♛Chapter thirty♛
Lola
I take the stairs quickly. My hand hesitates at the door before I knock, soft and unsure. There's no answer. Just sobs. Deep, broken, and coming from the gut. I bite the inside of my cheek. I knock again. Nothing. Just more of those cries. I decide to turn the knob and push the door open.
She’s in the corner, hunched over. Her hair is long and wild, draped over her like a curtain trying to hide her from the world. She looks like a sad mop, I think bitterly, except mops don’t sound like they’re dying.
My scowl deepens. This is what I hate. The strong trampling the weak because they can.
Because no one tells them no. Because they think money and fear make them untouchable.
And people like her? Just collateral damage.
But here’s the thing: I agreed to this. I told Mikhail I could handle his world.
That I wanted in. But watching her break, all I can think is: does being part of this mean I’m supposed to look the other way?
I’m not going to act like I’m better than Roman or the rest of them.
I’m not. I’m carved from the same rot, just wearing a prettier face.
I’m selfish. Lowkey psychotic, depending on who you ask.
I manipulate. I lie. I play games most people wouldn’t survive.
But I’ve got one rule: I don’t break people who haven’t earned it. I don’t cut where there’s no wound.
And this girl? Sitting there like roadkill in a dress? I don’t know what she did to end up in this mess, but I can’t convince myself she deserves what’s probably waiting for her.
I sink to the floor beside her, cross-legged, not touching.
Her sobs don’t stop. They pour out of her like a wound that won’t clot.
Me, with my bloody moral compass spinning out of control.
And her—just dragged into the lion’s den, helpless and bleeding.
Roman’s mansion is no place for her. Mikhail might know how to smile and seduce and distract, but Roman?
He doesn’t hide the monster. He flaunts it.
I glance over, speaking low. “What’s your name?”
Her whole body stays curled in on itself, she’s hoping if she’s small enough, she’ll disappear.
I sit with her anyway. My fingernails scrape against my palm, trying to quiet the war in my chest.
This is betrayal. Maybe not yet. But close. One wrong move, and I’m choosing her over Mikhail. And even though I’m still pissed at him, I don’t think I’m capable of choosing anyone over him.
Then, she speaks. “Ayla.”
I nod, even though she doesn’t see it.
“Okay,” I whisper. “Ayla.”
Her breathing is erratic, shallow.
“I’m not here to hurt you,” I say. “I know you’re scared. You should be. But not of me.”
She’s filthy. Dirt streaks down her arms, and there’s some bruising along her wrists. Her dress, if you can even call it that, is torn and wrinkled.
“You should take a shower,” I suggest. “You’ll feel better.”
She finally glances at me. “I don’t have any clean clothes,” she murmurs.
“I’ll bring you some,” I promise.
Her lips tremble, but she doesn’t cry again. She’s already emptied herself. I can see her steeling herself for something, and a moment later, I find out what.
She opens her mouth, then closes it. Swallows.
“Can you help me escape?” she finally whispers, terrified.
She’s asking me to choose. Her, or them.
Her pain, or the world I stepped into with my eyes open.
I knew what I was getting into. I asked for it.
So I sit there, silent for too long, and that’s all the answer she needs.
“Coward,” she spits.
If it was anyone other than her, scratch that, even if it was her, but under different circumstances, I would’ve ripped her a new one. But I don’t kick people when they’re already on the ground.
“You’re angry. Good. Stay angry. It’ll keep you sharp,” I say. “But don’t confuse my no with indifference. I’m not throwing you to the wolves.”
Her brows furrow.
“I’ll talk to them,” I tell her. “Find out what the hell they’re planning for you. Try to convince them to let you go.”
She throws herself against me, arms wrapping around my middle. My arms hover before I tap her back, once, twice—awkwardly.
“I’m sorry for calling you a coward,” she whispers. “And thank you.”
“Come on,” I say gently. I guide her to the edge of the bed and sit her down. “I’ll get you some clothes. Give you space to breathe. Just… hold on.”
She nods, biting her lip. I walk to the door, glancing back at her once before slipping out. It’s not the choice she wanted. But it’s the only one I can live with. Nothing and no one comes before Mikhail in my books.