I stop by the open door of the library, but I don’t go in. My hand stretches out, touching the nearest wall for support. I haven’t eaten anything today. Barely had a sip of water.
My heart aches for Wolfgang, for acting behind his back, even if he did the same to me. You don’t hurt someone you love. Not like that. Not by going to the one person that terrorized them their entire life. I close my eyes, reeling in the guilt as best I can, except it won’t stop. There’s no getting out of what I’ve done.
I’ve seen this house silent before, but now it’s too much. Too still. As if something irreversible happened between these walls,and it’s here permanently. To haunt me. Taunt me. Bury me in pain.
I wish he’d come back sooner, so I can explain… Explain whatexactly? How I betrayed him? How I took away the only thing he’s ever needed to find peace in his life?
Some goon appears at the end of an empty corridor, blocking my way. He sees me and squints his eyes, as if he knows. As if he’s no longer supposed to refrain himself from causing me harm. Good. He should do it—kill me right here, splay my blood all over these walls. But he walks by, as if he only saw the ghost of Wolfgang Rykov’s wife.
Eyes closed, I shiver with regret, guilt clawing at my throat.
I urge my useless legs to take me outside—I need to breathe. And I can’t fucking breathe in this house.
But the moment I go down one floor… I feel it. The scent that carries me to sleep every night. My heart cries out, banging against my ribs, begging me to find solace in the same place I lost it—in my husband’s arms. I walk toward the big, empty living room, the click of glass and the pouring of liquid luring me in like a death knell.
He’s here.
Somehow, he came back, and I didn’t see him through the window because I was too afraid to look at times. The silence is unbearable, and I break a little more each time it settles deeperbetween us. Why isn’t he yelling at me? Why won’t he say he hates me, that I ruined his life?
Turning away from the decanter with the scotch, he brings the glass to his lips and stops. Just for a moment, our eyes meet, telling me more than his words ever could.
“W-Wolf…” The name trembles on my wet lips, breaking in half.
He takes back his seat near the fireplace—cold and void of fire, as if he didn’t care for anything but the strong drink in his hand. His jaw tightens. He doesn’t speak. And that silence is worse than any word he could scream at me.
“Please…” I gather my hands in front of me, pulling at the edges of my blouse as I approach him with small, quiet steps. I don’t have words to tell him how sorry I am…
He murmurs, his tone low and indifferent. “Did you enjoy it? Gutting me in front of the world like that?”
I shake my head, approaching him more. He looks at me as if he wants me to stop. And I do, because I’ve never seen him look at me like that.
“I never meant to hurt you,” I say, my voice the only stronghold keeping tears at bay. “I never wanted to go to her. But I had no other choice…”
He chuckles, and it scares me a little. Because it’s filled with pain.
“I let you in, Victoria. Gave you a piece of myself so that youalwayshad a choice. You must have known that. You must have seen what I was willing to do for you.”
“Yes,” I hush out. “Everything… everything except keeping the only people I care about safe.”
“I asked if you’d believe me over the others, and you didn’t respond.” He drains the rest of his drink, ice clinking against the glass. “You believed Ekaterina. Ran to her instead. Tore out my fucking heart.” He exhales. “The problem with that, love, is that everything she told you is a huge pile of crap.”
I listen, and not a single muscle in my body moves as I cling to his words.
“They’re safe. Your sister, your mother, they have been safe. I sent them off to Russia, set them up with a home. With money. Everything they might ever need to make a life for themselves. I did what you asked before you ever asked it. But I guess I’ll always be a monster to you, won’t I?”
“Wolf… I… I didn’t know. I…”
“Nah. Save those pretty little tears for someone who cares.” The words hit me right in the heart. They’re cold, so cold and hateful. There’s nothing left of his mocking, flirty demeanor.
I swallow hard as he gets up, downing his drink. “Because you might remain my wife on paper. But you and I? We’re done. Take your stuff out of my bedroom. And enjoy your fucking life.”
30
VICTORIA
Love is patience. Love is denial. Love is suffering. Love is staying when you’re not wanted. It’s plucking out your heart and leaving it out on a tray for the one who owns it. It’s knowing you might never get it back, or worse, that he’ll never even want to touch it. Never smear his hands with your pain again.
Love… is giving everything you are and not expecting anything in return.
