Nothing.
No Dimitri.
No sound.
Maybe he isn’t home?
But that doesn’t make any sense. He didn’t tell me he would be leaving. He wouldn’t leave—not tonight. Not after everything that happened.
Still, dread coils in my chest as I slowly move through the house, checking every room, opening every door. My bare feet whisper against the floor as I pass the guest suites, the hallway leading to the gym, the dining room, the lounge. All empty.
Every empty room tightens something inside me.
He wouldn’t leave me here alone.
He wouldn’t.
I push open another door.
Empty.
My heartbeat stutters.
Another door.
Empty.
Finally, I reach the library.
The handle is cold beneath my palm. I push the door open gently, barely breathing—
And there he is.
Dimitri sits in complete darkness, the only light coming from the faint glow of the storm outside. He’s sunk into the leather armchair, a half-finished glass of vodka dangling from his hand. His shoulders are tense, his jaw locked, his entire body carved out of shadow and exhaustion.
He’s staring into nothing.
Like he’s somewhere far away.
Somewhere ugly.
Somewhere painful.
My chest tightens.
“Dimitri….” My voice cracks.
He looks up slowly, almost like pulling himself back into his own body takes effort.
I swallow, stepping deeper into the room. “I can’t stop seeing it,” I whisper. “The flashes of gunfire. The sound. The way everything…exploded.”
The words tremble out of me.
His eyes darken—soften, even. But only for a second.
“Neither can I,” he says quietly.
The honesty in his voice hits something deep and raw inside me.
