Peighton
Gustav is gone by morning.
No note. No message. Nothing but an empty seat at breakfast and a hollow ache settling beneath my ribs. He left St. Andrews sometime before dawn. I wasn’t awake to see him go. I wasn’t awake to fix anything. I wasn’t awake to apologize for the hundredth time about the phone or the lie or the way I said another man’s name while we made love… I mean, I’m still unsure if that was good or bad in Gustav’s twisted mind. I hope it was just a kink he wanted to play out.
And honestly, I loved it. Because it was him.
I shudder hard just thinking about how hard I’ve fallen for this complicated man.
Now he’s gone, and I can’t shake the dread that he left because of me.
Keira and the other bratva wives whisper their guesses in the courtyard. Meetings. Violence. Retaliation for Vlad. None of them mention madness, even though I saw it in his eyes last night. I saw it as clearly as breath fogging in cold air. They don’t see it as a flaw. They see it as power.
I see it as breaking.
I want to call him. Ask where he is. Ask if he’s safe. I don’t even have his number.
It feels pathetic to not know your own husband’s phone number.
My phone sits on the dresser. The guilt presses on my gut as I power it on. The screen floods with messages the moment it lights up.
Tyra
MERRY XMAS
Are u alive
Pei answer me now
Girl do I need to get on the next damn plane
And my dad.
Daddy
What did the Russian get u?
Sorry about hanging up
Text me when u can
My throat tightens.
I sit on the edge of the bed and type to Tyra first.
Me
I’m here. I’m married. I’m safe. But things with him are… complicated.
He’s nuts.
She responds instantly.
Tyra
Complicated how? Should I come? I can be there tomorrow.
I press a hand to my forehead.
