Chapter Sixteen
LYAH
Nine million? What the heck?
I recheck the number of zeros on the balance my banking app shows me, sure I must have miscounted. Zack said $500,000, but nope, there’s definitely a nine followed by six zeros.
I stand there, dumbstruck, trying to make sense of it, when finally, a little bit of simple math provides the answer. He’s given me $500,000 for each of the eighteen years we were married… and because of my distraction at the time, I thought that was the entire settlement. And I thought even that was too much.
The way I feel about this is entirely jumbled. It’s not like I have his number or anything. Or his lawyer's details. Once everything was signed, it was a clean break. I don’t even have the paperwork because I decided to have it couriered to Roisin for safety's sake since it’s too important to risk losing and I don't know where I’m going next.
Anywhere, I guess. I could go anywhere I wanted in the entire world.
And yet all I really want to do is go home to Niko.
Except, it’s not my home anymore, even if Nikolai Radaeva is now legally my husband, after all.
Does that change things? More importantly, do I want it to?
His entire argument was that my marriage to Zack meant his son would be illegitimate and therefore unrecognized as his heir. A child he didn’t even want in the first instance.
Whereas before, I know I would have tried to do everything I could to mitigate the issues, now I’m thinking far more about what I want.
For once.
I take a deep breath, the salty sea air filling my lungs as I gaze out at the horizon, the helicopter that carried me away from Elysium and into an uncertain future, just a speck in the far distance. But for the first time in years, that uncertainty doesn't terrify me.
My hand absently traces the outline of the small, prepaid phone in my pocket, tempted to check the balance again. Nine million dollars. It's an incomprehensible sum, more money than I've ever dreamed of having, even though it’s a fraction of what Niko is worth. This money is mine, though. It gives me options and autonomy. Yet it's not the money that's making me feel so... light. Free.
No, this feeling comes from somewhere deeper. It's like I've shed a skin I didn't even realize I was wearing. The Lyah who always put others first, who contorted herself to fit into the roles others assigned her - wife, potential mother, pawn in power games - she's gone. In her place is someone new. Or maybe someone very old, a version of myself I'd forgotten existed.
In my other pocket is my iPhone, sleek, polished and expensive. A stark contrast to the utilitarian simplicity of the prepaid phone. It almost reflects the other side of my life to the burner, symbolizing another chapter of my existence entirely. The iPhone holds my past life, intertwining the threads of all that once was; messages from Niko I once read with a flutter of hope; missed calls from acquaintances who belonged to a world now left behind wanting charity donations; reminders and appointments and social events, which once consumed my days with relentless precision.
Yet today, as I stand by the windswept Miami shoreline, the iPhone feels eerily silent, like an artifact from a life I'm slowly unbinding myself from.
The juxtaposition of these two phones encapsulates the dilemma at hand… one represents freedom and anonymity, promising new beginnings without obligations or expectations. The other is a connection to everything I knew and once believed I needed.
I close my eyes, letting the wind whip through my hair. What do I want? The question echoes in my mind, foreign yet thrilling. For so long, what I wanted didn't matter. But now...
Now I’m at a crossroads, and the choice is mine alone. The thought is more frightening than anyone could imagine.
I pull out the iPhone, its weight suddenly oppressive in my palm. My fingers tighten around it, and for a second I have the urge to launch it into the water and sever all the ties to my old life. But something stops me. Maybe it's not about erasing the past, but about choosing how to move forward.
As I leave the terminal building, I power it on and open my contacts. Niko's name sits at the top, a star next to it marking him as a favorite. My heart clenches with a mix of longing and frustration, but I deliberately choose not to taunt myself to see if there are any messages or missed calls from him. Instead, I delete the message feed and then block his number, erasing all the history the phone holds. I do the same with Darian, and every other contact I have in the Bratva.
I tell myself I’m erasing them all from my life, even though the truth is far more sad and emotional.
I simply don’t want the proof that he’s thrown me away.
I’m so lost in thought, I barely notice the shift in my surroundings. The bustling crowds thin out as I wander away from the main thoroughfare, my feet carrying me to a quieter side street. The sounds of traffic and chatter fade, replaced by an eerie stillness that should set off alarm bells. But I'm too preoccupied, my mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions and half-formed plans.
A sleek black van glides to a stop beside me, its engine purring softly. I know a fractional moment of alarm, but before I can react, strong hands grab me from behind.
“I’ll take that,” a thickly accented voice declares, plucking my iPhone from my grasping fingers.
I open my mouth to scream, but a cloth is pressed against my face, the sickly-sweet smell overwhelming my senses. My vision blurs, and through my waning awareness I feel myself being lifted and tossed unceremoniously into the darkness of the van.
As consciousness slips away, my last coherent thought is a bitter irony – after everything, after finally feeling free, I've walked right into another trap. The van doors slam shut, and I'm plunged into darkness, both literal and metaphorical, as my head cracks against something hard and unforgiving, adding to the effects of the drug.
