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FORTY-FOUR: A Sinister Smile
publish date:
2026-06-08 01:03:55
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Her Neglected Scars FORTY-FIVE: The Knight, The Princess, The Horse
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
Her Neglected Scars FORTY-FOUR: A Sinister Smile
“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
Her Neglected Scars FORTY-THREE: Who Did That?
“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
Her Neglected Scars FORTY TWO: The New Hell
“I can’t wait to serve you.”Sofia’s voice crawls over my skin, thick and fake. I freeze on the concrete steps. The biting Russian air hits my face, but inside, I am completely numb. The ground feels like it’s tilting beneath my boots. I stare at the crisp, perfectly tailored grey uniform she is wearing. It isn’t the standard servant attire of the Morozov estate. It’s expensive wool. Custom-made. My father isn’t even trying to hide his move anymore. He sent his favorite executioner straight to my doorstep, draped in Bennington luxury.Next to me, Konstantin shifts. His massive frame radiates a sudden, dangerous heat. Ever since he discovered the silver crosshatch of old scars on my back earlier, his eyes have never left me. He doesn’t look at me with pity—a man like him doesn’t know how—but he watches me with a dark, razor-sharp protectiveness.His large palm presses flat against the small of my back. His hand grounds me, but I can still feel the tremor shaking my knees.“Who the fu
Her Neglected Scars FORTY-ONE: Sofia
I stand on the toilet seat with my back against the cubicle wall and I listen to every single word and I do not make a sound.The worst part . . .The part that hollows me out completely, that takes the last thing I was holding onto and pulls it clean out of my chest . . .Is that I cannot find the place in myself to argue with it.I am too tired. I have been too tired for so long. And Irina is saying out loud, in this marble bathroom, in this warm and reasonable and devastated voice, exactly what my own head has been telling me since I was fifteen years old standing in front of a different mirror in a different house trying to breathe through a different kind of panic.You are your father’s weapon.Whatever you build is performance.The scars are the truest thing about you and everyone who matters has now seen them and understood.I stay on the toilet seat until the heels click out. Until the door swings shut. Until the bathroom goes so quiet I can hear the faint sound of the estate
Her Neglected Scars FORTY: She Planned It
I say sorry.That’s the first thing I do. The words come out before my brain even catches up. “Sorry, excuse me, I’m so sorry,” and I’m already moving, already pulling my dress back into place with fingers that are completely, totally steady, because they have to be. Because the alternative is letting this room see what it’s already seen and I absolutely refuse to give it anything more.I smile at Galina. I thank her. I tell her I’ll send the measurements through Carlos.My voice sounds remarkably normal. I’m almost impressed by myself.I don’t look at the aunts. I don’t look at Irina, whose hands have fallen away from my back and who is making a sound somewhere between a gasp and an apology that I cannot afford to hear right now. I pull my cardigan back up over my shoulders, smooth it down, and I walk toward the door.Past the settees.Past Galina with her pins and her tape measure and her professional face that has gone completely, eerily blank.Past the aunts, frozen with their te
Her Neglected Scars THIRTY-SEVEN: Ugly Caricatures
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
Her Neglected Scars THIRTY-SIX: Carnival Rides
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
Her Neglected Scars THIRTY-FOUR: Trio Date?
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
Her Neglected Scars THIRTY-TWO: The Truth
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
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