More like the girl I used to love.
Used to.Past tense. Deliberate.
"Five minutes," I say. "Then you leave."
She nods, moving deeper into the room. I notice she keeps distance between us. Smart girl. Her eyes catalog everything. She has been in this room many times before. We were young and in love and couldn’t keep our hands off each other.
Looking around the room, I see what she sees. Every space we made love. The chair. The couch. The bed. The floor.
"What happened to you?" she asks quietly. "What did they do?"
The question opens something dark inside me. She wants to know?Fine. Let her know exactly what her betrayal cost.
"You want details?" I lean against the window frame, casual despite the rage building in my chest. "Sure. Why not? Let's start with the kidnapping itself. I need to understand why you think I had something to do with it."
I watch her face as I describe it—the ambush, the bag over my head, waking up in a concrete cell with no windows and one door that only opened when they wanted to hurt me.
"The first month was interrogation," I continue. "They wanted information about the Barinov operations. Thought I'd break quickly—rich boy, soft life, never experienced real pain. They were wrong."
She’s staring at me like she isn’t sure she believes me.
I decide to go even darker.
"When interrogation didn't work, they got creative. Waterboarding. Electricity. Breaking fingers one by one and then letting them heal wrong just to break them again." I hold up my left hand, showing the slightly crooked fingers. "This one took three tries before I stopped screaming."
"Maksim, please—"
"No." I cut her off. "You asked what happened. I'm telling you. Month two, they decided psychological torture was more effective. Isolation. Sensory deprivation. They'd leave me in darkness for weeks, then blast light and sound until I couldn't tell what was real anymore."
I push off the window and move closer. She holds her ground, but I see her throat working as she swallows.
"They showed me the evidence of your betrayal when I refused to believe it. Photos of you at family gatherings, smiling like I'd never existed. Documents showing your rise to power. Recordings of you making deals, building alliances. All while I rotted in that cell."
"Those could have been faked—"
“You looked happy in the photos. Radiant. Like you got exactly what you wanted."
Her face goes pale. "That's not…I didn't—"
"Didn't what? Didn’t have me killed because you were done with me?”
She shakes her head. This time, there is emotion. Tears slide down her cheeks.
“Oh now, let’s not pretend you haven’t gotten everything you wanted. You’re marrying the king.”
“I didn’t—”
“Didn't agree to marry him? Because you're wearing his ring." I grab her left hand, holding up the diamond that catches light.
She jerks her hand back. "You don't understand the circumstances—"
"I understand perfectly." I circle her slowly, predator assessing prey. "Your family was in debt. Disgraced. My disappearance created an opportunity. You took it. Built power. Made yourself valuable enough that Roman would marry you instead of destroying you. Smart strategy. Ruthless. I'd almost admire it if I wasn't the one who paid the price."
"That's not what happened!" Her voice rises. "I built power to survive! To protect Anya! Your family blamed us for your death. We were targets—"
"Because you were responsible." I stop in front of her. "Someone set me up, Kira. Someone sent me out there that night and made sure it was a clean grab. It was you. Your father.”
“No! I wouldn’t. I didn’t.”
