Chapter 13 #2
"I'm coming too!"
Olga's voice cut in at exactly the wrong moment—though clearly she hadn't heard his obscene promise. The old woman set down her silverware, face bright with excitement. "I haven't been back to the old estate in ages. I want to see the hunting grounds..."
Kirill straightened, composure restored, and turned to his grandmother with an expression that screamed, "Are you serious right now?"
"You really think we need a chaperone?"
Olga paused, looking between my flushed face and Kirill's calm one, then burst into hearty laughter.
"Fine, fine! I won't make myself a nuisance." She waved cheerfully, eyes twinkling with mischief as they bounced between us. "I won't go—but when you come back, you'd better bring me good news. Like... my great-grandchild is on the way."
My face went scarlet to the tips of my ears. Kirill didn't argue, just gave me a loaded look while his palm traced slow circles on my shoulder.
All of this felt like a dream.
My brother Aiden's surgery was paid for. The best doctors were planning his treatment. And I was in love with the most powerful man in New York—who was falling for me too.
Twenty-four years, and fate had finally smiled on me, turning all my suffering into sugar.
But the night we were supposed to leave, New York was hit by the worst rainstorm since spring began. Wind whipped fat raindrops against the windows in violent bursts.
I stood at the manor's black lacquered door wearing the camel cashmere coat Kirill had picked out himself, anticipating our honeymoon trip. The first trip after our wedding—I could call it a honeymoon, right?
A line of black armored Escalades idled at the entrance, engines rumbling low through the rain. Security loaded luggage into the trunks, every face grim.
"Cold?"
Kirill appeared beside me. He wore a black trench coat, one hand casually pocketed, the other sliding around my shoulders to pull me close, shielding me from the rain blowing in.
"Hell of a time for a storm." I breathed in his comforting scent of fir. "I've never been this far from home."
"I've got you." He bent down, pressing warm lips to my forehead. "Don't be scared."
He held me close, signaling Boris to get the car ready.
Then a blinding set of high beams sliced through the dark rain.
A yellow cab suddenly tore through the manor gates. Tires screeched on the flooded pavement, skidding to a stop barely ten feet from us.
Every guard drew their weapon instantly.
The door flew open. A figure tumbled out of the backseat.
A woman. Tall, slender. I couldn't see her face clearly, but I knew she was beautiful.
She was soaked through, clothes torn and filthy, blonde hair plastered to her pale face like dead grass.
She staggered up but collapsed again after two steps, falling hard onto her knees in the mud at the bottom of the stairs.
I felt the arm around my shoulders go rigid. So did I.
I knew why he was shocked.
Because in the yellow glow of the manor lights, I finally saw her face clearly.
My heart stopped.
Despite her haggard, disheveled state, I'd never mistake that face. The portrait still hung in Kirill's study.
It was Genevie. The Sterling heiress. Kirill's unforgettable first love.
"Kirill."
The woman looked up, rain streaming down her ghostly face. Her voice was so faint it almost drowned in the downpour, yet it shattered the fragile warmth between us.
"Help... help me..."
Then I felt a massive shove.
No warning. No explanation. Kirill pushed me away hard.
The force was shocking. He didn't care that I was wearing heels, didn't care there was a stone pillar right behind me.
"Ah!"
I cried out. Completely unprepared, I stumbled backward several steps, spine slamming into the hard, carved stone column.
Dull pain exploded through my body, organs feeling like they'd shifted. But I couldn't even think about the hurt, because what I was seeing suffocated me more than any physical pain.
Kirill had charged into the rain.
The man who'd been holding me, sheltering me just seconds ago, was now running like a madman toward Genevie.
He dropped to his knees in the mud, hands shaking as he lifted her from the ground. He clutched her to his chest with a force like he wanted to absorb her into his flesh, like she might vanish if he let go.
"Genevie! Goddammit! Look at me!"
He roared into the rain, voice raw with a care he'd never shown me.
"Boris! Get a doctor! Everyone get the fuck over here! Now!"
He bellowed, scooping Genevie up and racing into the manor. His stride was urgent, desperate, shoes splashing through puddles in rhythm with the thunder.
The entire time—not even for a second—did he look back at the wife he'd shoved aside.
Like I didn't exist. Like the tenderness moments ago had been my hallucination.
"Kirill..."
I whispered his name, forcing my legs to move, to follow.
God, why was fate so cruel? Why give me everything only to rip it away in an instant? Why let me taste happiness before throwing me off a cliff?
My mind was chaos. I just wanted to catch him, demand answers.
But I moved too fast. Tears blurred my vision. The slick marble floor, slippery with rain, was like ice.
I hit the ground hard. My knee slammed into the edge of the cold marble, blinding pain shooting through the bone and nearly knocking me unconscious.
I gasped, instinctively reaching for something to hold onto but finding only freezing rainwater.
Blood seeped from my knee, mixing with the rain on the marble and spreading into a vivid pale red.
Through the rain, I watched Kirill's back. He carried that woman like she was a priceless treasure, disappearing around the corner at the end of the hall.
"It's okay, Harper." I pressed my bleeding knee, talking to myself, desperate to believe it. "He'll come back."