“It’s the last time,” I whisper again, more to myself than to him.
Neither of us believes it.
He pulls his pants back up, still watching me, his eyes dark, unreadable. I turn away, gathering the scattered pages of my journal, trying to piece them back into order, though the words mean less with every second.
The silence between us is heavy, suffocating. Neither of us sleeps that night.
I lie awake long after midnight, body sore, skin burning with the memory of his touch. Guilt claws at me, shame presses down, but beneath it all, hunger coils again, low and insistent.
I tell myself it’s over. I tell myself it has to be.
It isn’t.
Chapter Eighteen - Alexei
The knock comes just after dawn. I’m at my desk, still wearing last night’s shirt, the half-drained glass of vodka beside me. One of my men slips inside, face tense, jaw locked. He doesn’t speak right away—he doesn’t have to. I already know it isn’t good.
“The Council’s summoned you,” he says finally.
A coil tightens in my gut. The Council doesn’t summon without reason. Lately, reason has a name: Vivienne.
I stand, sliding the glass aside, and the man shifts uneasily under my stare. “What do they know?”
He shakes his head. “I wasn’t told. Only that they expect you in an hour.”
That’s all I need to hear.
I leave the office and head down the hall to her room. The door is locked, though I have the key. She’s inside, hiding from me, from herself, from the mess we’ve made. I don’t blame her. I unlock it, step in.
She’s curled in the armchair, legs tucked beneath her, hair messy, eyes red. She doesn’t rise when she sees me.
“I have to go,” I say. My voice is flat, stripped down. “Stay here. Don’t leave this room.”
Her mouth parts, ready to ask, to argue. I cut her off with a look. “No one comes in. No one. Do you understand?”
She nods, though suspicion lingers in her eyes. I close the door, lock it from the outside, and walk away before I change my mind.
***
The Council’s chamber reeks of smoke and power. Men sit around the long table, all of them old enough to rememberthe wars that built this empire. Their eyes track me as I enter, cold and knowing.
“Alexei,” one of them greets, voice slick with false courtesy. “Sit.”
I don’t. I stay standing. “You called me. Speak.”
The man smiles, sharp and cruel, and slides a folder across the table. “We’ve been thorough.”
I glance down. The folder is open, pages spilling with photographs, documents, records. Vivienne’s face stares back at me in black and white, grainy but unmistakable. Next to it, her father’s name.
My blood runs cold.
“Forged identity,” another voice cuts in. “Intercepted messages. Her father’s file.” He taps a page with a thick finger. “She’s not who she claims to be. You brought her into your house.”
The weight of their stares presses against me. The words that follow are casual, effortless. “The answer is obvious. She’s a liability. A traitor’s daughter. Kill her.”
There’s no hesitation. Not from a single one of them. To them, she’s already dead.
I force my hands to stay loose at my sides, though rage coils hot in my chest. “She’s under my protection.”
