Page 82 of Reckless Obsession

“You’ve always hated me,” I say.

The words are out before I can stop them.

“Maksim—” Anton starts.

I ignore him.

“You’ve always fucking despised me because I was Dad’s favorite. Because he looked at me differently. Because he gave me the kind of love he never gave you, and you’ve held that against me for years.”

The silence that crashes down over the range is suffocating. Even the wind seems to die. I watch hurt flash raw and naked across Alex’s face—those blue eyes widening for half a second before anger and disappointment slam down like shutters. The disappointment cuts deepest. It always does.

My heart twists violently in my chest. For a moment I want to take it back. I want to laugh it off, throw another barbed joke, anything to erase the way he’s looking at me right now.

But I can’t. The damage is already done, hanging between us like smoke after a gunshot.

Alex stares at me like he doesn’t recognize me. For a long second, he says nothing, and somehow that’s worse than if he’d exploded.

When he finally speaks, his voice is low and sharp enough to slice skin.

“You really believe that?”

The question lands harder than if he’d called me a fucking idiot.

Because the answer is yes.

Or maybe no.

Or maybe I don’t know what I believe anymore, except that I’ve spent years pretending not to notice the difference between how our father looks at me and how he looks at everyone else, especially my brothers.

“Don’t act surprised,” I mutter, even though my voice isn’t as steady as I want it to be. “You’ve never exactly been subtle.”

Alex steps closer—not aggressive, not threatening, but close enough that I can’t look away, close enough that his weight feels unavoidable.

“You think I hate you,” he says, quieter now, but somehow angrier for it. “You think I look at you and see Dad’s favorite and that’s all you’ve ever been to me?”

I don’t answer.

Partly because I don’t trust my mouth. Partly because if I speak right now, I’ll either say something worse or say something honest, and I’m not sure which one would do more damage. Alex lets out a short, bitter laugh and drags a hand over his jaw.

“You have no idea what the fuck you’re talking about, Maksim.”

“Tell me I’m wrong,” I push, lifting my chin just enough to force the defiance back into my voice, even as something uneasy shifts in my chest. “Go on. Tell me you’ve never resented me.”

Anton exhales somewhere to the side, a low warning sound. “Maksim, enough—”

“No,” Alex cuts in.

His voice stays quiet, but there’s an edge to it now, something firm and final that makes even Anton stop. Alex’s eyes stay locked on mine, steady and unblinking.

“He wants an answer,” he says. “Let him hear it.”

Something cold settles in my stomach.

“You think I hated you for being loved?” he asks. “I was angry, yeah. I was jealous sometimes too, because I’m human, and despite what everyone seems to think, I wasn’t born a fucking robot.”

The words hit me square in the chest.

“I resented the situation,” he says, each word measured, deliberate. “I resented the way Dad treated us differently. I resented the pressure. The expectations. The fact that I had to become something close to perfect just to be seen.”