By the time Leo is tucked into bed, my whole body is dragging with exhaustion. I clean up the kitchen, say goodnight to my parents and Lettie, and then collapse into my own bed. The silence of the house presses in around me.
When I finally drift off,it’s not into the deep, dreamless sleep I crave. It’s into something more vivid.
Maksim is there.
His voice comes first. Low and commanding. That faint rasp of it dragging across my nerves. It winds around me like smoke, impossible to ignore how deep it chokes me from the inside out.
Then his touch.
Rough palms, callused and unyielding, skimming over my body. It’s not tentative, not soft. It’s the way he always touched me back then, demanding everything from me and possessing me completely.
Once, that touch had been enough to make me forget everything else. Once, I’d let it anchor me. Burn me. Consume me until there was nothing left but him.
In my dream, my heart aches, almost painful in its clarity.
In my dream, there’s no fear. No Bratva, no danger to pull him away from me and ultimately be his demise. It’s just us in some imagined version of our life where we are happy and raise our son together.
I wake up in tears.
The ache in my chest is still there. It’s despair, but also something deeper. Mourning whatcould havebeen. Mourning the fact that I never got to see him hold our son.
It’s cruel in an ironic way. One life traded for another.
When morning comes, I can barely drag myself out of bed. The mirror doesn’t lie when I stare into it. My eyes are swollen, shadows bruised beneath them. My skin is pale and dull, like every ounce of color has drained out of me. I dab concealer under my eyes, brush powder across my face, swipe on lipstick, but it’s a losing battle.
The ghost staring back at me can’t be disguised.
Still, I try because Leo doesn’t need to see his mother unraveling, and Lettie doesn’t need another reason to worry.
But the moment I step into the kitchen, she’s there, leaning against the counter, coffee mug in hand, watching me like a hawk. One glance at me and I know I’m not slipping past her with the usual excuses this morning.
Her eyes narrow. She’s already decided I’m not getting away with my usual excuse.
“Talk to me,” she says finally. Her arms fold across her chest, patient but immovable.
I sigh, fiddling with the hem of my sweater. “Lettie…”
“Ivy.” Her tone sharpens, and I feel the weight of her stare.
I drop into a chair at the table. I don’t have the strength to fight her this morning. Not after the dream. Not after weeks of that gnawing, prickling dread following me everywhere I go. “I don’t know… it’s stupid. I’ve just been feeling weird lately.”
Her brows draw together instantly. “Weird how?”
I hesitate, chewing the inside of my cheek. If I say it out loud, it’ll sound insane. But there’s nothing else I can think of that won’t get me called out again. “Like… like I’m being watched.”
That gets her full attention. Her coffee mug lowers slowly. “By whom?”
“I don’t know.” My laugh is forced. I wave a hand trying to brush it all away. “It’s nothing. I’m probably just imagining it.”
“You need to go to the police. If someone’s following you?—”
I cut her off before she can get worked up. “Lettie, I have no proof. What am I supposed to say? ‘Hi, officer, I have a bad feeling’? They’ll think I’m crazy.”
Crazier than I already feel.
Her jaw tightens, the muscle in her cheek ticking. I can tell she wants to argue, to protect me the way she always does.
“Just… drop it, okay? I’m fine.”
