The thought slips in before I can stop it.
I scoff quietly into the pillow. What right does Sebastian Rusnak have to feel jealous? None. Absolutely none. He forfeited that right five years ago.
And yet—
My stomach flips traitorously, heat curling low and slow at the memory of his eyes on me. Dark. Possessive. Like he wanted to lock me away from the world and keep me all to himself.
I hate that my body remembers what my heart swore to forget.
I squeeze my eyes shut. This isn’t softness. This isn’t longing. It’s an old reflex. Old wounds. Old habits that haven’t quite died yet.
He doesn’t get to confuse me.
He doesn’t get to make me feel seen and unwanted at the same time.
And still…the empty space beside me feels louder than it should.
I roll onto my back and stare at the ceiling, jaw tight, forcing the ache down where it belongs. Tomorrow, I’ll be colder. Smarter. Sharper.
Maybe I should let myself feel sorry for myself for just one moment. Just one. Then tomorrow, I’ll bury it. I have to.
My thoughts betray me anyway, drifting—circling—until they land where I’ve been trying not to look.
The envelope.
Hidden beneath the bottom drawer of my wardrobe. Tucked away like a secret I pretend doesn’t breathe when I’m not watching it.
Viktor.
The memory of his voice makes my skin crawl. The weight of that envelope felt like a blade pressed to my throat—sharp, intimate, inescapable. And the worst part? I put it there myself. I leaned into it. I welcomed it.
I sought him out with a clear head. With purpose. With vitriol burning hot and clean in my veins. I was so sure of my hatred then. So certain Sebastian deserved whatever came for him.
So why does it feel like this now?
Why does my chest feel tight, like I’ve swallowed something too big to breathe around? Why does the thought ofwhat I’m planning pull me toward a dark, yawning abyss instead of the relief I expected?
This was supposed to feel like justice.
Control.
Power.
Instead, it feels heavy. Like gravity. Like once I take the next step, there will be no turning back—and some small, traitorous part of me knows it.
I press my palm to my sternum, as if I can physically hold myself together.
No.
Sebastian hurt me. And it matters—it matters—that I hurt him too. That I make him feel even a fraction of what I felt. I want to dismantle him slowly, thoroughly. Ruin him harder than the first betrayal ever did.
I cling to that thought like a lifeline.
But my body betrays me.
I can still feel his hands on my skin, the memory vivid and unwanted. I hate how easily he disarms me. Hate that every time I sharpen my resolve, my mind drags me back to the way he kissed me—like a man starving, like I was the only thing keeping him alive.
Last night proved something I wish it hadn’t.
