“So,” Peter says quietly after a beat, voice gone deadly calm, “that’s why you’re so uptight with me. You finally found someone to fuck you properly, right? Is that it?”
Tears prick behind my eyes, hot and humiliating. I blink hard, refuse to let them fall.
“That is none of your business,” I say, my voice steady by some miracle.
He watches me for a second, then the charming boy mask slides back into place. “Sorry, bunny,” he purrs. “Couldn’t help it. It’s only natural I’m jealous after loving you for seven years.”
I don’t rise to it. “If you don’t have the money for me, why are you here?”
“I wanted to see you,” he says. Flat. Almost honest.
Oscar chooses that moment to jump onto the table, delicate paws landing next to the empty olive bowl. He sniffs the rim, then turns to Peter, tail flicking. When Peter reaches out, Oscar leans into his hand, letting him scratch under his chin. Traitor.
“See?” Peter says. “Even Oscar is friendlier than you.”
My hands start trembling again. I clasp them in my lap to hide them.
“I kind of miss him meowing at five a.m.,” Peter adds, the corners of his mouth twitching.
“You threatened to throw him out of the window,” I remind him.
“I still miss him,” Peter says with a shrug. “I miss you.”
The words hang there, heavy as wet wool. He isn’t lying, not exactly. He misses the version of me that fit seamlessly into his life. That’s what makes this harder; he’s not a monster. Just dangerous for me.
“I want my money back, Peter,” I say. “What should I do? Call a lawyer?”
His eyes narrow. “Where would you get a lawyer?”
“You know Eva’s husband is a cop,” I say. “He’ll help me find one.”
“So, we live together seven years,” he says slowly, “and now you’re threatening me with cops and lawyers?”
“I want my money back,” I repeat, because if I say anything else, I’ll start apologizing, and I refuse to do that anymore.
He stares at me, then exhales. “Okay. Give me a month. Next month, I’ll bring it.”
“No need to come over,” I say quickly. “You can just transfer it, you know.”
“Bunny,” he smiles, leaning forward a little, eyes softening in a way that used to melt me. “If fifty-two grand is what I have to pay for an hour with you, I’ll happily do that.”
So, he knows exactly how much he owes me. The casual precision makes my skin crawl.
“Okay,” I say, because I’m too tired to argue the number or the hour. “But I’m exhausted, and it’s time for you to go.”
He hesitates, then stands, smoothing invisible creases from his trousers. “You won’t even walk me to the door?” he asks. “Do you hate me that much?”
I grit my teeth, then decide on dignity. I’m not a sulky teenager, and I don’t want to give him that power. I get up and walk with him down the short hallway.
“See you in a month,” he says, and before I can react, he steps in and kisses me. Hard. His hand clamps the back of my neck, pulling me closer.
For one stunned second, my body locks, old muscle memory screaming at me to just let it happen, to make it easier. The grip is firm, possessive. I think about shoving him away, but it’s over almost as quickly as it began. He releases me, turns, and steps out, the door slamming shut a little too loud behind him.
I stand there, staring at the wood, breath shallow. Then my knees give. I slide down until I’m sitting on the floor, back pressed against the cool surface, and the tears finally break free. They spill hot and uncontrollable down my cheeks, my whole body shaking like I’ve just come out of an ice bath.
The door to Anna’s room opens almost instantly. Of course, she was listening. Of course, she was waiting for the first crack to rush through.
“Zlata?” she says softly, already crossing the hall toward me.
