เข้าสู่ระบบThe leather uncoils with a wet, heavy slap against the hardwood, and the sound alone is enough to violently jerk me out of the warm, lingering haze of the billiards room. “Crack the door, let a single sound out, and we see how the great Russian bear likes finding out his precious little bird is a Bennington rat.”My stomach drops into a bottomless, icy void. The sheer terror isn’t just for the pain I know is coming; it’s the sudden, agonizing realization of how easily I let myself forget. I actually let myself believe, even for a handful of seconds, that a game of pool and a low, gravelly nickname could buy me safety. I am so pathetic. I mock myself silently as I move toward the bathroom, my limbs heavy and clumsy with dread. I reach for the white cotton hand towel hanging over the porcelain basin. It feels rough against my palms, dry and ordinary, a stark contrast to the violence about to unfold. I fold it twice, shove it between my teeth, and bite down until my jaw aches. The
The green felt table sits between us like a battlefield. Konstantin walks over to the wooden rack on the wall, his broad shoulders shifting beneath his black shirt. He slides a heavy wooden cue from the mount, weighs it in his hand, and then pulls out a second one. He walks over to me, extending the handle. “Do you actually know how to play,” he says, “or were you performing for the child?”I take the cue. “I know a bit.”“How much is a bit.”“Enough to embarrass myself comfortably.”His mouth moves. Not a smile. Adjacent to one.My mind flashes back to the smoky underground lounges in London, the high-stakes clubs in Mayfair, the different wealthy businessmen my father had ordered me to charm, to manipulate, to bleed for information. I had to learn everything they liked—poker, baccarat, golf, billiards. I had to be the perfect companion, the flawless mirror to their desires. But billiards was never my strongest suit; I was always better at watching the marks than hitting the ba
Dinner ends and nobody moves for exactly three seconds.Leonid is already pushing his chair back.Konstantin clears his throat, setting his stained wine glass down. Carlos takes that as his cue, offering a brief, formal nod before exiting the room with a thick stack of ledger documents tucked under his arm. Konstantin shifts in his seat, as he glances down at his watch. Across the table, a maid steps forward from the shadows, her shoes clicking softly against the marble floor as she approaches Leonid. “Master Leonid, it is time for bed,” she says softly, reaching out a hand toward the little boy. The evening is closing, the house is winding down, and upstairs, in my room, Sofia is waiting. I can’t go back there yet. I need to stretch the clock. I need to prolong the time. I know that as long as I am within Konstantin’s sight or attached to Leonid, Sofia won’t dare touch me. “Wait—“Both of them look at me.I open my mouth. Close it. Open it again.“Could we — I mean — do you have
The Morozov dining hall is massive, a striking display of old-world Russian power. High vaulted ceilings, heavy silver candelabras casting long shadows, and a massive dark oak table filled with platters of roasted meats, steaming bowls of borsch, and expensive bottles of dark red wine. The biting winter air rattles against the frosted glass windows, but the room itself is warm, filled with the rich, savory scents of a feast.Sitting right at the center of the table is Konstantin.He doesn’t have his winter coat on anymore. He’s wearing a dark silk shirt, the top two buttons undone, revealing the thick muscles of his chest and the faint edge of a scar near his collarbone. He looks illegally, dangerously attractive.Leonid marches straight up to the table, completely ignoring the tension in the room, and grumpily slams his crumpled piece of drawing paper right next to Konstantin’s plate.“Look at it,” Leonid demands, crossing his arms and huffing. “Carlos said it looks like total garb
“Who did that?”The question rattles against the heavy walls of my bedroom. Leonid stands completely rigid, his small finger pointing directly at my face, his dark eyes wide and chillingly identical to his uncle’s when someone is about to die.Before I can even open my mouth to manufacture a lie, Sofia cuts in. She steps forward, her hands smoothing down the front of her crisp grey maid uniform.Sofia moves first.“Oh, that.” She laughs, soft and practiced, already stepping forward with her hands folded in front of her like the perfect devoted maid she absolutely is not. “Lady Evangeline had a small fall earlier, didn’t you, my lady?” Her eyes find mine over Leonid’s head. Warm for the room. Dead for me. “The steps outside were slippery. I kept telling her to be careful.”She tilts her head. Waits.And I know exactly what she’s waiting for.I see my mother’s face behind my eyes. That photograph. Miranda’s hollow cheeks and trembling hands and today’s date written in my father’s handw
“We’re gonna have so much fun, sweet, old, Eva.”The fake sweetness vanishes from Sofia’s face faster than water off a hot blade. The submissive maid disappears entirely, replaced by the cruel, vicious bully I’ve known for a decade. Before I can even draw a full breath, her hand shoots out, gripping the collar of my dress, and she yanks me forward, hurling me completely off the bed.My body hits the hard parquet floor with a dull, heavy thud. The breath rushes out of my lungs in a sharp gasp as my hip takes the brunt of the impact against the wood.“Get down there,” Sofia spits, her voice dropping into a venomous, low hiss as she stands over me, looking down at my crumpled form with absolute disgust. “That’s exactly where you belong. Right at my feet, you useless little whore.”I push myself up onto my hands and knees, my hair falling over my face in a tangled curtain.Crack!The force of her palm snapping across my left cheek is so sudden and violent that my head whips sideways. The
The fireworks are still cracking in the sky behind me, but the world’s gone dim.It’s as someone shoved me out of the spotlight mid-scene. And handed Irene the mic.She stumbles closer, all dainty steps and calculated breathlessness, clutching her phone like it’s her grandma’s ashes.“I was feeling
The car ride feels like getting shoved between a live wire and a ticking time bomb. Leonid’s on my left, fidgeting like he’s got caffeine for blood.Konstantin’s on my right, legs spread, arms crossed, brooding like he’s plotting world domination—or someone’s death. Probably mine.I reach for the w
The lounge smells like chlorine and sugar. Leonid’s curled up on the far end of the long cream couch, his stupid tablet on his lap, and for once, he’s not scowling at me like I just kicked his puppy. I sit on the opposite end, legs tucked under me, a little awkward.The sun from the giant glass doo
The hallway’s silent when I pass through it. Not that it’s unusual—this place is built like a fucking mausoleum, all polished floors and pristine chandeliers, so quiet you can hear your own regrets echo off the goddamn marble.I don’t bother going back to the office tonight. Carlos didn’t say anyth







