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THIRTY-THREE: Ice Breaking Under Warmth
Last Updated:
2025-05-11 00:18:08
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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 window latch just to breathe, because the tension in here is thick enough to bottle and sell as an aphrodisiac to desperate housewives. As I lean slightly, my arm brushes his. Hard. Muscle and heat and everything I shouldn’t be thinking about.His voice comes low. Mocking. Dangerous. “You that desperate to breathe near me, zayka?”I freeze. Of fucking course. Before I can bite out a retort, a lollipop hits his shoulder. Leonid doesn’t even blink. “Stop flirting with her, old man.” I snort so hard I choke on my own spit.Konstantin turns slowly, red eyes narrowing on his brat of a cousin like he’s one sarcastic comment away from putting him up for adoption. “Say that again,” he says.Leonid gr
Her Neglected Scars THIRTY-FIVE: You're Leaving?
I should’ve drowned myself in the bathtub the moment the words “trio date” left my mouth.Because now, I’m standing in front of the damn closet, regretting everything about my life, my choices, and most of all, this stupid idea.I mutter curses under my breath as I dig through the mess of silk and lace in my section of the closet, trying to find a dress that doesn’t scream “please choke me with daddy’s money” or “take me hostage.” Something nice. Something normal. Something that’ll make me blend in while being third-wheeled by a bratty child and my emotionally constipated captor-husband.And just when I think I’ll finally get three minutes of peace, I hear his voice.“I need to grab a suit.”Konstantin’s tone is dry. Casual. As if he hasn’t avoided stepping foot in this room for weeks like the fucking plague.I whip around. “You have another goddamn closet. Use that.”He shrugs, already walking in like this is his space. Like he didn’t say on our honeymoon night that he couldn’t stoma
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 doors spills across the marble floor and catches in his dark hair. We’ve been here the entire afternoon. God, the things I do for this kid already. He keeps pretending he’s not looking at me. But he is. Every few seconds, his eyes flick up from his screen and shoot me a weird little glare that isn’t really a glare.“What?” I mutter, quirking a brow. His lips purse.“You don’t sit like a normal adult.”Okay. That’s . . . new.“Sorry,” I say with a snort, stretching one leg out and resting my arm over the back of the couch. “Is there a formal seating posture you’re expecting from your soon-to-be pool buddy?”Leonid’s head jerks up. “I didn’t say you could swim with me.”“You didn’t not say it,” I
Her Neglected Scars THIRTY-THREE: Ice Breaking Under Warmth
I’m in Konstantin’s office in a heartbeat. I don’t know why I did that. Maybe I just wanna know why. Fuck, what do I even came here for? I slam his fucking desk. Papers, folders, a pen cup—everything jumps.“Was it because of the allergy?” I snap, eyes drilling into the back of Konstantin’s head as he types something on his laptop though I didn’t just barge in like a lunatic. “The reason you told me to ‘get the fuck away’? Was it because Irene’s skin condition is contagious?”He doesn’t flinch. Not even a twitch. He just closes the damn laptop with a slow, deliberate motion that pisses me off more than if he had just screamed at me. Then, he leans back in his chair, fingers steepled, and looks at me as though I’m a fucking puzzle he already knows how to solve. His lips twitch into a smirk.“Why? Did that get you wet, kotyonok?” His red eyes trail down slowly, unapologetically. “Knowing I was protecting your delicate little skin?”I blink. Blink. What the actual fuck? I mean, I stormed
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 anything, but I know he’s starting to notice how often I work overtime. It's not as though I enjoy swimming in spreadsheets for fun, but . . . it’s easier than going back to a cold room where a certain red-eyed psychopath sometimes sleeps.I head straight to our bedroom. I use that word lightly. It's more his territory than mine, like a cage I’m allowed to dress pretty in. He’s not there. Of course he’s not.I stare at the empty side of the bed—the one I don’t touch, don’t breathe near, don’t even let the blankets wrinkle toward. Still perfectly made, as no one even exists on that side. He’s probably still with her. Irene.My throat tightens. It shouldn’t sting. Not after everything. Not after th
Her Neglected Scars THIRTY-ONE: Peanut-filled Dish
I don’t like kitchens. Not because I can’t cook—hell, I probably cook better than all these trust fund brats who think butter is a seasoning—but because kitchens remind me of nights sneaking scraps into my room like a goddamn rat. Because no one was allowed to feed the Bennington princess. Not unless Father wanted something.And right now, standing in front of a marble counter with Irene’s syrupy little fake smile three feet to my left, I am very aware of two things: Number one, I’m going to win this stupid, passive-aggressive competition. Number two, I’m going to enjoy every second of it.Leonid’s voice screeches from the dining room like an air raid siren. “I want sweet and spicy! Like last time!”Jesus. Someone get the kid a lollipop and a muzzle.“Of course,” Irene chirps, brushing a curl behind her ear as if she’s on a baking show instead of orchestrating low-key psychological warfare. “He just loves a sweet glaze with a little kick.”I hum. “I’m sure he does.”My knife slices th
Her Neglected Scars THIRTY: Cooking Competition
This is my lunch. The banana is halfway to my mouth when I pause. I don’t know why I chose this. Maybe because it’s easy, or because it won’t sit heavy in my stomach and remind me that I’m not supposed to eat like a normal person. Whatever the reason, I unpeel it absently, my fingers moving on autopilot as my thoughts drift back to the letter I left for my father. Sarcastic. Spiteful. A big middle finger in perfectly inked calligraphy. A smile tugs at the corner of my lips as I slide the banana between them, sinking my teeth in. The taste is dull, bland, but at least it isn’t dry like the toast I forced myself to eat yesterday.I suck the fruit into my mouth, rolling my tongue over the tip as I chew slowly. Maybe I should have added a postscript. Something like: By the way, Father, go fuck yourself. I chuckle but it is cut off when a sharp throat clearing behind me slices through my thoughts. I freeze, mid-chew, eyes widening as a heat prickles up my spine. Oh, for fuck’s sake. I alr
Her Neglected Scars TWENTY-NINE: A Rejected Husband
I jolt upright the second I hear his voice. “So this is where you went.”Fuck. Konstantin stands at the doorway, arms crossed, sharp eyes cutting through the dim room like a goddamn scalpel. His tone is flat, unimpressed—but the tension rolling off him? Not so subtle.Next to me, Leonid stirs, groaning as he turns over in his sleep. His tiny hand is still clutching my dress tight. My body stiffens. If he wakes up like this, he's going to throw a fit big enough to shake the damn mansion.I glance at Konstantin, whose expression flickers with something unreadable before settling on annoyance. Of course. With a lazy tilt of his head, his red eyes sweep over me, then down to the brat attached to my dress like a leech. The corner of his mouth twitches. "Tsk."Then, in that deep, infuriatingly smooth voice, he mutters, “Get up, you little shit.”My head snaps toward him so fast I nearly dislocate something. “What the fuck is wrong with you?” I hiss, reaching over to shake Leonid awake as ge
Her Neglected Scars TWENTY-EIGHT: Sleeping Leonid
I sit there, silent, forcing the soup down my throat as the entire table practically sings Irene’s praises like she’s the second coming of Christ. I really shouldn't expect anything from this household.Leonid, who has spent the entire meal kicking the table leg and slurping obnoxiously on his soup, gasps dramatically. “I told you! I told you Irene is the smartest! She’s like the best at everything. You’re just jealous, aren’t you, Evangeline?”I slowly place my fork down, my lips curving into something dangerously close to a smile. Not the pleasant kind. More like the kind a person wears when they’re watching a house burn with their enemy still inside. Jealous? I should be. I should feel something. But I don’t.I have long since accepted that my ideas, my efforts, my existence will never be credited to me. Irene will always be the saint. The intelligent, graceful, kind-hearted woman that everyone adores. And me? I’m the scandalous wife. The walking embarrassment.Konstantin says noth
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