her ghost.
She is a conquest. A prize. That’s all.
That’s a lie. When I saw her yesterday, handing over food to the school, kneeling to speak with that child, this cold heart of mine began to thaw. As soon as she walked into the room, I began to lose my control.
Instead of feeling triumph, I feel raw and exposed. Naked. Vulnerable… Just like I did when I sank to my knees in front of her five years ago and begged her to choose me.
She can see it. Is that smugness in her eyes?
She planned for this. She is a siren trying to lure me onto the rocks. I can’t give in to her. I know better than to hand over my heart. She will rip it to pieces. Again.
I slam my fear and lust—everything—into a box in the icy depths of my heart, the part that has not forgotten what she did to me. I yank myself off her so violently I almost tumble back onto the floor.
She sits up, snapping her knees shut, clutching at her naked chest. “Dimi? What’s wrong?”
I stand there, staring at the mistake I almost let myself make, my breath heaving out of my lungs. I can’t do this. I can’t let her force herself back into my heart. I can’t let her wind her claws around my soul. I will not survive a second time.
The way she’s looking at me now, so full of concern, so longingly, it makes me pause. My certainty wavers.
I need her to leave before I give in. I force my face into a cold mask. “Get out.”
“W-what?”
“I changed my mind. I don’t want you anymore.”
“Liar! You want this. You want me.” Her anguish is like a knife twisting in my gut.
I rip my eyes away from her, afraid that I won’t be able to resist throwing myself at her if I keep looking at her.
Dimitri Volkov does not beg.
I keep my voice cold, even as my heart screams in my chest. “I thought I wanted you. Turns out, having you just bores me.”
I see the moment her heart breaks. I see it shatter behind her autumn-leaf eyes.
I should feel good that she’s hurting. Instead I feel like a piece of shit.
She grabs her robe, snatching it around her body. She picks her lingerie up and stuffs it into a pocket. “You are such a bastard.” She strides past me, the scent of her perfume mixed with the musk of her lust hitting my lungs.
“No,” I yell after her. “You are Frankenstein. And I am your monster.”
My door slams in response.
43
____________
Alena
I can barely look at Dimitri at breakfast the next morning. My husband can barely look at either of us. I didn’t tell him that I didn’t stay the night in Dimitri’s room. I didn’t tell him that Dimitri ripped my heart out instead.
I want to hate Edgar. I do a little. But he’s desperate. I can smell it on him. I know he had no choice but to hand me over.
All my hate centres on Dimitri.
Dimitri scowls at me. I can feel his glare, boring into me like it could set me alight. He’s furious. I have no idea why. He was the one who rejected me last night. I was there, naked and open and ready for him and he rejected me. My stomach still burns with it. I try to console myself that I never really wanted him anyway. I try to tell myself that his rejection means nothing. He means nothing to me. Not anymore.
I look up to find Dimitri’s eyes are filled with sorrow. They glisten with what looks like regret. Confusion tumbles around in me and I have to tear my eyes away from him. So what if he regrets last night? Who cares if he’s sad? I just want to hate him. It’s easier to just hate him. Anything else is too damn painful.
Only Emily chatters away, oblivious to the silent tension strung among the three of us.
After breakfast I leave the manor to visit the local school with my basket of leftovers. I walk. It’s not far. And the weather's still mild, although overcast.
As I turn onto the slim laneway towards the school a familiar figure slips out from the gates ahead and into a waiting car.
I halt, the gravel crunching under my feet.
That was Dimitri. I’d recognise his stern walk and proud figure anywhere. What is he doing here? The car pulls away, driving off in the other direction, leaving a cloud