Chapter 11
Chapter Eleven
Harper
After Rihanna left, my life slipped into a strange silence.
Kirill didn't blow up. Didn't mention what happened in the study that night.
He just... ignored me. We became two ghosts sharing a house, passing each other in the long hallways.
When his eyes fell on me, they looked straight through, focused on the air behind me.
It felt worse than being told to get the hell out—like I'd never existed at all.
The silence was driving me insane.
I hid in the bathroom, secretly searching my phone for anything matching that woman's features. Downloaded a few image recognition apps, trying to fish her shadow out of the endless internet.
The screen spat back countless unfamiliar faces. Or irrelevant art galleries.
Nothing.
She was like a carefully erased secret, living only in Kirill's forbidden study and in that heart of his I'd never really touched.
"Ma'am?"
Anna's voice startled me. My phone nearly dropped into the sink.
I killed the screen and spun around. Anna held a freshly pressed shirt, her brow creased with obvious concern.
"You barely touched your salad at lunch," Anna hesitated, then stepped closer. "Is it because Mr. Kirill hasn't been home for meals?"
Her concern loosened something tight in my chest. In this massive, cold house, Anna was the only one who could help me.
Olga would help, too, of course. But she was old. I didn't want her worrying about Kirill and me.
"Anna," I bit my lip. The need to know the truth won out. I lowered my voice. "That woman in the painting in the study—did she used to come here often?"
Anna shook her head. "I never met her, ma'am. That painting was here before I started."
Right. Which meant this woman mattered so much to Kirill that even after all this time, she still occupied the most important spot in his study.
If it were her, Kirill wouldn't lock the door. Wouldn't keep me out.
Anna's worried gaze settled on me. My nose stung. Tears threatened. To escape this suffocating truth, I buried myself at the nursing home.
Only work let me forget I was an unwelcome wife. Here, I fed cranky old people. Dealt with soiled sheets. Endured the sharp smell of disinfectant. Physical exhaustion gave my brain a moment's peace.
Evening brought rain. I'd just stepped out when a red convertible screeched to a stop in front of me, blocking my path.
Two women sat inside, wrapped in expensive furs, faces painted perfectly.
The driver removed her sunglasses. Eyes lined with sharp wings swept over me like searchlights—from my messy hair to the cheap sweatshirt I wore for work to my mud-splattered sneakers.
A satisfied smile bloomed on her face.
"That's her?" The passenger let out a sharp laugh. "God, I thought the rumors were exaggerated. She doesn't look like Orlov's new thing. More like she polishes his shoes."
I gripped my umbrella. Instinct screamed at me to walk away. "Excuse me."
"Don't rush off, Mrs. Orlov." The driver stretched out the title like it was a joke. "We came specially to see what kind of woman stole Kirill away."
Kirill's admirers? Given my husband's looks and status, these overdressed rich girls crushing on him made sense.
I laughed bitterly to myself. They'd wasted a trip. I wasn't even close to the rival they'd imagined.
"What are you smiling at?"
The woman opened her door, swung out her long legs, and stepped in front of me. She towered half a head above me. Her perfume hit me like a wall, forcing me back.
"Who are you?" I asked warily.
"We're Genevie's friends." She stared into my eyes like I was livestock. "What? You don't know her?"
Genevie. The instant she said the name, I thought of the woman in that painting.
I didn't speak. But my nails dug into my palms.
"Don't look at us like you're the victim." The other woman climbed out, arms crossed, eyes filled with condescending pity. "We just think it's funny. What did Kirill settle for? A dumpy nursing home worker? Is this how he punishes himself?"
"If you just came to humiliate me—"
"Humiliate you?" She cut me off with a cold laugh. "Honey, you're not worth humiliating. We just feel bad for Genevie."
She stepped closer, got in my face. "You know how they broke up?" She paused, voice dripping with contempt. "Genevie was Kirill's first love. They were together for five years. Everyone thought they'd get married. But fate's cruel."
The other woman picked up the story. "The Sterling family went bankrupt overnight. Genevie had to marry that mafia boss in San Francisco just to pay off the debts. Kirill nearly lost his mind trying to keep her. But he couldn't."
I tried to raise my voice. "So what? That's in the past, isn't it?"
"Past?" The woman sneered. "Wrong. They still love each other. And everyone knows you're just a stand-in. Here's more good news—Genevie's divorced. Kirill's going to kick you out soon. Take my advice. Face reality and crawl back to your gutter."
They roared off in their convertible, spraying mud everywhere.
I stood in the rain. Didn't feel the cold. Just felt ridiculous.
So that was the truth. Kirill had a woman he loved. They'd never really separated.
In this epic love story, I was just the clown. The vile intruder who'd stolen someone else's place.
My legs moved mechanically. I went to the hospital.
Outside the VIP room, I sucked in several deep breaths, slapped my cheeks hard, trying to smooth away the stiffness. Forced a smile. Pushed open the door.
"Hey, superstar," I called out, faking lightness, setting down the fruit I'd bought. "How are you feeling today? The nurse said your surgery's coming up. Nervous?"
Aiden sat propped against his pillows, reading. He looked up. Those eyes—identical to mine—lingered on my face for a few seconds. The smile he'd started to form faded.
"Sis." He closed his book. His voice was so calm it scared me. "Your eyes are red as a rabbit's. Stop smiling. You look like hell."
My smile froze. Like a mask cracking.
"They're not..." I turned away to pour water, trying to hide. "Wind outside was strong. Got something in my eye."
"Harper." Aiden's voice dropped. "I'm sick, not stupid. Ever since that guy Boris moved me to this hotel suite of a hospital room, I knew something was up."
My hand shook. Hot water spilled. Burned. I flinched.
"That man... Kirill. He's not good to you, is he?" Aiden didn't let it go. His face darkened with anger. "You married him for my surgery, didn't you?"
"No!" I whipped around to argue, met Aiden's all-knowing gaze.
In that instant, all my pretending collapsed.
I sank into the chair and buried my face in my hands. My voice leaked through my fingers, exhausted. "I'm so stupid, Aiden. I fell in love with him."
There. I'd said it. The shameful secret.
"He saved us. Gave me a home. For a few moments, I thought maybe he liked me too." Tears finally fell. "But today I found out his heart belongs to someone else."
"I feel like a thief." I looked up at my brother through blurred vision. "I stole someone's happiness. And I thought I could keep it."
A skeletal hand reached out, gripped mine tight.
"Look at me, Harper." Aiden's eyes held a seriousness beyond his years. "You didn't steal anything. He chose to marry you. He brought you into that house."
"If he can't see you because he's stuck in the past, that's his loss," Aiden spoke through clenched teeth, anger at his brother-in-law coloring his voice. "Listen. I won't let you sacrifice yourself for me. I won't let you grovel before a man who treats you like a substitute."
"Follow your heart." Aiden gently wiped my tears. "If the pain outweighs the joy, leave."
I couldn't hold back anymore. I threw myself into Aiden's arms, clutched his thin shoulders, and sobbed.
All the grievances, confusion, and anxiety I'd bottled up these past days broke free.
Aiden said nothing. Just patted my back gently, over and over, the way I used to soothe him to sleep when we were kids.
I don't know how long I cried. Until the tears ran dry. Until my throat was too hoarse to speak.
When I left the hospital, night had fallen.
Walking back to the manor, I felt lost.
The manor was huge. Luxurious. But where did I belong? If Genevie came back, would I be tossed out like last season's clothes?
Maybe Aiden was right. I didn't belong here. Never had.
When I pushed open the master bedroom door, I'd braced myself for emptiness. I'd even decided—pack a few things, sleep in a guest room. Or on the floor. That's where I belonged.
The room was dark. Only pale moonlight spilled through the windows.
The air reeked of iron. Sickening.
I froze. Looked toward the couch.
In the moonlight, I saw dark stains spreading across the carpet. Kirill sat on the couch. That white shirt he wore even to sleep was now soaked dark red.
One hand pressed hard against his left side. Blood poured between his fingers and dripped onto the carpet. His face was corpse-pale. His brow furrowed, carving lines of pain across that handsome face.
My heart stopped.
All the insecurity, confusion, the urge to run—it all shattered in one second of pure terror.
"Kirill?"
I screamed, dropped my bag, and rushed toward him.