Chapter 12 - Beatrice
I didn’t want Arko to touch me, but I was frozen in place from shock, and Arko grabbed me by my wrist to drag me away from my brothers. The lights around me were suddenly disorienting, the faces merged into simple shapes, and my body no longer felt like mine.
“Come on.” Arko pushed past a group of curious onlookers to make way for the exit. “Move faster.”
But I was moving on autopilot, my mind still too busy processing what my brothers had said to do anything useful like fight him or break free. I walked beside him like I’d lost all will, following his lead, despite the fact that he’d set the fire in the nightclub that night.
The panic from the memories resurfacing from that night scraped in my chest, fighting for a life of its own, and I tried to keep it contained before I lost my damn mind.
Arko led me out of the door, down the winding driveway, to where his convoy was parked. The whole time, his hand on my wrist felt like it was burning into me. My vision tunneled, and the night faded around me as I took in Arko’s furious, determined face.
He had set the fire that night, and during all this time, after everything, he’d never told me.
Nothing could justify that betrayal. He had a million opportunities to set the record straight, like when I told him what I had survived as a teenager.
Instead of telling me the truth, instead of fucking apologizing, he kissed me.
What the actual fuck?
The same man who’d held me during my panic attack, who knew about my trauma, had deliberately triggered it and kept it a god damn secret.
I felt like I was drowning just breathing the same air as him.
“Keep moving,” Arko said, guiding me down the path faster as he threw a look over his shoulder.
I let him pull me along, while my mind spun in chaotic circles.
I tried to take a few deep breaths, the crisp air filling my lungs, but I was still spiraling.
I counted my fingers, my god damn toes, and felt the cool wind on my neck, but nothing…
nothing quenched the rage sprouting deep in my heart.
“Get in.” Arko opened the car door at the back once we reached, gently pushing me forward with a hand to the small of my back. Behind me, I heard some kind of shouting…maybe from my brothers or their men who must have evaded Arko’s, but the slamming of a door blocked out the sounds.
Arko slid in from the other side and instructed his driver to take us home, then put up the privacy screen between the front and back.
Within seconds, we were speeding away from the venue.
The silence in the car was suffocating. I stared out of the window, still too stunned by what I’d learned, watching the city lights flash by.
“Beatrice?” Arko asked gingerly after a few minutes. “I didn’t know they’d be there tonight.”
That was it. Just hearing him act so concerned sent a hot wave of rage surging through my body, clearing away the fog of shock.
“Was what my brothers said true?” I hissed, turning to face him. “Did you set the fire in the nightclub just so you could kidnap me, Arko?”
He paled, and his eyes slid away from me to where his hands rested in his lap. He took a deep, shuddering breath, then looked back at me.
“I needed a plan to get you alone,” he said softly, like he was afraid of his own voice, flinching as he did.
That was when I saw white, blinding fury.
“How could you?” I roared. “There were innocent people inside. They could have been hurt, killed, or worse. I was inside!”
“I knew that,” he shook his head. “That’s why I made sure it was controlled and had people watching the exits to make sure everyone got out. It was never my intention to hurt anyone, Beatrice. Please, you have to believe me!”
I saw the pain in his eyes, the agony in his voice, but none of it registered.
“I have no reason to believe you!” I said, the tears stinging in my eyes. “You’ve lied to me all this time. Did you know about my past when you did it? Did you know what fire does to me?”
“What? No!” he said, as soon as the question left my lips. “I had no idea.”
“But you did later!” I twisted in my seat to face him fully.
“You just held me when I told you how fire triggers me.
I told you everything about being left to die in that warehouse, and you said nothing.
My voice cracked. “You let me kiss you, all while knowing you were the one who triggered my worst nightmare…how could you?”
“I wanted to tell you.” He extended a hand like he was about to touch me, but recoiled when I reeled back. His voice softened as he moved back a bit in his seat, his face full of anguish.
“So why didn’t you?” I scoffed bitterly.
“There just didn’t seem to be the right time.” He hung his head, not meeting my glare.
I felt my eyebrows hit the roof of my head. “Is there ever a right time to admit that you’re a monster who likes watching people be terrified?”
He looked like I’d struck him across the cheek. Just then, I heard the tires slow down on the gravel before the car came to a stop. I hadn’t even noticed we had reached home.
“I deserve that,” he said softly, not making a move to step out. “But I’m not a monster and I never knew, Beatrice.”
“You knew eventually, but never apologized. What am I to make of that?” I choked on my own voice as the lump in my throat forced me to swallow my voice.
“I’m so sorry, Beatrice…” he whispered, and I shook my head, planting out a hand to stop him from talking. “I messed up.” His voice faded into uncertainty.
“I don’t want to talk about this anymore,” I said, shaking my head as I turned away from him and reached for the car door. “In fact, I don’t want to talk at all. The worst part is that I actually started to believe there might be something real between us.”
The last thing I saw as I turned to step out was how pale he looked, like I’d shattered all hope with my icy words.
I slammed the door shut, running to make way up the stairs with tears streaming down my face because I meant what I said at the end. It could have stayed real had he not lied to me. I didn’t turn back even once to check if he followed.
All I wanted was to lock myself in my room and hopefully never see his face again.
***
I didn’t leave my room the next morning, and when I missed breakfast in the dining room, the maid brought it up.
“Mr. Pavlov said you might like your meal in bed, miss,” she said kindly, putting the tray down beside me. I said nothing as she left, staring at the bunch of hand-picked flowers from the garden that came with my meal, accompanied by a note.
I tore it up without even reading it.
By the time dinner came around, I’d done nothing but showered and slept. Every second I was awake was a tumbling mess of emotions. Sleeping just felt easier. I didn’t make it down in time, so I just lay in bed and watched TV.
Somewhere at the back of my mind, I registered a knock. I ignored it.
“Beatrice?” Arko’s voice boomed through. “Can we please talk?”
My heart wrenched to run to the door, to let him in because, strangely enough, he felt like the balm I needed. But he was the one who put me in this position in the first place, and that would be a foolish thing to do.
I curled my fingers around the remote and turned up the volume.
The following days passed just like this. The maid brought in my meals and with them, an assortment of ‘things’ Arko sent. Only they weren’t really things.
They were gifts meant to appease, to buy back the right to have a conversation. There were books, wine, flowers, chocolates, and even a box from some fancy jewelry store, all with notes holding meaningless apologies.
I never touched any of the gifts.
The staff brought my meals and left them by my bed. I barely touched the food. Sleep came in fitful bursts, haunted by dreams of fire and smoke and Arko’s face watching me from the other side of the flames.
On the morning of the fourth day, there was a knock on my door just as I was finishing breakfast.
“Beatrice?” I heard Arko. “I know you’re in there.”
Staying in the room had taken a toll on me. The loneliness had crept on like a disease, and I felt that same, desperate tug to let him in. But again, I felt the ghost heat of the fire against my skin, remembered his lies, and just like last time, ignored that he was even there, trying to talk.
“I wanted to let you know that Alena and Anja called. They want to take you shopping tomorrow if you’re interested. I told them you might be.”
My heart jumped at the thought of escape, but I squashed the feeling. “Tell them I’m not feeling well,” I bellowed back. These were the first words I’d said to him since the fight, and I didn’t know why, but I wanted him to see how I suffered, to sense the pain he had left me in.
“They miss you. They ask about you every day,” he said.
I said nothing back, feeling like he’d hear me crack.
“Will you at least open the door? Just for a minute?”
The silence stretched and stretched until, at last, I heard a thump against the door, like he let his head fall in quiet desperation. I only dared to take another bite when I heard his footsteps head down the hall.
I’d thought that would be the end of it, but the next morning, the maid came in with another package, laid neatly on the breakfast tray. This one was small, wrapped in plain brown paper.
When I opened it, my blood went cold.
It was a lighter.
A beautiful silver fucking lighter. After everything I’d told him about my past, about being trapped in a burning warehouse, and the panic attacks and nightmares that came with the incident, he’d sent me a lighter.
I couldn’t believe his audacity.
The simmering rage and pain, and hurt inside me collided into a ball of fury. In no situation was this okay. If this was his idea of a joke, he needed to know that I was done even being in the same goddamn house as him.
He said he wasn’t a monster, but this proved he put monsters to shame.
For the first time in five days, I jumped out of bed, put on my slippers, and threw a robe over myself. I was about to walk out of the bedroom when I turned back and stood by the side of my bed, staring down at that thing of nightmares.
With trembling hands, I picked it up. I’d stayed away from all fire since I’d been left to die in a burning building. I’d never cooked on flame, never lit a candle, and certainly never touched a lighter.
I didn’t want this thing anywhere near me.
I grabbed it with trembling hands and marched out of my room, straight to where I knew I’d find Arko at this hour: His office.
I didn’t even knock before bursting into his study.
Arko looked up from his desk, and I saw the flash of surprise and hope in his eyes as he rose from his chair, like he couldn’t believe I was here.
“Beatrice…you’re feeling okay?” He cracked a smile.
I marched up to him and slammed the lighter down in front of him, right on his desk. “What the hell is the meaning of this? Is this some kind of sick joke?”
I saw the confusion on his face as he eyed the lighter, then me, before he shook his head vehemently. “No…of course it’s not a joke, Beatrice. I thought it would…help you,” he finished, trailing off with uncertainty.
If I was livid earlier, I had now reached a level of volcanic disruption. My entire body shook as I slammed my hands down on the table, bracing myself for what I was certain would be a terrible explanation on his end.
“You’ve lost your damn mind, Arko! After you know I could have died in a fire, you had the audacity to send me this? What are you even trying to do here?” I shrieked, trembling with rage.
“I’m trying to help you, Beatrice!” his voice rose as he leaned over the table too, his dark blue eyes so dangerously close that I felt my anger dip and dim, like it forgot why it existed. I shook it off, reminding myself of why I was even here in the first place.
“How? How can this possibly help me?” I hissed.
“This is a tool.” He picked up the lighter and held it out to me. “You’re afraid of fire because it was used against you when you were trapped in that warehouse.”
I stared at him, confused and still angry, but curious enough to see where this was going. “So?”
“So take control back.” He flipped open the lighter but didn’t ignite it.
“This is yours now. You decide when to use it, if ever. You control the flame, not the other way around. I hate seeing you live in fear, Beatrice,” he said, his voice hoarse and dry and full of truth. “Aren’t you tired of it, too?”
I froze, stunned. I looked at the lighter, still resting in his palm. The idea was so unexpected, so contrary to what I’d assumed, that I didn’t know how to respond.
“I thought it might help,” he said hesitantly. “I thought if you faced your fears, you’d see you’re stronger than you think.”
I hadn’t spoken to him in five days, and still, this whole time, he’d been thinking of how afraid I was. His pride and what he wanted didn’t matter when it came to helping me get stronger. He wasn’t a foolish man. He must have known gifting me this lighter could have gone either way.
Yet, he took the risk. He’d rather have me furious at him than terrified of fire.
Slowly, hesitantly, I reached over and took the lighter from his hand, my thumb brushing against his. He didn’t let go, and I let my hand just rest there, once again plummeting into the depths of his blue eyes.
“I know I should have told you about the club,” he said softly. “I know I can’t undo what I did, but I am truly sorry.”
He let the lighter go, and I pulled it back, my thumb resting on the flint wheel. I just held in, not yet brave enough to fiddle with it.
Despite everything, I felt a small smile tugging at my lips. I wasn’t yet ready to forgive him, but something about this gesture of his made me feel like forgiveness wasn’t too far off.
I closed my hand tighter around the lighter. “I’m keeping this,” I said. “But I’m not using it yet.”
“Like I said, that’s your choice,” he smiled.
I smiled back. “By the way, do you think I can still go shopping with your sisters tomorrow?”