I leaned forward, voice steady despite the ache in my chest. “I trusted you, Yuri. I wanted a life with you. But every time you lie to me, that dream dies a little more.”
His jaw tightened, but he didn’t answer. The silence cut deeper than Misha’s stare.
“You didn’t even ask how Misha got there so fast,” I said. “Almost like he already knew where I’d be.”
“Maybe you’re more important to him than you think.”
I turned away, his words sinking in deeper than I wanted.
The rest of the ride stretched out in brittle quiet.
By the time I stepped through the front gates, the house was asleep.
Or pretending to be.
The hallways were dark, lit only by the occasional wall sconce casting long shadows across marble floors. Somewhere down the corridor, a guard murmured into his radio. The usual.
I didn’t bother going to my room.
Instead, I climbed the narrow spiral stairs to the roof, the one place in this house that still felt like mine.
I sat on the ledge, pulled my knees up to my chest, and lit a cigarette with a hand that was steadier than I expected.
I’d fought Misha Petrov’s soldiers. Stood my ground against my father’s fury, Called out Yuri on his bullshit.
But none of that made me feel powerful.
Not tonight.
The wind was soft up here. Gentle.
Which felt wrong. Because nothing inside me was calm.
Yuri was hiding something.
Misha was watching everything.
And Gabriela... she was falling apart and pretending not to.
I leaned my head back and stared up at the sky, flat and starless.
When I was little, I used to think Mama’s voice lived in the wind. Telling me when to run. When to lie. When to keep secrets.
But there was no forgiveness for what I did.
What I caused.
If Papa ever found out the truth... if Gabriela ever knew...
I exhaled slowly.
No. I’d take it to my grave.
Just like Mama did.
The cherry of the cigarette glowed in the dark.
A single red eye staring back at me.
