Chapter 19 —Eva
The days blurred past in a flash, and we still hadn’t spoken since our last conversation. His words lingered on the fringes of my mind, a constant reminder of his arrogance. He believed I’d crave more of him and that he’d be waiting for me.
As annoying as that was, I knew deep down that he was telling the truth. It was harsh and blunt. Yes. But it was the truth I wasn’t ready to admit yet. He was also right when he said that my body often betrayed my words.
The man could read me like an open book, and I hated it—I hated how well he knew me. Since he was so certain that I’d crave him again, I was determined to prove him wrong. It wasn’t going to be easy, but I had no choice; I had to at least try.
It would be so embarrassing to fall back into his arms after telling him to his face that what had happened the last time didn’t mean anything to me. Even though my body would eventually betray me, I wasn’t going to let it happen so soon.
It had been almost two weeks now: two long weeks of absolute boredom. He was rarely home, and even when he was, he was either in his bedroom or working in his study. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he, too, was avoiding me.
Demyon was always working, day and night, like he was trying so hard to distract himself from acknowledging my presence. At first, I was okay with the distance between us because I thought we both needed some time to think and get our shit together.
But as time went on, I realized that I’d already gotten attached to him and was used to our banter. The silence was deafening, and with each passing day, the weight in my chest grew heavier. His sudden change in attitude affected me more than I cared to admit.
It wasn’t until after he left me alone that I realized how much I actually enjoyed it when he confronted me about my attitude. I used to like the attention but never admitted it. Now that he was acting all nonchalant, I felt a strange kind of emptiness inside me.
I hadn’t set eyes on him more than four times since our last conversation, but I couldn’t help noticing the shift in his behavior.
Each time I saw him, I saw cracks in the armor he wore. For once, I didn’t see a monster when I looked at him. I saw a man, confused and fighting his own shadows.
Perhaps I was so focused on myself and what I wanted that I failed to realize that he, too, might be dealing with something. He was only human at the end of the day—he had feelings too, and they could be hurt just like everyone else’s.
The problem was that I’d always seen him as a monster, and I never stopped to view the world from his perspective.
Was I being selfish? Or was this another form of manipulation, even in his absence?
With all the maids and the guards in the house, I’d never felt lonelier. It was clear to me now that I couldn’t take what I’d dished out.
I was the one who started this movement. It was my idea to stay away. I was the one who wanted some space, and now that he’d granted my wish, the silence was suffocating.
These days, he moved like a ghost in his own house. I used to know he was around, and I thought I was torturing him by keeping my distance. But nowadays, I had no idea what his schedule was like. Whether he was home or not, I couldn’t tell.
One night, bored out of my mind, I decided to grab a book from the library. My bare feet padded against the marble floor as I made my way through the dimly lit hallway. When I reached my destination, I grabbed the door handle and pushed it open.
The room was dark, with the moon’s soft light streaming through the windows. As I turned on the chandelier, its warm glow revealed a man seated in one of the empty chairs.
“Oh, my God!” I yelped, my hand flying over to my chest.
It was him.
“What the hell, Demyon?!” A faint scowl flashed across my face.
I wasn’t expecting to meet anyone here at this time of night—especially him—hence the reason I was scared half to death.
He stared at me for a moment, then said, his voice smooth and calm, “You live in a fortress. Why are you afraid?”
I locked my jaw, closing the door behind me with the back of my leg. “I’m not afraid.”
His brows knitted together. “Right.”
“Really, I’m not.”
“Then what was that about?” He was referring to how I’d nearly jumped out of my skin.
“It’s called shock,” I answered, stepping closer. “I wasn’t expecting to meet anyone in here.”
He paused, his expression blank. “Yeah. Anything to make yourself feel better.”
My eyes darted to the bottle of whiskey standing tall on a stool beside him and the half-empty glass in his hand.
“What’re you doing in here anyway?” I asked, settling into the couch across from him. “Drinking away your sorrow?”
He looked me straight in the eyes and said, “Sorrows are for the weak.”
I rolled my eyes. “Spare me the lecture.” The couch creaked beneath my weight as I leaned back. “I know you’re not as hard as you want people to believe you are.”
He arched his brows. “Really?”
“Really,” I answered, letting the words settle before adding, “I saw your photo album back in St. Petersburg.”
His expression didn’t shift even though I thought he was going to frown at me for snooping around his family’s house.
I continued, “I saw that innocent little boy with a charming smile, and he wasn’t a monster.”
“In case you haven’t noticed, that boy is dead.” Demyon picked up his glass and took a sip.
I watched him in silence, catching a glimpse of the crack in his armor. “I know it’s none of my business, but…what happened to you?” I asked, my voice low and even.
“I grew up,” he replied, meeting my gaze. “Not in your world. In mine—one filled with violence and chaos….”
My expression softened as I listened to him.
He continued, “…one where I watched my mother die at the hands of my father’s enemy. One bullet to the heart.”
My eyes widened in horror, my pulse racing like a galloping horse.
“I grew up…” he added, his voice as flat as the expression on his face, “…in a world where circumstances forced me to take a life at fourteen. A world where emotions were considered weaknesses and weaknesses got you killed.”
I swallowed hard against the dryness in my throat.
He drained the drink and set the glass on the side stool. “Monsters aren’t born, Eva. They’re made.”
Those words cut through my heart like a knife, especially because I couldn’t find the lie in his statement.
Demyon rose to his feet and cleared his throat. “I’ll leave you alone now.”
No, please, don’t go! I screamed in my mind, but I lacked the audacity to say it out loud.
“Good night.” He nodded once and walked out of the room, leaving me to my thoughts.
My heart ached, not just because he was keeping his distance, but because no one had to go through what he went through as a kid.
Becoming a killer at fourteen? That was messed up—as messed up as watching his mother die in front of him.
Demyon Tarasov was living with a trauma he’d refused to face. He hadn’t been born a monster; the world had turned him into one.
I rose to my feet, trying to head back to my room to process what I’d just heard. However, I’d barely taken two steps when a wave of dizziness hit me. I stumbled backward, a hand on my forehead as I held on to the couch’s headrest behind me.
Sinking into the cushion, the leather crunched beneath my weight. I sat there in silence, wondering what the hell had just happened. This was the second time today I felt dizzy. I hadn’t thought much of it the first time. But twice in one day? That was no coincidence.
As I considered what could be the cause of this, something struck me hard. My eyes widened in shock, and my heart began hammering in my chest. I felt restless and was already sweating in awkward places.
If my math was correct—and it was—then I’d missed my period by over a week.
My pulse quickened, and my palms became all greasy. I swiped my fingers through my hair, running the math over and over again in my head.
“Fuck!” The word fell from my lips.
The realization hit me harder than a punch in the gut, and chills ran down my spine. I placed my hand on my lower abdomen, panic surging through my blood.
Could I be…? Am I…?
The mere thought of the possibility stole my breath and left me gasping for air. I weighed my breasts; they were fuller than normal, heavier. My back had been killing me for the past few days now, and every morning since last week, I woke up feeling sick.
These were all early signs of….
I couldn’t even bring myself to speak the word. All I knew was that if this was what I thought it was, then I was in trouble. Big trouble.