Then a blinding set of high beams sliced through the dark rain.
A yellow cab suddenly tore through the manor gates. Tires screeched on the flooded pavement, skidding to a stop barely ten feet from us.
Every guard drew their weapon instantly.
The door flew open. A figure tumbled out of the backseat.
A woman. Tall, slender. I couldn't see her face clearly, but I knew she was beautiful.
She was soaked through, clothes torn and filthy, blonde hair plastered to her pale face like dead grass.
She staggered up but collapsed again after two steps, falling hard onto her knees in the mud at the bottom of the stairs.
I felt the arm around my shoulders go rigid. So did I.
I knew why he was shocked.
Because in the yellow glow of the manor lights, I finally saw her face clearly.
My heart stopped.
Despite her haggard, disheveled state, I'd never mistake that face. The portrait still hung in Kirill's study.
It was Genevie. The Sterling heiress. Kirill's unforgettable first love.
"Kirill."
The woman looked up, rain streaming down her ghostly face. Her voice was so faint it almost drowned in the downpour, yet it shattered the fragile warmth between us.
"Help... help me..."
Then I felt a massive shove.
No warning. No explanation. Kirill pushed me away hard.
The force was shocking. He didn't care that I was wearing heels, didn't care there was a stone pillar right behind me.
"Ah!"
I cried out. Completely unprepared, I stumbled backward several steps, spine slamming into the hard, carved stone column.
Dull pain exploded through my body, organs feeling like they'd shifted. But I couldn't even think about the hurt, because what I was seeing suffocated me more than any physical pain.
Kirill had charged into the rain.
The man who'd been holding me, sheltering me just seconds ago, was now running like a madman toward Genevie.
He dropped to his knees in the mud, hands shaking as he lifted her from the ground. He clutched her to his chest with a force like he wanted to absorb her into his flesh, like she might vanish if he let go.
"Genevie! Goddammit! Look at me!"
He roared into the rain, voice raw with a care he'd never shown me.
"Boris! Get a doctor! Everyone get the fuck over here! Now!"
He bellowed, scooping Genevie up and racing into the manor. His stride was urgent, desperate, shoes splashing through puddles in rhythm with the thunder.
The entire time—not even for a second—did he look back at the wife he'd shoved aside.
