The man broke down, snot and tears streaming. "It was the old Pakhan! The old Pakhan made us do it! Him and Miss Zaitseva... after Miss Carter had the baby, they took the child and deported her. Miss Zaitseva told Miss Carter she had no value anymore, that you didn't want to see her again. The old Pakhan gave Miss Carter money, threatened her—leave America forever or disappear completely."
My temples throbbed. Veins bulged at my forehead.
"Later, on the old Pakhan's orders, we faked Miss Carter's death certificate, dealt with everyone who knew... Pakhan, I was just following orders! Please let me go!"
I stared at him coldly.
"Good. Now you can die."
Bang. The interrogation room fell silent.
I walked out, fury blazing in my eyes. My father and Vanessa had staged this whole thing. And they'd made Anthea believe I was the one who stole her child and threw her out!
"Bring Vanessa to me," I called the location where she was held, ready to make her regret being born.
"Pakhan..." The voice on the other end sounded tense. "Vanessa was taken two hours ago. All our men were knocked out. Surveillance was destroyed. We're tracking who did it."
The rage in my chest nearly burned me to ash. At this exact moment, Vanessa escaped?
"Find out who did this. The Zaitsevs are finished—there shouldn't be anyone left." I forced the anger down. "Bring her back. Whatever it takes."
Vanessa couldn't get far. And I had more important things to do now. Anthea was alive. I needed to see Anthea.
It was already evening. She might have left the school, but I could find her. I pulled up the file Marco sent and scrolled to the address. An ordinary apartment building, not far from the school.
Maybe I should calm down, make a solid plan, and think this through. But my body wasn't listening to my brain anymore. Fuck "should."
Soon I wasin an apartment directly across from Anthea's, same floor. The original tenant had left ten minutes ago with more money than he'd seen in his life.
I walked to the floor-to-ceiling window where a military-grade high-powered telescope was set up. Outside, the sky had gone completely dark. Lights flickered on across the building. I leaned into the eyepiece, adjusting the focus. The image wavered, then snapped clear.
Third floor, second window from the left. And then I saw Anthea. My breath stopped.
She'd clearly just gotten back from school. Still in her teacher clothes. A fitted blue pencil skirt hugging her waist and hips, white blouse tucked in—sharp, professional. Her blonde hair was pinned up, a few loose strands framing her face.
She was busy in the kitchen, holding a spoon, stirring soup in a pot.
Bitterness rose in my chest. I thought I'd lost her forever. Thought I'd spend the rest of my life talking to her photograph. But now she was alive, living not far from me.
My eyes devoured the image. Even blinking felt like a waste. I watched her taste the soup, frown slightly, then add a spoonful of butter. After that, she carried dinner to the table, eating while flipping through a book. When she finished, she walked into the bathroom.
No. I couldn't see her anymore. Pain spread through my chest in tight waves. I could only stand there helplessly and wait. But I told myself not to rush.
About twenty minutes later, she finally came out. Her blonde hair hung loose over her shoulders, still dripping. She'd changed into a loose white cotton nightgown. The hem swayed gently as she moved, exposing a stretch of slender calf. The nightgown looked a little worn, soft against her body, radiating a familiar, heartbreaking domesticity.
She walked to the window, leaned down to water a plant, her expression focused and gentle. I stared, unblinking.
Before I knew it, the lights across the way went out. I glanced at my watch. 1 a.m. I'd been watching her for hours, but it felt like minutes. I should go back. Tomorrow there'd be plenty to handle—Thorne family business piling up. But my feet wouldn't move.
Once I confirmed Anthea was asleep, I appeared at her apartment door. The lock was ordinary—useless to me. I slipped inside without a sound.
The air carried a faint fragrance. Her scent. I thought I'd forgotten it, but the moment it filled my nose, I realized I'd never truly forgotten—it was coded into my DNA.
I followed the scent into her bedroom. She lay in bed. Moonlight filtered through the curtain, falling across her face. Her sleeping expression was peaceful, serene. Long lashes cast shadows on her eyelids.
I walked to the bedside, holding my breath, afraid to disturb her. Then I slowly reached out. My fingers stopped just before touching her cheek.
I didn't dare. These six years, I'd seen her countless times inhallucinations. Sitting on my bed. Smiling at me in the garden. But every time I tried to touch her, she'd vanish like foam.
