After their kiss in the foyer, they had barely made it to his room. The careful walls they’d built around themselves had crumbled completely, replaced by desperate hands and whispered confessions. Viktor had been gentle but thorough, taking his time to reacquaint himself with every curve and hollow of her body like he was memorizing her all over again.
It had been different than before. Better, somehow. More intense, more meaningful, like they were both trying to pour four years of longing and regret into every touch. When he looked at her, really looked at her, she felt beautiful and wanted in a way she’d forgotten was possible.
But now, in the harsh light of morning, she could feel him pulling away.
Viktor was awake, she could tell by the change in his breathing, but he hadn’t moved or acknowledged her presence. He was staring at the ceiling, his jaw tight with tension, already rebuilding the emotional barriers between them.
The hurt that lanced through her chest was swift and sharp. She’d known this would happen, had prepared herself for it, but it still felt like a betrayal. Less than twelve hours ago, he’d whispered her name like a prayer, held her like she was precious and fragile and worth protecting. Now he couldn’t even look at her.
“I should go,” she said quietly, starting to sit up.
“You don’t have to.” His voice was carefully neutral, polite. The voice he used with business associates and strangers.
“Yes, I do.” She found her scattered clothes from the night before, pulling them on with as much dignity as she could manage. “We both know this was a mistake.”
He finally looked at her then, those ice-blue eyes unreadable. “Was it?”
“Wasn’t it?” she challenged, hating how vulnerable she sounded. “You can barely stand to be in the same room as me right now.”
Viktor sat up, running a hand through his dark hair. “Anka, it’s not that simple.”
“Isn’t it? You got what you wanted. You proved that I’m still weak for you, still the same pathetic woman who falls apart the moment you show me any attention. Mission accomplished.”
“That’s not what this was about.”
“Then what was it about? Because from where I’m sitting, it feels an awful lot like another game.”
The words hung between them like a blade, cutting through whatever fragile intimacy they’d managed to rebuild. Viktor’s expression hardened, and she saw the exact moment he decided to retreat behind his walls.
“Maybe it was,” he said coldly.
The casual cruelty of it took her breath away. She’d opened herself to him completely, let him see parts of her she’d kept hidden for years, and he was dismissing it all like it meant nothing.
“Right,” she said, proud that her voice came out steady. “Good to know where we stand.”
She left his room with her head held high and her heart in pieces, determined not to let him see how much his rejectionhad devastated her. In the safety of her own suite, she finally allowed herself to break down, to acknowledge the magnitude of her mistake.
She’d known better. She’d known that getting involved with Viktor again would only end in heartbreak, but she’d done it anyway. She’d let hope overrule common sense, and now she was paying the price.
But as she sat there feeling sorry for herself, another emotion began to take hold. Anger. At Viktor for his hot-and-cold behavior, at herself for falling for it, and at the whole fucked-up situation they’d created for themselves.
She understood why he was pulling away. After what she’d done to him four years ago, after the way she’d disappeared without explanation, he had every reason not to trust her with his heart again. In his position, she probably would have done the same thing.
But understanding didn’t make it hurt less.
Over the next few days, she threw herself into every mundane household activity she could find, desperate for distractions from the hollow ache in her chest. She helped Elena reorganize the kitchen pantry, spent hours reading in the library, and even attempted to learn watercolor painting from an online tutorial.
Nothing worked. She was going stir-crazy, trapped in this beautiful prison with a man who treated her like she was invisible during the day and haunted her dreams at night.
Viktor had gone back to his old pattern of avoidance, leaving early for work and returning late. When their paths did cross, he was coolly polite, discussing household matters and upcoming social obligations like they were business partners instead of people who’d been intimate just days before.
It was driving her insane.
By Thursday, she’d reached her breaking point. She marched into his study without knocking, finding him hunched over his laptop with a cup of coffee that had probably gone cold hours ago.
“We need to talk,” she announced.
He looked up, his expression carefully blank. “About what?”
