Have I truly not seen him all these years? My brother… he’s supposed to hate me. It’s what I’ve always known. Now he’s telling me he feels utterly alone in this world.
He shakes his head. “We were kids. And we were pitted against each other for the longest time. Fuck, I don’t know what else to tell you, but just… end this bullshit with Victoria. Because unlike me, you actually have someone who loves you. Don’t be an idiot and give that up.”
I’m lost for words as he gets up. Have I been so wrapped up in my own pain I never saw his?
I follow him with my eyes until he’s almost out of the room.
“She betrayed me. I don’t know how to get back from that.”
He halts. “Yeah, I know she did. But like I said… My mother is a cunt. She played her, and you know it.”
VICTORIA
I’m in the shower upstairs, watching the water slide down my body and go down the drain.
Today, I don’t feel empty—I am terrified. Wolfgang could’ve died last night. I could’ve lost him for good, and I have a feeling this is my fault. I hurt him. So badly that he didn’t care what happenedto him. That he looked for pain elsewhere because maybe he didn’t know how to deal with the one we share. I don’t either.
All I know is I want him, and the only thing last night managed to do was make me crave him harder, not make it go away.
I finish showering and check my phone.
He hasn’t replied to any of the messages I sent this morning, making it pretty clear where we stand. What we did was a fling. A distraction, maybe. But it wasn’t forgiveness. He’s still punishing me, and all I can do for now is take it.
I put on some clothes and dry my hair before I trudge out into the hallway. I need to get out of here, to soak in what’s left of the summer sun before depression fully takes me to the point of no return. Besides, I miss Alaska.
I feed her every day, but I haven’t ridden her in a while. Not that I will today—I can’t—though I can at least spend more time with her in the stables.
A low, eerie voice stops me in my tracks when I’m almost to the main door downstairs.
It’s a voice I rarely hear in this house. Because Yuri Rykov is like a ghost—we all know he’s here, but he rarely makes himself known. As if he enjoys keeping you on your toes, enjoys seeing the fear poking through your skin as goosebumps at the sound of him.
Normally, that’s exactly what I would be feeling right now, since I’m alone. But something else ignites in me. A rage so quiet, so deadly, it stands no chance in the face of that fear.
If anyone is to blame for all the shit going on in Wolfgang’s life, it’s this man right here—his father. Someone needs to straighten him out fast.
Still, that tendril of fear is there, begging me to back down. Only my feet don’t listen. They move on their own accord, each step heavy, weighted, heartbreak still coursing through me.
Lightheaded from what can only be an obscene amount of adrenaline, I step into the door frame of his study.
He’s looking down at some papers scattered on his desk with his grizzled hair and the worn out body of an ancient god of the underworld. He’s clean of any cuts, flawless, not inked and scarred like Wolfgang. Or Mikhail. I don’t know if I should be even more scared by the fact… or relieved.
Either way, I’m here, and my heart is in my throat. Because his eyes are no longer on the papers. They’re watching me. And he looks like he’s about to draw blood.
“You…” he says, taking off his glasses. “You’ve got some fucking nerve to show up here, girl.”
My heartbeat's so loud, his voice is muffled, like he’s underwater.
“Stole my son’s future…” He gets up. “Caused chaos in my business…” He rounds the desk slowly, as if he’s being extra careful with the corners. “And on top of that, you did what women do these days—played Wolfgang like a two-faced cunt. And he fell for it.”
The words sting, but it’s nothing compared to the rage building quickly inside me. Not for me—for my husband. What Yuri is implying is that Wolf is weak and naïve, when we all know he’s anything but.
Yuri stops in front of me, his watchful eyes shifting across my face. He could hit me. I know he could. But I won’t give him the chance to do so before I tell him everything I’ve been bottling up.
“He’s yourson,” I tell him between clenched teeth. “And you pulled the rug from under his feet when he was doing everything in his power to earn your love. To do what you wanted him to do in the first place and take the goddamn throne!”
“What I wanted him to do has nothing to do with what he did.” His voice is calm, quiet. Completely different from mine—a shaky, loud mess. It scares me even more, but I don’t back down. He adds, “I needed him to be more. And instead, he made himself happy.” He puts on a mocking smile. “Do you know what that tells people, girl?”
“That he’s the richest man in the goddamn world.”
