Chapter 4

Eunia

Most women dream of love as this wonderful fairytale where their prince comes and sweeps them off their feet, carrying them to their happily ever after.

I dreamed of the same and maybe it was because I read too many romance books. After all, it was the only escape from the hell that had become my life. Pages filled with tender kisses, promises of forever, and knights in shining armor had been my only light in the darkness of Kruska’s shadow.

I genuinely thought Logan was my savior. I dreamed of this future where he asked for my hand in marriage, we wedded, and he took me back to Switzerland with him. I saw it so clearly: a house with windows that looked out into the Alps, children with his soft brown hair and my mother’s eyes, and finally—finally—a life that belonged to me.

How incredibly childish.

Perhaps it could have actually happened. Perhaps the universe had once meant for me to be loved. But as usual, Kruska had to ruin everything.

I like to believe there had been a time when Logan genuinely loved me because I can still remember it. I can still feel it in my bones. He used to hold my hand tenderly, his thumb brushing over my knuckles as though I were fragile porcelain. He used to look at me like I was his entire world, and when he smiled, I believed that we were meant for each other. Those memories are real—I know they are—but everything happened so fast after his return that it became the part of my life I could never fully explain.

After returning to the States, Logan came to visit. I remember the rush in my chest when I saw him again, taller, broader, but with the same cerulean eyes that once made me believe I mattered. I wanted to run into his arms, to tell him I had waited, that I had always been his. But before I could, he was introduced to Kruska.

The rest is a blur. A violent, bloody blur. Somehow, in ways that still leave me gasping for air at night, Kruska managed to turn Logan against me. Worse, she seduced him.

Three months. That’s all it took.

Three months after Logan returned to the US, Kruska baby-trapped him.

I still remember the day she stood there, hand on her stomach, a wicked sparkle hidden beneath her mask of innocence, and announced her pregnancy to my family. To our family.

As if it wasn’t enough to crush me with that news, Logan himself announced their plans for a wedding. He said he didn’t want the child to be born out of wedlock.

I thought my chest had been ripped open with a knife. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, couldn’t understand how everything I had loved, everything I had dreamed of, had shattered in front of my eyes. The tears wouldn’t stop; they came like a flood, hot, endless, unrelenting. That night I buried my face into my pillow and screamed until my throat was raw.

There was nothing left for me here. The logical thing would have been to book the next flight out of the fucking country. Anywhere but where Logan and Kruska were would have been better but I never found the courage to leave.

I didn't attend the wedding, I just couldn't. I didn't care if my parents thought I was a monster for refusing to put myself through that torture.

Sadly, it didn't end there.

As if to rub salt into my wounds, Kruska would always come to visit with Logan. And I—like the pathetic fool I was—was forced to watch.

They’d walk into the living room, Kruska glowing in her pregnancy, Logan’s hand always protectively around her waist. He’d lean down to kiss her temple, and she would laugh like she had never known pain, like she had never been the cruel, manipulative viper I knew her to be.

“Do you need more pillows, love?” Logan would ask, his voice tender and loving.

“Yes, please,” she’d answer, curling her fingers around his as if to remind me he was hers.

And I would sit there, nails digging into my palms until they bled, biting my lip to keep from screaming, suffocating on my own heartbreak.

Once, I walked into the kitchen and saw him spoon-feeding her soup. She giggled when he accidentally smeared a bit on her lip, and he kissed it away. I had to grip the counter to keep from collapsing. That was supposed to be me. That was supposed to be my life.

But to Logan, I no longer existed. Kruska had bewitched him completely.

Seeing the love between them, I gave up. I let go of the last thread of hope I had. My fairytale was dead. But about six months later, I stumbled upon a dastardly truth.

I was walking back from lectures when I saw her. Kruska. She was dressed suspiciously—long trench coat, scarf pulled high, sunglasses covering half her face. She moved briskly, her head snapping left and right as though she expected to be followed.

My heart stuttered. She was hiding something.

Curiosity—or maybe desperation—drove me to follow her. My footsteps were silent, my breaths shallow.

And then I saw it.

Kruska was meeting a man. Not Logan. Someone else.

From my hiding spot behind a wall, I strained to listen. Their voices were hushed, angry.

“You can’t just ignore me!” The man hissed.

Her voice was sharp but low. “Take the money and go. You’re not ruining this for me.”

The man growled back, his face twisted with anger. “That’s my child, Kruska! You think you can erase me?!”