Chapter 7 – Barbara
I couldn’t stop pacing.
Back and forth across my bedroom floor, bare feet silent on the marble that felt too cold, too hard, too much like the prison my life had become. Moonlight cut through the windows in sharp angles, painting everything in shades of silver and shadow, but I couldn’t find the beauty in it, not tonight or in a long time.
My phone glowed in my hands, screen brightness turned down low like I was afraid someone might see. Afraid the light itself might betray me.
Hailey:Girl, where have you BEEN? You’ve been ghosting us for days.
Cassandra:Seriously, B. No calls, no texts. We’re worried. What’s going on?
Hailey:Also you missed girls’ night at the club last Friday. You NEVER miss girls’ night.
Cassandra:Are you okay? Please just tell us you’re alive.
Tears blurred the words on the screen, making them swim and distort. I blinked hard, trying to clear my vision, but more tears just took their place, sliding down my cheeks in tracks I didn’t bother to wipe away.
I wasn’t okay. Hadn’t been okay in five years. But how could I tell them that? How could I explain that every day felt like drowning, like being buried alive under the weight of a mistake I’d made when I was too young and stupid to know better?
My thumbs hovered over the keyboard. I should respond. Should tell them something, anything, to stop them from worrying. But what could I say that wouldn’t be a lie?
Sorry, I’ve been busy being blackmailed by my psychotic half-brother and sleeping with a Bratva tech guy who thinks I’m a cheating slut.
Yeah. That would go over well.
Hailey and Cassandra knew about Sebastian. They’d known for years that he took money from me, that he showed up demanding cash with threats that made my hands shake. But I’d never told them why. Never explained what he had on me. Never showed them the video that had become the noose around my neck.
I’d just said it was “family stuff.” That Sebastian was unstable and vindictive, and I had to keep him happy or he’d make trouble for my father’s business. They’d accepted it because they were good friends. Because they trusted me.
Because they didn’t know I was a liar who’d kissed her own half-brother and let him film it.
A sob caught in my throat. I pressed my hand over my mouth, muffling the sound. The mansion was quiet, and I didn’t want anyone to hear. Marcus or one of the housekeepers could come in to check on me, and I wasn’t interested in pasting a fake smile or pretending everything was fine.
The curtains fluttered near my balcony door. I’d left it open despite knowing better, desperate for air that didn’t feel recycled and stale. A breeze drifted through, carrying the scent of the garden below—roses and jasmine and freshly cut grass.
I moved to close the door, then stopped. My eyes scanned the balcony, the shadows beyond, the dark shapes of trees swaying in the wind.
Was someone out there?
My heart kicked into overdrive, pulse thundering in my ears. Sebastian had snuck in through my balcony before, back when the cameras still had their convenient blind spots. Back when I could still manipulate the system to give him access.Would he try again? Would he scale the wall like some kind of demented Romeo, gun in his jacket and threats on his lips?
Or worse, would it be Kirill?
The thought made my stomach flip in a way that had nothing to do with fear and everything to do with something I refused to name. I hated that. Hated that even thinking his name made my skin flush and my breath catch. Hated that I could still feel his hands on me, his mouth on mine, the way he’d looked at me like I was something worth saving before reality crashed back in.
I hated Kirill.
Hated him because he thought I was a cheater. Worse—he thought I was a slut who slept with him while having a boyfriend waiting for me. I’d seen it in his eyes when Sebastian’s call interrupted us in my bedroom.
And God, I hated the way he looked into my eyes. Hated how those sharp blue depths seemed to see through every wall I’d built, every lie I’d told.
But I wasn’t afraid of him. Not the way I was afraid of Sebastian.
Kirill might hate me. Might think the worst of me. But he wouldn’t hurt me. Some instinct deeper than logic told me that. Told me that despite everything—despite the lies and the confusion and the disaster we’d created—he wouldn’t raise a hand against me.
Sebastian, though. Sebastian would.
Had.
