Page 115 of Nemesis

“Fight back, asshole!” I shout, shoving him. He stumbles into the ropes. “Goddamn it!”

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he says, smearing the trail of blood dripping down his lips. “And I’m done sparring without the gloves on, for your own sake. I’m not about to let you split open your knuckles just because Morozov pissed you off.”

“That’s not your decision,” I yell back, wiping his blood onto my pants. I don’t want the gloves right now. I want to feel my knuckles ache with each punishing hit, if only to stop feeling everything else so damn much. Besides, my gloves are pastel pink and remind me far too much of the day Vasiliy dropped them onto my bed and coaxed me down to the courtyard. That’s why I opted to spar in the family gym today, instead of our usual spot.

“Enough, Octavia. I care about you, and I’m not going to be part of this any longer.” He swings one leg beneath the rope, stepping out of the ring. “Go sort your shit out with Vasiliy before you do some serious damage.”

“Seriously?” I shout after his retreating form. “Fuck you too, asshole!”

In the answering silence, my lungs tighten until breathing becomes difficult. With ragged movements, I unravel my knuckles and toss the wraps to the floor. So much for a distraction.

I can’t return to my room—even if Vasiliy isn’t there, there’s a possibility that fucking plane ticket will be, and I can’t bear to see it again. I’m not allowed to visit the shooting range without one of my cousins present, as well as an entire car’s worth of bodyguards. For the first time since I arrived here, I feel truly cornered.

I don’t even realize I’m breathing so quickly until my vision starts fraying at the edges.

Vasiliy was always planning on leaving.

No one treats me like an equal here. My presence is not needed. Tolerated, at best. All they think I’m good for is a hard fuck facing the wall, so no one has to see my scars when they come in my body and strip me of my title…

“Octavia?”

The soft, feminine voice makes me jump.

I’ve only seen my aunt a few times in passing and at the occasional family dinner. She’s a quiet woman—so quiet, I worried my loud, reckless presence stressed her out, so I’ve kept my distance. Her bright blonde hair hangs to her shoulders in curated waves, but that easy smile she shares with Kirill is nowhere to be found.

I look down at my bloody wraps on the floor. “Hi.”

Her steps draw closer, but I can’t look back up. Not after smashing my fist into her son’s chin and calling him an asshole while he stormed out.

Congratulations, Octavia. Now they all hate you.

A cold hand brushes my shoulder. “Could you come help me in the garden for a moment?”

I can’t think of a viable reason to turn her down without sounding like an even bigger jackass, so I climb to my feet and follow the short woman outside. The sun is past its peak, already waning with late afternoon light. Aunt Juliet’s garden is a true masterpiece. Following her through the gate feels like the damned wandering into Eden. Every flowerbed is carefully labeled and positioned according to sun exposure, and there isn’t a single vine or bud that isn’t bursting with life.

Without a word, she guides me down to the soil and hands me a tiny shovel, gesturing toward the dozen other little holes in the dirt. I start digging.

Maybe it’s because of the soothing dirt beneath my fingers, or the peaceful silence, but after an hour or so, I finally say, “Sorry for calling Nik an asshole.”

Her answering laugh is so delicate, I almost miss it. “My boys can be hardheaded, but they mean well. I think they always wanted a little sister to look after.”

I smile at that, dipping my shovel back into the earth. “I always wanted brothers.”

She nods, handing me another little bud to place in the soil. I press it in, smoothing the dirt in the same loving way my aunt does.

“You and I are very different, Octavia,” she finally says.

I freeze, looking up. Her serene face is impossible to read.

“How so?”

She hums thoughtfully, untangling twisted roots in her hand. “When Alex brought me into this…unusual family, I didn’t want to hear about any of the unsavory parts. I don’t have the stomach for it.”

“Why did you stay, then?”

“Because I fell in love,” she says simply. “And Alex gave me an amazing life here. I am fulfilled by my boys and my plants, and my loving husband, who’s willing to hide every violent detail to keep me happy.” She stops thumbing the roots of the plant in her palm and looks up to me. “But that was my choice, and I think, sometimes, my boys forget that.”

“I don’t understand.”