Here I was, heart racing at the memory of his touch, body still humming with the echo of his presence. The way he’d pinned me, the way his eyes had burned into mine—like I was both salvation and damnation, a threat and a sanctuary.
I hated myself for still wanting him.
I pressed my palms to my eyes, trying to squeeze out the tears before they fell. No. Not yet. I had to survive without him. Three months. Three months of this gilded prison, of playing his game, of keeping my secret locked tight. And then—then I would leave, Vanya in my arms, to Greece, away from everything, away from him, away from the ghosts of the past.
I would open my heart again. Maybe there was a man out there who would love me without conditions. Someone who would look at my curves and see beauty instead of flaw, who would tuck Vanya in at night and read bedtime stories without an empire hanging over his head.
A good man. A safe man.
The thought felt both betrayal and relief, like tasting sunlight after years of darkness.
I stood, paced the room, counting my steps, eyes locked on the clock.
Ten minutes left. Eight. Nine. Each tick a hammer driving through my chest.
I imagined Vanya in the cold Orlov mansion, small and frightened, curled up in a strange bed. Was he crying?
Was he hungry? Had they fed him, or was he too scared to eat?
Was he thinking of me the way I thought of him?
The questions clawed at me like sharp talons. Each one was a reminder that time was slipping, that I had no control, that my son’s safety rested in the hands of enemies—and in the fragile, reluctant mercy of a man who had the power to destroy us both.
I sank into the chair, fingers digging into the edge until my knuckles burned white, every muscle wound tight as a spring.
The fire from the fireplace flickered across the room, mocking me with shadows that danced like specters of my past. I closed my eyes, trying to steady my ragged breathing.
I paced to the window, heart hammering, searching for Seraphina with Vanya—wondering if Dmitri’s words were true. The view was empty. My chest sank, and I pressed my forehead against the cold glass.
The lake below lay black and endless beneath the moon, stars fractured across its surface like promises I’d never be able to reclaim.
Five minutes.
Four.
I wrapped my arms around myself, rocking slightly, as if motion could steady the storm inside me. My chest ached with anticipation, my mind spinning with images of Vanya alone, frightened, counting the seconds.
Three.
Two.
The door opened without a knock.
Chapter 10
DMITRI VOLKOV
Iwatched from the shadowed landing of the staircase, half-hidden behind the carved balustrade, like a man spying on a life that should have been mine.
Pen sat on the edge of the velvet chaise in the center of the foyer, one long leg crossed over the other, her heel tapping an erratic rhythm against the marble floor. Tap. Pause. Tap-tap. The sound echoed through the vast space like a countdown clock wired to my nerves.
She didn’t look up. She didn’t need to. Her entire body was tuned to absence—listening, waiting, bracing.
The movement of her foot made the hem of her dress ride up her calf, revealing muscle where softness used to be. She was stronger. Sharper. A woman forged by survival, not sheltered by love. Every restless shift of her weight was a scream she refused to voice.
She was the only woman who had ever kept me sane.
And the only one who could still unmake me.
