The bones of her face. The posture. That slight turn of the shoulder, like she’s preparing to vanish again.
Everything in me goes still.
No words.
Just the dull static roar ofwhat the fuck.
“She was there,” Timur says.
Not a question. A confirmation.
“She watched,” I murmur, leaning closer to the screen. “She was standingright there.”
Seven years of silence.
Seven years of absence.
And now she shows up not just in the country—but atmywedding.
Arseny exhales through his nose. “Congratulations. You’re officially being haunted by your ex-wife.”
36
Bella
Blackwood Academy.
I don’t drive here—Iarrive.Like I’m supposed to curtsy at the gates and pay tribute in blood and a small yacht.
The campus sits on a cliff like a Bond villain’s vacation home. Gothic towers. Modern glass walkways. A freaking falcon sculpture perched over the entrance like it’s silently judging everyone’s SAT scores.
Is this even a school?
I park between a matte black Bentley and what Iswearis a bulletproof G-Wagon with diplomatic plates. There’s a sign that reads “Parent Parking Only,” which is hilarious, considering most of these “parents” probably sent their assistants’ assistants in their place.
I cut the engine and just sit for a second.
Breathe.
Get it together.
Two weeks. That’s how long it’s been since I’ve seen them. Julian’s texts have been short—“good,” “fine,” “school’s fine.”
I smooth down my coat, grab my bag, and step out like I belong here. Like I’m not the girl who used to cry in her car after school drop-off because I wasn’t sure I could do this.
A woman in head-to-toe beige cashmere passes me. She gives me the kind of look usually reserved for suspicious stains and people who ask for directions inside Whole Foods.
I smile.
Keep walking.
Inside, the halls are cathedral-high and museum-silent. I pass a trio of students who look like they just stepped out of a European fashion editorial. I catch the faint scent of expensive cologne, freshly waxed floors, and generational wealth. Possibly war crimes.
The receptionist waves me through without even asking who I am. Which is either flattering or terrifying.
And then—
I see them.
