Split

Chapter 28

28

T he soles of my red stilettos kiss the ground outside the car as I gather the skirt of my gown up in a hand, the fabric so delicate that it starts to slip through my fingers. Extending my other hand, I place it in Andrew’s waiting palm and allow him to help me to my feet, my heart skipping a beat when I glance up at the intimidating brick facade of Magnus Volkov’s mansion.

I’ve only been here once before, and it wasn’t a pleasant experience. Here’s hoping this one is a vast improvement.

I drop Andrew’s hand and stride confidently toward the front door, smiling when I look down to see the trumpet skirt of my gown seemingly changing color as it catches the light. Though I was given the choice between wearing black or red tonight, I found I couldn’t decide. Choosing a color would be akin to choosing one side of Roman over the other– Dr. Jekyll likes black, Mr. Hyde likes red – and I’ve come to oppose and embrace both equally. So, I found the only garment in my closet that passes as both. The sheer overlay of this dress is deceiving to the eye, much like my husband. In low light, it’s black, but in bright light, it’s red. A perfect compromise.

As I ascend the steps to the front door, it suddenly opens, the same stuffy butler that greeted me last time pulling it wide with a tight-lipped smile. “You’re right on time, Mrs. Volkov,” he remarks, stepping aside and gesturing for me to come in. “They just sat down in the dining room.”

“Great,” I reply politely, even though my punctuality is really owed to Andrew. I was a little late coming downstairs to get in the car, so he must’ve pushed the speed limits to make up for lost time. The trip out here felt a lot faster than the one back to the estate on our wedding day.

Déjà vu hits hard as the butler leads me through the dimly-lit halls to the dining room, rapping his knuckles once against the closed door before tugging it open and waving me through. I enter to find Magnus seated at the head of the table, my husband on his left. Both stare in my direction as I advance into the room, but Roman’s eyes are the ones that pull me in, brimming with heat as they drop down my body to drink in my appearance.

“Well, if it isn’t my new daughter-in-law,” Magnus booms, pushing up to his feet with an easy grin and spreading his arms. “Eliza, so nice to see you again.”

“You as well,” I reply cordially, pausing to allow him to take my hand and brush a kiss against my cheek.

Roman rises from his seat, dipping his chin as I move past his father to approach him. “Wife.”

“Husband.”

The faintest smile tugs at his lips as we stare each other down.

“Sit, sit,” Magnus urges, dropping back into his own chair and fanning his napkin out over his lap. “I heard you like wine, so you’re in for a treat. I’m somewhat of a collector, and I uncorked and decanted a vintage Bordeaux to pair with the meal tonight.”

Roman extends an arm and presses a hand to the small of my back, guiding me to the seat next to his and pulling out the antique dining chair like a perfect gentleman. It takes everything in me to stifle the amused giggle that threatens to slip from my lips in response to the gesture. Is he putting on a show for his father? Deciding to play along, I sink down onto it with a shy smile, my stomach fluttering as Roman pushes my chair in and sidesteps to retake his own.

“Go on, try it,” Magnus urges, gesturing to the glass of red waiting in front of my place setting.

I reach for it, swirling the glass as I bring it up to my nose to inhale the aroma. Resting the rim against my lower lip, I slowly tip it back, Roman’s father watching intently as I take a sip.

“Well?” he asks eagerly as I swallow and lower the glass.

“Delicious,” I remark, licking my lips for emphasis before going in for another taste.

“See, I told you I know wine,” Magnus boasts, turning a smug grin on his son.

“It’s still a bit dry for my taste,” Roman shrugs.

As I set my glass back down in front of me and glance around the table, I suddenly realize that there’s a fourth place setting on Magnus’ opposite side, a full glass of red already poured. I don’t recall Roman mentioning that anyone would be joining us tonight, but before I can ask who it might be, the dining room door opens again.

I turn to look in that direction, my heart ceasing to beat as a hauntingly familiar man strolls into the room.

Roman strolls into the room, his distinctive emerald eyes locking with mine and the corner of his mouth lifting in delighted recognition.

I whip my head back around to the man seated beside me, unable to comprehend what I’m seeing.

I’m seeing double.

Was there something in that wine?

This can’t be real.

“About time you showed up,” Roman grumbles irritably.

“Had a phone call to make,” his double snipes back.

My lungs seize, ears ringing as I snap my head back and forth between the two of them, the newly-arrived Roman striding over to claim the chair on Magnus’ other side, opposite his clone.

“My brother, Knox,” the one beside me sighs as the other takes his seat.

Brother?

More like his identical fucking twin.

“Don’t tell me you’ve been toying with this one, too?” Magnus groans, scrubbing an exasperated hand down his face. “Didn’t you boys learn your lesson after that mess with Alina?”

“She was weak-minded. Eliza isn’t,” new Roman replies flatly, then turns a devilish grin on me. “Are you, pet?”

My mind is spinning so fast that it feels as if it may implode at any moment, nausea roiling in my gut.

“N-nox,” I stammer, starting to hyperventilate. “Like Roman’s dog?”

“ Our dog, and no. My name has a K in front of it.” He lifts his chin haughtily as he reaches for his glass of wine, my eyes catching on the bandage wrapped around his hand. The hand that bled on me. As he brings the glass to his smirking lips and tosses the wine back like a shot of liquor, the pieces start slotting together in my brain, everything suddenly coming together with startling clarity.

The cut.

The mood swings.

Red and black.

Cherie’s remark about the dog’s name.

“I told you it was weird to name him that,” Roman grumbles.

“Thought I’d make things easy on you, since you tend to forget names,” Knox replies, giving his brother a pointed look.

Roman frowns. “That was one time. When are you-”

I slap my palms loudly against the dark wood tabletop, rudely interrupting the bickering siblings. “Is someone gonna tell me what the hell is going on here?” I demand, throwing all sense of decorum out the window.

Roman turns to meet my eyes, calm and controlled as always. “I think you already know,” he replies coolly.

He’s right; I do . All this time, there weren’t two sides to Roman. There were two of them , Roman and Knox. I’ve been living with both. Dining with both. Fucking both.

“We weren’t planning on doing this so soon, but some things have come to light and it’s a necessary evil,” he continues, those intense green eyes boring into mine. “We need to bring you in on our plans involving your father.”

“My father?” I choke, suddenly horribly lightheaded.

“Yes. Do you remember when he rose in position?”

No. I can barely form a coherent thought right now– I just keep looking back and forth between the two men, my mind tripping over itself at the impossibility.

And yet it makes so much sense. I should’ve put it together sooner. But I never saw them in the same room, never considered that there could be two of them. Of all the sick games my husband played with me, this one is by far the most inconceivable, demented…

“Great, now she’s just going to throw herself from the tower like the last one,” Magnus groans, flopping back in his chair with an exasperated sigh and stabbing his fingers through his salt-and-pepper hair.

“ Not Eliza,” Knox snarls, pounding a fist against the table so hard that the silverware clatters. “She’s strong. She can handle this.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose, squeezing my eyes shut as all three men continue to speculate about the chances of me offing myself. I open my mouth to tell them to stop but as soon as I do, bile rushes up my throat, my stomach twisting. I barely have time to fling my upper body sideways over the arm of the chair before vomit spews from my mouth, splashing against the pristinely polished mahogany floors.

Even though he’s seated furthest from me and thus well outside the splatter zone, Magnus recoils in disgust, the legs of his chair screeching against the hardwood as he jolts back with a grimace.

“I told you she wasn’t ready for this,” Roman admonishes angrily, shooting up to his feet and throwing his napkin down on the table. He sidesteps and pulls my chair back, grasping onto my bicep to help me out of it.

“Come, let’s get you back home,” he murmurs, brushing my hair behind my shoulder and sending goosebumps skittering across my exposed skin. His touch is both familiar and foreign. As much as I want to shrink away from it, there’s something soothing in the way he presses a hand firmly against the small of my back, taking control of the situation.

I should feel anything but safe with this man, yet the juxtaposition of these tender moments against his otherwise callous demeanor has lulled me into a distorted sense of complacency. Better the devil I know.

“Home?” I ask, blinking up at him as another wave of nausea rolls through me.

“Yes, we’re going back to the manor,” he responds frankly. “You clearly need some time to process all of this.”

Understatement of the century. I need more than time; what I really need is a fucking lobotomy.

“You’re leaving?” Magnus scoffs, rising to stand. “But what about…?”

“ Later ,” Knox snarls, turning a menacing glare on his father as he, too, pushes up from his seat and rounds the table to join me and Roman.

Magnus snaps his mouth closed with a disgruntled huff, all traces of the affable father-in-law gone when he cuts me a cold glare, as if I’m the one at fault for derailing this dinner.

“Let’s go,” Knox grunts, coming up on my other side and grasping onto my arm, steadying me as the pair begin urging me forward.

My knees buckle beneath my weight as they guide me from the dining room, their bodies bracketing either side of mine like a protective shield. I go with them willingly, even though I’m not sure whether they’re marching me to safety or to my execution.

Sadly enough, I’m not sure that I even care anymore.