“But understand this. In public, I will act as your dutiful wife, but in private, we’re nothing, got it? You keep to your shit, and I’ll keep to mine. I’ll find my way in your world and make sure I will not affect your success as pakhan. The quicker you cement your position, the quicker we can divorce.”
He seemed to believe me, but he was still looking at me with eyes like glittering ice. “You surprise me, Lucy.”
“What were you expecting? A crying mess?” I scoffed. Fuck if I gave him that satisfaction. “You haven’t earned my tears, Kirill.”
His jaw tightened. “I bet you’re pretty when you cry.”
Fuck that.
“Are you done? Because I’m exhausted.”
He backed away slowly and smirked. “Happy wedding night.”
When he left, my bones liquefied, sending my ass to the floor. It was as if Kirill pissed me off so badly all the blood went to my head, and when it was all over, it drained to the soles of my feet. The layers of the gown smothered me. I crawled on all fours until I was sure I could stand without swaying. I twisted to get at the buttons on my back, but I couldn’t reach them.
A sob tore through my throat in frustration. They were meant for the groom to assist me.
Lightning streaked across the sky, lighting the mirror in front of me. I was like a wraith. The ghost of an abandoned bride.
I fell asleep on the floor, and I knew this because a beep on my phone woke me up.
The storm had abated, but I could hear rumblings of thunder in the distance. The clock said three fifteen. I’d slept for two hours.
Another message came.
Do you know where your husband is?
I waited.
And an image came.
I recognized Anya’s house, but there was no sign of Kirill.
Did it matter anymore?
I pushed up on the floor, my bones aching because they weren’t used to the hard surface. I slept in my wedding gown. How pathetic.
I yanked at the back. It resisted at first, then buttons sprayed everywhere as the fabric gave way.
Sounds of frustration bubbled up my throat. Groans, grunts, sobs. I tore at the garment. When I was free of the wedding dress, I padded to the bathroom and started the shower.
I yanked the pins from my hair, welcoming the pain that brought tears to my eyes. With my smeared makeup, I looked a fright, but I was determined to wash the night away.
I stepped into the shower and allowed the hot water to scorch all traces of the night into oblivion. It was becoming a habit in this room, but amidst the roar of its jets, that primal scream escaped.
It was long, guttural, originating from the depths of my soul.
Catharsis.
Something happened in that shower when I let out all the bottled emotion and the images I suppressed since the night that changed my life. Davenport being injected with heroin and seizing. I was helpless as Viktor’s men held me down. Being locked in the car's trunk with a dead body. The eyes of the dead trooper. Shooting Viktor and killing him. I’d reached the point where my body stopped survival mode and now I was existing in the nightmare birthed from that night.
It was up to me how I chose to live through the nightmare.
So the next morning, I woke up to have breakfast. I sat in the kitchen and had coffee, enjoying an array of breakfast bread, eggs, and ham. Sato joined me. Asked me how I was, but I didn’t respond, except with a shrug.
He sat warily in front of me and started scrolling through his phone. I didn’t ask about Kirill.
I didn’t care.
