Chapter 4

MISHA’S POV

I wanted to end the call. I wanted to vanish from the surface of the earth if it meant never hearing another word. But my feet had rooted themselves to the pavement, and the phone stayed pressed against my ear even though I already knew what was coming.

“Oh, that was so exhilarating,” Ken’s voice murmured in that soft, confessional tone he used to reserve for me. “I love you so much, Katya.”

The low, satisfied rumble that followed told me everything. They were in the aftermath,bodies tangled, breath slowing, the kind of quiet intimacy that only comes after someone has taken what they wanted.

“What about Misha?” Katya asked. I could almost see her, glowing with the victory of claiming what had once been mine.

She had told me once, years ago, that she would always win because I was no match for her. She had been right. If she could turn my own fiancé against me, then yes,she could keep winning forever.

Ken laughed. The sound was light, almost careless. “Misha? She’s nothing to me.”

The sneer in his voice landed like a physical blow. How had I ever believed he felt even a fraction of love for me? How had I let him hold my future in his hands only for him to crush it so easily? Katya had never liked me,her smiles had always been thin, her kindness performative,but Ken? He had looked me in the eyes and spoken of Christmas weddings and forever. He had lied with every soft word, every late-night call, every promise.

“So what do you plan to do with her now?” Katya’s voice was almost playful, as if they were discussing an inconvenient pet rather than a person.

I knew I could not survive whatever answer came next. My thumb slid across the screen and ended the call. Tears slipped free before I could stop them.

I was a pushover. Everyone took advantage of me, and I had never fought a single war and won. The air around me felt too thin. I needed to breathe.

I turned from the curb where I had been waiting for a taxi and started walking without direction. The city lights blurred. My phone buzzed once,Sasha, probably still celebrating the success of the date,but I ignored it. The gold card she had given me sat heavy in my purse, a reminder of the debt I still had to pay and the job I had almost certainly lost. None of it mattered now. Ken’s voice kept echoing: ‘She’s nothing to me.’

I walked until the streets grew quieter and the neon signs thinned. A side alley opened to my left, lined with the backs of restaurants and the low hum of exhaust fans. I stepped into it for privacy, pressing my back against the cool brick, and finally let the sobs come. They were quiet, ugly things that shook my shoulders and left my throat raw.

I don’t know how long I stood there. Long enough for my tears to slow. Long enough for the cold to settle into my bones. Long enough that I almost didn’t hear the footsteps until they stopped a few paces away.

“Miss Reza.”

The voice was low, familiar, and entirely unwelcome. I lifted my head.

Nikolai Dimitri stood at the mouth of the alley, hands in the pockets of his dark coat, watching me with that same unreadable expression he had worn in the restaurant. He looked completely at ease, as if finding me broken and crying in a back street was the most natural thing in the world.

“How did you—” My voice cracked. I cleared my throat and tried again. “How did you find me?”

“You left in a hurry. I was concerned.” He took a single step closer. “You looked unwell when you walked out. And now I find you here.”

“I’m fine.” The lie was automatic and transparent.

He studied me for a long moment. “You’re not fine. You’re shaking.”

I wrapped my arms around myself. “It’s cold.”

“It’s not that cold.” Another step. He was close enough now that I could catch the faint scent of his cologne,something clean and expensive that made my pulse skip for reasons I refused to examine. “Who were you talking to on the phone?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“It became my business when you nearly collapsed on the sidewalk.” His tone stayed even, almost gentle, but there was steel underneath. “Talk to me.”

“Why? So you can report back to my father that his daughter is falling apart?” I laughed once, bitter. “I’m not even his daughter. I’m just the girl who pretended to be her so I could pay off a debt. Congratulations,you’ve been dealing with a fraud.”

Something flickered in his eyes. Surprise, maybe. Or calculation. “Sasha Reza is not the one standing in front of me right now.”

“No,” I said. “She’s not. My name is Misha. And I would like you to leave me alone.”

He didn’t move. “Misha.” The way he said it felt like he was testing the shape of the name. “Whoever you are, you still look like you’re about to pass out. Come with me. I’ll take you somewhere warm.”

“I don’t need your help.”

“You needed it the moment you walked out of that restaurant.” He closed the remaining distance. One of his hands lifted, slow enough that I could have stepped back if I wanted to. He hasn't touched me yet. He simply waited. “You’re not going to make it home like this. Let me drive you.”

I should have refused again. I should have turned and walked away. Instead I stood there, exhausted and hollowed out, while the night air pressed against my damp cheeks.

“Why do you care?” I asked quietly.

“I don’t know yet,” he answered, just as quietly. “But I do.”

Before I could decide what to say to that, he reached out and settled his hands on my waist. The touch was firm, steadying. My body, traitorous and drained, leaned into it without permission. His head lowered. I registered the movement too late,blinked once, twice, three times,before I understood that his mouth was descending toward mine.

I could not have moved even if I had wanted to. In my dazed state the light brush of his lips against mine felt inevitable. A soft gasp escaped me, and suddenly the air was gone. My lungs tightened the way they always did when panic or strong emotion closed them. I reached instinctively for the inhaler that lived in my handbag.

It wasn’t there.

I fumbled, fingers searching empty space, while a familiar and terrifying pressure built in my chest. My airways were narrowing. The world tilted. I would have crumpled to the ground if his arms hadn’t locked around me, holding me upright. Confusion crossed his face, chasing away the faint amusement that had been there a second earlier.

“Misha?” His voice sharpened. “What’s wrong?”

I tried to signal,tried to point at my throat, at my bag, at anything that might explain—but the words wouldn’t come. My vision was spotted. I was still looking into his eyes when the lightheadedness washed over me in full. Worry lines etched themselves across that impossibly composed face as he realized I was choking on nothing at all.

Behind him, somewhere near the street, two figures stood watching. I registered them only as shapes. The two people who had already betrayed me in different ways. Neither of them moved to help.

It was too late to remember where I had left the inhaler. A mistake I never made. The darkness rose fast, soft and absolute. I gave in to it while still molded against his chest, as if I were something too fragile to release.

If I died in his arms,with every conflicting feeling he had already managed to stir,I would not have questioned God.

The last thing I felt was the shift of his body as he lifted me completely off the ground. The last thing I heard was his voice, low and urgent, speaking to someone I couldn’t see.

“Get the car. Now. She’s not breathing properly.”

Then the world went black.

I woke to the sound of machines and the sharp, sterile smell of a hospital.

But the first face I saw when my eyes opened was not a doctor’s.

It was Nikolai’s, and standing just behind him, pale and furious, was Ken.