Chapter 26
CHAPTER 26
MARINA
W hy hadn’t I used that information against him?
Even if it was just to wound him, to drive a blade between his ribs with nothing more than words, I had never done it. Never even considered it.
I’d like to say it was because I wasn’t that kind of person, but that would be a lie. We all had it in us, the ability to be cruel when backed into a corner. To use whatever weapons we had at our disposal.
If it had meant the difference between freedom and captivity, I should have done it.
So why hadn’t I?
For all her faults—and there were many—she was my sister. And I had loved her unconditionally. That was the thing about unconditional love. It didn’t vanish when someone died. It didn’t dissolve just because you disapproved of their choices.
And yet, here I was, having done the very thing I had sworn I never would .
I had slept with her husband. Twice.
A nauseating wave of guilt coiled through me, twisting my insides into knots as I stared down at the untouched plates of food. The decadent feast that, only moments ago, had seemed like a luxury now made me sick.
“What just happened?” Kostya’s voice was low, wary.
I forced a smile, brittle and hollow. “Nothing.”
He didn’t believe me.
“Marina,” he said, his tone edged with warning.
I shivered. I should have been afraid of that voice. Maybe I was. But more than fear, it was something else entirely, something darker. The way he said my name had always held weight, as if he owned it.
“I just miss my sister,” I whispered.
I watched understanding dawn in his expression, darkening his eyes like a storm rolling in. He knew. He felt it. The guilt that had me in a chokehold, turning every moment of pleasure into a crime.
“Marina.” This time my name was softer, almost coaxing.
What kind of woman did this? Who betrayed the only person who ever truly loved her? The details of their marriage didn’t matter. She had been his wife. And I had taken him anyway.
I swallowed against the tightness in my throat. “It’s okay. I know that even if you didn’t love Veronika, you still respected her.”
Kostya’s jaw tightened. “I didn’t want you to think less of her.”
He meant that. I could see it in his eyes. And yet, it didn’t make any of this feel less wretched .
“If it makes a difference, I told her it was a bad idea. I asked her to stop.”
“How long did you know?”
I hesitated. “Since the beginning.”
The muscles in his jaw flexed, his silence stretching between us.
I couldn’t tell him everything. That she had betrayed him from the moment they said their vows. That she had sought out his rival deliberately.
That I was pretty sure Solovyov wasn’t the only man she’d been sleeping with.
There had been another man toward the end.
Someone so dangerous that she wouldn’t even tell me his name. Only some stupid Batman villain nickname.
He would take it personally. What man wouldn’t?
But it was never about Kostya. It was about Veronika’s need for control, her refusal to be caged. She had been willing to burn everything down to keep from feeling owned.
And yet, she had missed out on an incredible man.
A man I had taken for myself.
“Tell me what’s going on in that pretty head of yours,” he demanded.
I exhaled shakily. “I always thought I was better than Veronika. That I held some moral high ground because I never made the choices she did. But I was wrong.”
His brow furrowed. “Why?”
My voice cracked, and I hated myself for it. “Because I just slept with her husband.”
Kostya moved toward me, and I recoiled before I could stop myself. He froze. A flicker of something dangerous flashed in his expression—anger, hurt.
It terrified me.
And yet, I still wanted him.
I stood and walked over to the window, pulling the robe tighter around me and staring out at the city spread beneath us. In the distance, Central Park burned in autumn’s colors, the people below going about their usual lives. I envied them, the ones who could hold hands without consequence, who could love without the weight of sin pressing down on their chests.
“You know that’s not the relationship Veronika and I had,” he said, his voice a shade softer.
He was closer now. Close enough I could feel his heat, but he didn’t touch me.
I was grateful for that.
And I ached for it.
“She never loved me, Marina.”
I closed my eyes, forcing down the tears. “But you were married.”
“So what?” he bit out. “It was never real. And she’s?—”
He cut himself off before saying it. Dead. She was dead. Murdered.
I shook my head. It didn’t matter. It didn’t erase the truth.
He exhaled sharply. “Marina.” This time, my name was a plea.
I should have walked away. I should have turned my back on him, on this, on us, before I destroyed what little of myself I had left.
Instead, I whispered, “I’m sorry. ”
He studied me for a long moment then, without warning, scooped me up into his arms.
I gasped, my body tensing, but he didn’t speak.
He carried me to the bedroom and laid me down, tucking the blankets around me with a care that sent fresh guilt tearing through my ribs.
His fingers brushed over my forehead, a barely there touch.
“This isn’t over,” he murmured.
And then he left, shutting the door behind him.
I lay in the dark, my body aching for something I could never have, and tried not to think about the way his touch still lingered on my skin.