Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
Harper
Genevie moved into the guest room in the east wing—where the light was best and, goddamn it, closest to Kirill's study.
I stepped out of my bedroom, staring at that door across the hall. I couldn't ignore it. Not when doctors, nutritionists, and half a dozen maids carrying trays crowded the entrance.
That hallway buzzed with activity. My master bedroom? Just me and Anna, whose sympathetic eyes couldn't hide her embarrassment.
Three days. Kirill hadn't set foot in this room for three days. He only came back occasionally, slipping quickly into that guest room before leaving again.
He'd stopped mentioning the Russia trip. Hell, he'd stopped talking to me at all.
The occasional text message proved my husband was still alive and remembered he had a wife named Harper. But his tone was as formal as a tax return.
"I won't be home tonight."
I stared at the screen. Hadn't replied to a single one. Not just because I didn't know what to say—I was terrified of the answer.
I was afraid that answer would be my death sentence. If I didn't ask, maybe I could pretend we weren't over yet.
I took a deep breath, told myself to toughen up. I had work to do. A brother having surgery soon, waiting to see me.
I pulled myself together and headed downstairs toward the main hall. Passing the corner linen closet, I noticed the door ajar, hushed voices drifting out.
"God, that Miss Sterling is so tragic." I saw young maid Susie sigh. "Did you see the scars on her?"
"Kirill waited for her a long time," veteran maid Martha's voice carried regret. "Never expected she'd come back like this."
"So... what about Mrs. Orlov?" Susie asked hesitantly. "Now that Miss Sterling's back, what is she?"
"Hard to say," Martha cut in. "After all, Madam Olga forced her on him. He only feels responsible for her. Now that Genevie's back with the baby, how much longer can that stand-in last?"
I blinked hard, holding back tears. Martha was right. I'd always been Kirill's second choice.
He needed a wife to placate Olga, and I was convenient, compliant, and purchasable with money. Now his muse had returned, broken and pitiful, even carrying his child.
I pulled my lips into a bitter smile. Wanted to laugh, but my eyes burned. My heart felt like someone had taken coarse sandpaper to it, scraping out wave after wave of dull pain.
I didn't want to cry. Didn't deserve to. I'd signed this agreement myself, sold myself into this arrangement. This ending was just another form of contractual obligation.
I took a deep breath, trying to calm the churning bitterness in my chest, and turned to leave. I didn't want to face them, didn't want them to see me like this.
"What the hell are you gossiping about!"
A roar suddenly exploded from the end of the hallway, making the air vibrate.
I jumped, instinctively turning around. Olga stood there, leaning on her cane, radiating terrifying authority.
The hallway went dead silent, followed by panicked footsteps and clinking porcelain. Two maids ran out, faces white as sheets, nearly collapsing to their knees when they saw Olga.
"M-Madam..."
"The Orlovs pay you to work, not spread rumors about your employers!" Olga's voice wasn't loud, but every word carried ice. "Who gave you the nerve to gossip about Mrs. Orlov behind her back?"
"We're so sorry! Madam!"
Olga let out a cold laugh, her cane striking the floor hard.
"Starting today, neither of you work in the main house. Get to the laundry room. If I hear one more dirty word about Harper, you're out of the manor for good. And you won't find decent work anywhere in this city!"
The two maids bowed frantically before scrambling away.
The hallway fell silent again.
I stood in the shadows, tears finally breaking free. All my life, except for Aiden, no one had ever stood up for me like this.
Olga turned, her gaze landing precisely on me.
"What are you hiding there for? Playing mushroom?" Her tone was still harsh, but softer than before.
I sniffled. "They were telling the truth, though."
"What nonsense are you spouting?" Olga glared at me in frustration, stepping forward to grab my wrist. "Harper, listen to me. You are Kirill's wife. That's a simple fact no one can change."
Her palm felt dry and warm, giving me strength I'd never known.
"The day after tomorrow is your birthday." Olga suddenly changed tack, her tone brooking no argument. "I'm throwing you a party. The biggest one. I want all of New York, every player in the underworld, to see exactly who the Orlovs truly cherish."
I looked up, shocked, instinctively wanting to refuse. "Olga, that's too—"
"I'm not accepting no for an answer!" She cut me off, tightening her grip on my wrist. "Harper, lift your head. Stop cowering like a punching bag. Remember this—as long as I'm alive, no one threatens your status."
I knew I couldn't convince Olga.
But I also knew that as long as Kirill loved Genevie, no matter how fierce Olga was, no matter how hard she tried to protect me, nothing would change.
My throat tightened with bitterness. I fought back the tears threatening to spill and forced a smile. I couldn't let Olga worry about me. She'd already done enough.
This party might be my final curtain call at this manor.
The night of the birthday party, the manor transformed into a crystal palace from a fairy tale.
Countless crystal chandeliers lit the hall bright as day. Flowers lined the entrance all the way to the stairs. Every corner dripped with luxury, every detail broadcasting the Orlov family's power and wealth.
I sat before the vanity, staring at a stranger in the mirror.
Olga had personally chosen a deep red velvet gown for me. It hugged my body tight, tracing my curves, exposing pale, almost translucent skin at my chest and shoulders.
"Perfect."
Olga stood behind me, reaching out to tuck a stray lock of hair behind my ear.
"Where's Kirill?" I finally couldn't help asking.
Today was my birthday party. He was my husband. But even now, with the party about to start, he was nowhere to be seen.
Olga's expression darkened, then quickly smoothed. "He'll come. As long as he wants this family, he has to come."
She bent down, linking my arm through hers, straightening her spine. "Let's go, child. Tonight, you're the star. You don't wait for anyone."
I took a deep breath, forcing down the churning sourness in my chest, stood up, and followed Olga out.
When I appeared at the top of the stairs on Olga's arm, the noisy hall seemed to hit pause. Every gaze locked onto us like spotlights.
"Don't be afraid," Olga whispered in my ear, voice iron-firm. "Look ahead. Don't look down. You are Mrs. Orlov. They can only look up to you."
I bit my lip, forcing myself to lift my head, scanning the unfamiliar faces. I searched the crowd for that familiar dark figure.
But no.
My husband was absent at the biggest moment of my life.
"Thank you all for coming tonight," Olga announced with a smile. "Today is Harper Orlov's birthday. On this special day, I have an announcement."
She turned, accepting a black velvet box from the butler behind her. A diamond necklace set with an enormous ruby glittered under the lights.
"I've worn this necklace for forty years." Olga's fingers lightly traced the ruby, nostalgia flickering in her eyes. "It witnessed the Orlov family's storms and struggles, my life's glory and hardship. Today, I give it to Harper."
Gasps rippled through the crowd. Everyone understood what this meant—Olga was publicly establishing my position. No matter how many mistresses Kirill had, I remained the unshakable lady of this house.
Olga turned, lifting out the necklace and fastening it around my neck herself. The cold metal touched my warm skin, sending fine shivers through me.
"It's yours now." Olga looked at me, eyes reddening. "Harper, you're a good girl. You have a heart of gold. That idiot Kirill doesn't know how to treasure it, but I do."
My tears broke free. In this world full of calculation and profit, this unconditional love felt almost too heavy to bear.
"Thank you..." I choked out, throwing my arms around her. I buried my face in her neck, breathing in faint lavender, sobbing like a wronged child.
I knew this might be the last time I held her like this. Soon enough, Kirill would talk to me about divorce.
He'd give me money, thank me for my "cooperation," then let me leave gracefully so Genevie could become Mrs. Orlov proper.
After the divorce, I'd no longer be an Orlov. I'd lose this woman who loved me like a mother. Lose this warmth I'd craved so long.
Just as I drowned in grief and gratitude, commotion erupted at the hall entrance.
The closed doors flew open. Night wind rushed in, carrying a familiar scent.
I instinctively lifted my head from Olga's embrace, peering through blurred tears toward the door.
Kirill stood there. But he wasn't alone. A woman hung on his arm.
Genevie.
She wore a white lace gown, practically draped on Kirill, looking fragile and helpless, needing protection.
Kirill's gaze cut through the crowd, landing precisely on me.
Our eyes met.
In that instant, I heard my heart shatter.
We'd only gone days without speaking. Days ago, we'd been tangled in every corner of this manor, kissing, fucking. But now, watching him stand beside another woman, I felt like we were galaxies apart.
Everything had changed.
The intimacy that grew in darkness, the unspoken understanding, the electricity when our fingers touched—all of it vanished in the face of Genevie's pale arm linked through his.
Olga snorted coldly beside me, her cane striking the floor hard with sharp cracks.
Kirill seemed to sense the hostility. He bent down, said something to Genevie, then released her hand and strode toward me.
As he approached, that familiar scent of cedar and tobacco invaded my senses, forceful and overwhelming. My body trembled instinctively. I knew my body wanted to go to him.
He stopped in front of me, his tall frame blocking the harsh crystal light overhead, wrapping me completely in his shadow.
"Harper." He said my name quietly, voice rough.
I bit my lip hard, refusing to make a sound, just staring at him stubbornly, trying to find even a flicker of hesitation in that cold face.
Kirill, do you really have no pity for me? Today's my birthday, the day that should belong to me, but you brought the woman carrying your child.
I had to stand at my own birthday party, accepting everyone's pitying or scornful looks.
And still pretend nothing was wrong, like my heart wasn't torn to shreds.
"Excuse me, I need the restroom."
I didn't want to face him. I needed to calm down. I didn't want to break down crying in front of all these people.
But Kirill suddenly reached out, grabbing my hand.
"Don't run from me. I need to talk to you."
Kirill's voice was low, meant only for us. His thumb unconsciously traced my hand, the gesture so familiar, carrying heart-stopping intimacy.
For a moment, I felt dazed, like we were still in our bedroom, just the two of us, like these days of coldness and betrayal were only nightmares.
But reality struck hard the next second.
"Kirill..."
A delicate voice cut in, like a fine needle piercing the fragile bubble between us.
Genevie approached, carrying an elegant gift box, wearing that perfect, flawless smile. Her eyes were like a snake's, tongue flicking, sweeping over our joined hands.
"Harper, happy birthday." She extended the box while naturally linking her arm through Kirill's, voice sickeningly sweet. "Sorry we're late. Took forever choosing your gift."
As Genevie spoke, she turned slightly. The champagne silk dress perfectly outlined her slender waist and long frame. She stood at least five-seven, and in heels, she looked like a doll from a fashion magazine.
My gaze dropped to her hand resting on Kirill's arm. Pale, delicate, nails trimmed into perfect ovals, painted nude pink. Perfect, like her.
I unconsciously pulled my own hand back.
I'd never have hands like that. Mine only had calluses from years of heavy lifting.
I could feel the guests' gazes shifting—comparing, judging, scoring us both.
Was this my birthday gift?
A feast of humiliation, a label reading "substitute," and a husband who held my hand but kept his heart god knows where.