sharp, painful tightening in her chest.

A sudden, overwhelming urge surged through Sasha—
She wanted to hit herself, hard.

‘Why am I such an idiot?’

Maybe it was because she had been called stupid so many times over the past three years that she had actually become one.

Ulrich had treated her so well—
And yet, she had run straight back to Vasily like a fool.

If she was going to be beaten into a pulp anyway, she should have just stayed here and waited for Ulrich to return.
Or at the very least, she should have left a note before leaving…

“Of course, I am curious about why you did it, Shura.”

Ulrich’s voice was lower, quieter as he watched her tearful expression.

“And how you ended up getting hurt like that.”

As if his words were a lifeline, Sasha rushed to speak.

“The truth is, my brother—”

She had thought she could never tell Ulrich that her ex-fiancé used her as a punching bag whenever he felt like it.

And yet—
Here she was, spilling everything in a desperate, breathless rush.

How Kiril had assaulted Vasily’s younger brother and ended up in detention.
How she had been punished for it.
How she had no way to pay the settlement money and had felt completely helpless.

How she had been terrified that if she didn’t follow Vasily, Kiril would suffer for it—
And how she had also worried that Ulrich might get caught up in the mess.

After pouring everything out, she looked up at him like an abandoned puppy, wide eyes searching anxiously for a reaction.

“I see.”

Ulrich had been listening in silence, slowly burning through his cigarette.
And when he finally spoke, it was without emotion.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“…I… I’m sorry.”

The thought that she hadn’t even had the chance to tell him never crossed her mind.
Instead, her voice shrank as she confessed what had really been holding her back.

“I was afraid… I was afraid that you’d hate me, Ulrich.”

Coming from a woman already despised by an entire nation, it sounded ridiculous.

And yet—
Sasha truly didn’t want Ulrich to look at her the way everyone else did.

A foolish, impossible hope—but a hope nonetheless.

“That’s a strange thing to say.”

Sasha held back a trembling breath at his short reply.

The despair pressing against her chest felt suffocating, but even more than that—
She felt like she didn’t deserve to cry.

Ulrich stubbed out his cigarette in the crystal ashtray on the table, his voice low as he continued.

“There’s no way I could hate you, Shura.”

“…What?”

“So stop picking at your hands.”

Sasha flinched and immediately dropped her hands, only now realizing she had been unconsciously tearing at her skin.

A large hand reached out and gently enveloped hers—
Her fingers, covered in reddish scars, looked awful in comparison.

His touch was careful, delicate—

Sasha hesitated, then looked up at him.

There was no trace of the coldness from before.

The way Ulrich held her hand so gently made it feel as if everything had been just her imagination.

“You must have had a hard time, Shura.”

At the sound of his soft, warm voice, something deep in her chest—
Something tight, coiled, and straining like a wire—
Finally snapped.

Her vision blurred.

She clenched her lips together, trying not to cry, but the tears fell on their own—
As if her body had broken down completely.

Ulrich, who had been watching her quietly, reached out—
And pulled her into his arms.

The faint scent of soap lingered on his strong frame, and the moment his arms wrapped around her small body,

Whatever fragile spell had been holding her together shattered completely.

Sasha sobbed like a child, clutching onto his solid chest.

She couldn’t stop, even though she tried.

She couldn’t remember the last time she had cried in someone’s arms.

She had long believed that no one would ever hold her like this again.

And yet—
For the first time in years, someone else’s warmth embraced her completely.

So warm—
So unreal—

“Hhic… Ulrich, Yurochka…!”

Between her heart-wrenching sobs, the old childhood nickname for him slipped from her lips.

She hadn’t even meant to say it.

“It’s okay, Shura.”

Ulrich whispered soothingly, his hand moving in slow, steady strokes across her frail back.

“You don’t have to worry anymore.”

The words felt like a dream.

So sweet—so tempting—
That she wanted to believe them.

She had lived in resignation for so long.
She knew that hope always led to disappointment.

And yet—
This time, she couldn’t bring herself to reject it.

Because she was afraid.

Afraid of losing this warmth—
Afraid of losing this beautiful man’s kindness—

The only kindness left in the world.

* * *

The rose-tinted sunset that had once bathed the room in warmth slowly faded into a dusky purple twilight.

The sound of her violent sobs had softened into small sniffles, and now, only the quiet rhythm of her breath remained.

It wasn’t surprising.

After days of barely being conscious, she had exhausted herself by crying like that.

Ulrich carefully adjusted Sasha, who had fallen asleep still clinging to him, and laid her down properly on the bed.

Just earlier—when he had stepped out of the shower—he had still been thinking.

How should he teach this foolish princess to listen?

He had clearly told her to stay here until he returned—
And yet, she had run after Vasily without hesitation.

It wasn’t even unexpected.
It was, in some ways, even what he had planned for.

And yet—
For days now, the irritation hadn’t faded.

It was Ulrich’s agents who had retrieved her from that garbage heap of an apartment and brought her back here, per his orders.

When Sasha returned to his bedroom, she looked even worse than she had on the first day they met again.

For days, she had been barely conscious.

She should have known this would happen.
She should have known what Vasily would do to her.

And still—
She chose to follow him.

Was she not just stupid but also the type who enjoyed being abused?

“How cliché.”

People like that—
So predictable. So boring.

 

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