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TWENTY-SEVEN: Lunches and Thieves
公開日:
2025-05-10 23:59:47
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Her Neglected Scars THIRTY-NINE: Galina, The Seamstress
The thing about almost-things is that they’re worse than nothing.Nothing, you can handle. Nothing is familiar. Nothing is just Tuesday in the Morozov estate, same as every other Tuesday—cold floors, colder people, and me pretending I don’t notice either. But almost-things? Almost-things leave a residue. A warmth you didn’t ask for that sits under your skin like a low fever, and you wake up the next morning and catch yourself smiling at the ceiling before your brain fully boots up and screams at you to stop that immediately.I stop that immediately.I stare at the ceiling for exactly three more seconds, then I get up, wash my face with water cold enough to qualify as psychological warfare, and give myself a very firm talking-to in the mirror. “Last night was a carnival,” I tell my reflection. Cotton candy and a rusty rollercoaster and a child who needed someone. That’s all it was. You grabbed his shirt on a ride. You stood next to him in the dark. People do that. “People do that a
Her Neglected Scars THIRTY-EIGHT: Come With Me
The fireworks are still cracking open the sky.But the warmth from earlier— that stupid, fragile, almost-thing— is already bleeding out.Irene stumbles toward us like a wounded dove who somehow managed to touch up her mascara on the way over. Her phone clutched to her chest. Eyes wide and glassy and aimed directly at Konstantin like he’s the only lighthouse left in a storm she personally orchestrated.“I was feeling so much better,” she breathes, voice catching in all the right places. “And I didn’t want to be left behind.”She says it soft. Helpless. The kind of helpless that takes practice.My chest tightens. Not from jealousy— I refuse to call it that— but from the sheer mechanical precision of it. The timing. The wobble in her lip. The way her hand finds Konstantin’s arm like it belongs there, like it’s the most natural thing in the world, and she’s just so relieved.Konstantin says nothing.He doesn’t pull away either.I feel the shift immediately. The temperature of the whole ev
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 so much better . . . and I didn’t want to be left behind.”She says it softly, a small smile, big eyes. Straight to Konstantin as her life support. Leonid stiffens at my side. I feel his little hand tighten around mine. Not Konstantin’s.Mine.He glares at her like a pissed-off cat. “I thought you were dying earlier.”I nearly choke on a laugh, but bite it back. Irene laughs it off. A breathy, helpless thing. “I just needed rest . . . but I didn’t want to miss out. We’re family, right?”Sure. Family.The kind that poisons your tea and smiles while you drink it.Konstantin doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t move either. Which is worse, somehow.Because Irene takes that as a yes and latches on
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 TEN: Playing With Fire
“Because I wanted to see how hot my soon-to-be husband is! There, satisfied?!” I instantly closed my mouth as quickly as I opened them to throw out those stupid words. Konstantin’s gaze flickered with surprise, quickly replaced by an icy, calculated glare.Without another word, the gun halted on my
Her Neglected Scars NINE: To See . . . My Husband?
So this is what I get for thinking that my good intentions would outweigh my terrible decision-making skills—ending up in a perverted stranger’s hands.Fuck.If I knew this blonde motherfucker had only helped me to satisfy his blue balls, I would have stayed seated on top of Konstantin’s lap.He wa
Her Neglected Scars EIGHT: Hell from One to Another
“Hi, I’m Lisa’s manager,” The blonde man in his tight suit, flushed red face probably from the booze he’s been drinking all night and that oddly—probably fake gold watch, introduced himself.If I was sober and not in the utmost need of help, I would definitely laugh thinking how someone like him wo
Her Neglected Scars SEVEN: Dancing On Top of Danger
“I’m a really bad dancer, just so you know that.” I stammer as I try to keep up pace with the bald man in a suit. “Like, really bad. I might kick your boss in like—on his chest.” I added and he stopped in his tracks to turn around, lowering his black glasses only to sarcastically raise his brows at
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