Chapter 16
Chapter Sixteen
Harper
"Harper, take it," Kirill's voice murmured beside me. "Genevie picked this out especially for you. You'll love it."
He sounded almost hopeful, like he actually believed I'd love a gift from her. Like we could all just play happy family.
I looked up at him. Same face. Same man. But he felt like a complete stranger.
I was starting to wonder if what we had—if it had ever been real at all, or just something I'd imagined.
My throat burned. I swallowed hard, forcing the feeling down.
"Thank you." My voice came out flat. Polite.
I reached out and took the box from Genevie. Light. Perfectly wrapped. A silk ribbon tied in a bow. I didn't even want to open it.
Face it, Harper. Genevie didn't do anything wrong. She just happened to have everything you wanted—beauty, pedigree, and Kirill's love. You're the one in the wrong. The thief who stole what wasn't hers.
I told myself that. Tried to believe it. Anything to keep from breaking down in front of everyone.
I should've known my place from the start. But I was too stupid. I actually thought I could matter to him.
"Oh, wonderful!" Genevie's voice rang out like bells. Her smile was sweet, innocent. "Harper, I'm so glad you'll accept it. I've been wanting to talk to you properly for a while now."
She tilted her head. Her golden hair caught the light from the chandeliers. I noticed Kirill watching her, his eyes soft.
"It's just that I haven't been well. I've been in treatment, so I haven't had the chance.
" She touched her stomach lightly, something fragile flickering in her eyes.
"I know my being here might have caused you some.
.. discomfort. So I thought we could talk privately. Clear up any misunderstandings."
I didn't answer.
I didn't want her explanations. I didn't even want to look at her.
Logically, I knew Genevie was innocent. She was just a woman fate had screwed over, forced to leave the man she loved. She came back seeking protection, carrying his child. None of that was her fault.
But I couldn't control the jealousy. The grief.
Every time I saw that doll-perfect face, saw her hand tucked into Kirill's arm, saw the way he looked at her like she might shatter—I couldn't breathe.
I didn't want to fall apart in front of her. I didn't want to be that pathetic woman who lost it out of jealousy.
So I stayed quiet.
I could hear the murmurs around us. The air thickened.
"Harper?" Kirill's brow furrowed. Impatience crept into his tone. "If you two are going to talk, go upstairs."
It wasn't a suggestion. It was an order.
I opened my mouth to protest, but then I saw Olga nod at me. She turned to Kirill.
"Kirill," she said quietly, her voice carrying weight, "come with me."
Kirill glanced at his grandmother. His jaw tightened.
"Go on," he said to Genevie. "Take Harper upstairs. Talk it out."
Then he turned and followed Olga into the crowd.
I stood there, watching him disappear. Hollow.
He didn't even look at me.
"Harper, let's go."
Genevie's voice was soft, intimate. She looped her arm through mine like we were old friends and started leading me toward the stairs.
Her hand was cold. Her body felt frail. But her grip was iron. I couldn't shake her off. Was she really as weak as she pretended to be in front of Kirill?
We walked through the crowded ballroom and climbed the sweeping red-carpeted staircase. The chandeliers dimmed. The noise faded.
By the time we reached the second-floor hallway, it was empty.
Genevie stopped.
Her fingers dug into my arm. Nails biting through fabric. I gasped, tried to pull away.
"What are you doing?" I yanked my arm free and stepped back.
Red welts marked my skin where her nails had been.
Genevie stood there, her expression completely changed. The sweet, innocent smile was gone. In its place was something cold. Contemptuous.
"Does it hurt?" she asked lightly, her mouth curling into a smirk.
I stared at her, stunned. This wasn't the same woman.
"I really didn't expect this," she said slowly, her gaze dragging over me from head to toe. Disgust plain in her eyes. "I didn't think Kirill would ever settle for someone like you."
She stepped closer. Her voice dropped.
"Have you looked in a mirror? You look like a pig. Look at that waist. I bet Olga had to wrestle you into that dress."
Her words cut deep. Sharp. Deliberate.
I opened my mouth to fight back, but nothing came out.
I was frozen. My brain shut down. I'd never imagined that perfect, painted mouth could say something so vile.
I wanted to argue. To scream. But my throat felt stuffed. Part of it was shame—because she was beautiful, and I wasn't. But mostly it was that weak, scared part of me that had always kept quiet.
"What's wrong? Cat got your tongue?" Genevie tilted her head mockingly. "Or do you already know you're not good enough for him?"
I took a breath. Forced myself to calm down.
"Are you done?" My voice came out steadier than I expected. "Because if you are, I'm leaving."
I turned toward the stairs. But before I could take more than a few steps, she grabbed my wrist. Hard.
"Stop!" Her voice sharpened. "You think you can just walk away?"
She got in front of me. Leaned close to my ear. Whispered.
"Want to know a secret? These past few days, Kirill and I have been together."
Her breath was cold against my skin. "We've been fucking. Over and over. He held me and said my name. Begged me not to leave him again."
My heart seized. Pain shot through my chest.
"So," Genevie straightened, looking down at me, "be smart. Leave on your own. While you still have some dignity left. Otherwise, it's going to get a lot worse for you."
I bit my lip hard. Kept myself from making a sound. Tears burned behind my eyes, but I wouldn't let them fall.
"Only Kirill can make me leave," I said, my voice rough but firm. "Until he tells me himself, I'm not going anywhere."
I shoved her hand off and headed for the stairs.
I needed out of here. I needed to find Olga. Find somewhere I could breathe. I didn't want to see Genevie's fake face or hear another word from her mouth.
But just as I reached the top of the staircase—
A scream tore through the air behind me.
I spun around.
Genevie's body pitched forward, tumbling past me, rolling down the long flight of stairs.
"Ahh—!"
Screams erupted from the ballroom below.
I stood frozen. Blank.
What just happened?
Why did she fall?
The ballroom exploded. Shrieks. Gasps. Genevie lay crumpled at the bottom, curled around herself, clutching her stomach. Her face was white as death. "It hurts! My stomach..."
Instinct kicked in. I forgot the insults. Forgot everything. I hiked up my dress and ran down the stairs. "Genevie! Are you okay?"
I dropped to my knees beside her, reaching out to check her injuries.
"Don't touch me!" Genevie screamed, shrinking away from me like I was a demon. "Please, don't hurt my baby... Harper, why did you push me? I know you're jealous, but why did you push me down the stairs?"
Her words echoed through the hall. I heard someone mutter "vicious bitch."
"What?" I stared at her, disbelieving. "I didn't push you! I never touched you!"
But Genevie didn't care. Tears streamed down her face. She looked so fragile, so pitiful. Everyone's heart would break for her.
"I just wanted to talk to you..." she sobbed, her voice barely audible. "I didn't think you'd do this to me. My baby... I just hope my baby's okay..."
The whispers closed in around me.
"Oh my God, she pushed a pregnant woman down the stairs?"
"That's sick."
"They were together first, you know..."
"Poor Miss Sterling. And she's carrying a child!"
I looked up. Their eyes stabbed into me. Disgust. Anger. Judgment. Every look condemned me. Every word sentenced me.
I tried to speak. To explain. But my throat locked up.
Then I saw him.
Kirill.
His face was ashen. Fury blazed in his eyes. He stormed through the crowd, heading straight for us.
"Kirill!" I reached for him instinctively, grabbing for his sleeve. "It wasn't me—"
Before I could finish, he shoved me.
Hard.
I stumbled backward, my back slamming into the sharp edge of the stair railing. Pain exploded through my side. My vision went dark.
"Kirill..." I clutched my waist, gasping. "Please, just listen—"
But he didn't even look at me.
He crouched beside Genevie, lifting her gently, like she was made of glass.
"Genevie, does it hurt? Are you okay?" His voice was low, urgent. "Don't be scared. I'm here."
Genevie leaned into him, tears streaming down her face. She couldn't speak.
The sight ripped through me.
"Kirill!" I shouted, my voice breaking. "She's lying! She fell on her own! I didn't touch her! She attacked me first—look at my arm!"
I shoved up my sleeve, showing him the red marks.
But Kirill just glanced at me. Cold. Dismissive.
"You?" His voice was brutal. "You think Genevie could hurt you? Look at yourself."
His words drove straight into my heart.
The whispers grew louder.
"Obviously she's lying!"
"Pushed a pregnant woman and now she's making excuses. Shameless."
Hearing those words hurt. But what hurt more was that they came because of what he said.
I'd been mocked my whole life. For where I came from. For how I looked. But nothing ever hurt like this.
Because this time, it was my husband who cut me down.
"Kirill." Tears spilled down my face. "You believe her? You won't even... let me explain?"
Kirill didn't answer. He just lifted Genevie into his arms and turned to the guards behind him. "Take her to the basement. Don't let her out until I say so."
I froze. I couldn't believe what I'd just heard.
"Kirill!" Olga's voice cut through the crowd. She strode forward, her face dark with anger. "You can't do this to Harper! She's your wife!"
"Olga." Kirill's voice was iron. "If you want me to agree to that condition you mentioned, then shut up. Now."
Olga went pale. She stopped where she was. Didn't take another step.
Two guards stepped forward. They grabbed my arms and started dragging me toward the hallway.
"No... let go of me!" I struggled, but they were too strong. "Kirill! Kirill! Just listen to me!"
He never turned around.
Kirill just held Genevie, whispering something soft to her.
In the last second before they dragged me into the darkness, I saw her face through my tears.
She was still crying. Still pale. Still nestled in Kirill's arms.
But at the corner of her mouth, barely visible—a cold, triumphant smile.