Not a knock.
Not a message.
Not a sound.
I don’t hear from him again.
Now it’s nighttime, and I’ve already showered and changed into one of my silk nightgowns. I sit at the vanity, working through my nightly routine with hands that won’t stop trembling—whether from anger or heartbreak, I don’t know.
I keep telling myself I’m fine. That I don’t care. That I’m better off in my own room.
But the truth sits heavy in my chest.
I wish I were in Dimitri’s room…in his arms…warm and safe the way I was last night.
But going to him now would make me the biggest fool alive.
I cap my lotion bottle, push back the vanity chair, and stand to go to bed—when my door opens.
Dimitri walks in like he owns the oxygen in the room.
His face is calm, too calm, the kind of calm that usually means he’s furious but holding it by the throat. It even feels like he’s trying to keep the soft mood from this morning alive—despite everything I did to push him away.
Then he slams the door shut.
The sound ricochets through the room and into my bones.
He turns to me slowly. “Enough of your tantrums, Vivian.” His voice is low, controlled, deadly. “Explain yourself.”
The words spill out of me in a rush. I’ve been waiting—aching—for this confrontation.
“I overheard you,” I say, my voice sharper than I intend, but I don’t care. “Earlier today. When I came to invite you to lunch.”
A flicker crosses his face—surprise, calculation, something darker. I push on.
“You caused the collapse of one of my father’s banks. And you said you’d go blood for blood because you haven’t forgiven or forgotten.”
He blinks once. Slowly. But he doesn’t deny it.
My chest tightens, burning, cracking open. I shake my head, a bitter laugh slipping out.
“This isn’t about me, is it?” My voice drops, small, devastated. “It’s about what my family did to yours.”
“Yes.”
I gasp. “Oh no.”
“They destroyed too many lives,” he says quietly, but there’s nothing soft in his tone. “And a friend I loved. I have to avenge them.”
My heart twists so hard it feels like something is tearing inside me.
Understanding wars with fury, pain with pride.
“So you decided to destroy me instead?” I whisper.
He steps closer, each footfall deliberate, controlled, terrifying. When he speaks, it’s steel wrapped in something dangerously close to confession.
“You were never supposed to matter,” he murmurs. His gaze drags over my face, lingering, almost pained. “But you do now.”
