He'd give me money, thank me for my "cooperation," then let me leave gracefully so Genevie could become Mrs. Orlov proper.
After the divorce, I'd no longer be an Orlov. I'd lose this woman who loved me like a mother. Lose this warmth I'd cravedso long.
Just as I drowned in grief and gratitude, commotion erupted at the hall entrance.
The closed doors flew open. Night wind rushed in, carrying a familiar scent.
I instinctively lifted my head from Olga's embrace, peering through blurred tears toward the door.
Kirill stood there. But he wasn't alone. A woman hung on his arm.
Genevie.
She wore a white lace gown, practically draped on Kirill, looking fragile and helpless, needing protection.
Kirill's gaze cut through the crowd, landing precisely on me.
Our eyes met.
In that instant, I heard my heart shatter.
We'd only gone days without speaking. Days ago, we'd been tangled in every corner of this manor, kissing, fucking. But now, watching him stand beside another woman, I felt like we were galaxies apart.
Everything had changed.
The intimacy that grew in darkness, the unspoken understanding, the electricity when our fingers touched—all of it vanished in the face of Genevie's pale arm linked through his.
Olga snorted coldly beside me, her cane striking the floor hard with sharp cracks.
Kirill seemed to sense the hostility. He bent down, said something to Genevie, then released her hand and strode toward me.
As he approached, that familiar scent of cedar and tobacco invaded my senses, forceful and overwhelming. My body trembled instinctively. I knew my body wanted to go to him.
He stopped in front of me, his tall frame blocking the harsh crystal light overhead, wrapping me completely in his shadow.
"Harper." He said my name quietly, voice rough.
I bit my lip hard, refusing to make a sound, just staring at him stubbornly, trying to find even a flicker of hesitation in that cold face.
Kirill, do you really have no pity for me? Today's my birthday, theday that should belong to me, but you brought the woman carrying your child.
I had to stand at my own birthday party, accepting everyone's pitying or scornful looks.
And still pretend nothing was wrong, like my heart wasn't torn to shreds.
"Excuse me, I need the restroom."
I didn't want to face him. I needed to calm down. I didn't want to break down crying in front of all these people.
But Kirill suddenly reached out, grabbing my hand.
"Don't run from me. I need to talk to you."
Kirill's voice was low, meant only for us. His thumb unconsciously traced my hand, the gesture so familiar, carrying heart-stopping intimacy.
For a moment, I felt dazed, like we were still in our bedroom, just the two of us, like these days of coldness and betrayal were only nightmares.
But reality struck hard the next second.
