Chapter 34 Jordan
Jordan
Water explodes from the ceiling, spraying down in stinging, chemical-sharp sheets that soak my burgundy dress, plaster the cloth to my skin, and shatter the illusion of the evening. My hair falls flat and sticks to my neck.
In the downpour, stripped clean of all pretense, I simply stand here blinking. This isn’t the homecoming I envisioned.
Then I spot my mother in the doorway. Even now, despite her ruined gown and the hair clinging to her skull, her silhouette telegraphs perfect control. Her face appears ghostly and severe.
She doesn’t falter when she spies the bodies on the carpet. Her eyes simply sweep across the room and take inventory.
Her expression contains no fear or surprise, just calculation.
I cover my ears and raise my voice over the howling alarms. “What’s happening?”
“I set them off.” Her gaze flicks to the sprawled bodies, then back to me. Still unshaken.
Kirill enters the light. He’s drenched, water sluicing off his suit, and yet he seems untouched by the chaos. “I’ll send people to clean this up.”
My mother’s voice could snap glass. “You absolutely will not.”
Part of me wants to cackle.
I’d forgotten what she’s like when she’s cornered. Beneath her polished edges, she’s got a steel backbone. I used to consider her cold.
Maybe I just didn’t want to understand the need for her rigid spine.
I’m starting to wonder if she set the alarms off to distract the bad guys or cover our escape.
Her face gives nothing away. And I’m not dumb enough to ask further questions when we should be fleeing.
Kirill and Mom, two predators circling the same ground, lock eyes.
Finally, my mother jerks her chin toward the hall. “This way. Hurry.”
Kirill snags my wrist. I follow as he paces after her, intent on leaving behind the storm of screaming alarms and cold water.
Mom glides forward like she was born to rule over the chaos.
The three of us cut down back corridors I barely remember. All the while, water rushes over marble and slaps against walls, saturating everything. In the distance, the ballroom bustles with confusion. The socialites of Chicago shriek as their perfect evening drowns.
None of that matters, though, compared to the anchoring grip of Kirill’s hand around my wrist and his thumb pressed to my pulse.
I nearly slip on wet stone as we descend a staircase, but Kirill catches me, holding me upright.
Figures he’d be right at home in the water.
Liquid pools everywhere, transforming the steps into a cascading waterfall. Like a gentleman, he steadies me while we wade down them.
The act shocks me. But only a little.
The universe provides exactly what it means to.
I shake the little gift box clutched in my hand. “Mom, this was the only thing inside the safe. Do you know what it is?”
She glances at the object I’m holding. Even soaked, the red bow remains flawless. “I have no idea. I never opened the safe. Didn’t have the combination.” She shoves through a door and scans the hallway. “I only kept it for you because it was your father’s.”
Kirill’s voice needles in. “Who else had access to that room?”
My mother braces herself against the wall. “No one.” She pauses for just a blink too long.
Always the shark, Kirill zeroes in. “Ever?”
“There was a security specialist a few months back.”
Kirill’s fingers flex on my wrist. “Security specialist?”
“My friend Anastasia said they’d had a breach, which made me nervous. So I asked for her consultant’s name.” She wipes water from her eyes. “We hired him too. He went through the whole house. Every room.”
His jaw clenches. “He was alone in there?”
She holds his gaze, unflinching. “Alone everywhere. For hours.” Reaching a blank wall, my mother presses her palm to a hidden panel that slides open to reveal a service elevator. “Go. Now.”
We pile inside.
The doors start to close, but she jams them open and yanks me into a hug. Perfume and wet silk and chemical burn from the fire suppressant invade my nose in a weird blend of comfort and disaster.
She leans in to whisper in my ear. “Are you sure, darling?” Her eyes cut to Kirill, who remains silent at my back.
I know what that means.
Not just, Is he safe?
But also, Are you really choosing him?
I press my cheek to her, seeking the warmth there. “Never been surer. Never felt more alive.”
She pulls back to read my face. After nine years of distance, she’s staring at me like she finally sees me.
Then she smiles—genuine and bright—and squeezes my hand. “You always were your father’s daughter.”
I fight to speak through the sudden burst of joy in my chest. “I’m my mother’s daughter too.”
She backs away with posture rigid enough to cut steel. “I love you.” Her words possess no polish, just raw vulnerability. “Be safe. Call me.”
And just like that, the doors shut, snapping her off from us and sealing the noise and fury outside. The alarms vanish, leaving only our breathing and the steady splatter of water on elevator steel.
I stare at the closed doors, feeling the press of Kirill’s body behind me, solid and warm despite the soaking.
My mother’s words echo in my head.
You always were your father’s daughter.
For the first time in years, they don’t sting like a wound.
They reassure like a blessing.
The elevator doors slide open and spit us into a cold, echoey concrete underworld. The low, oppressive ceiling features fluorescent lights that flicker and buzz like angry wasps trapped in a jar.
Staff halls.
Kirill doesn’t release my wrist. With his iron grip, he marches me toward a door with a glowing red EXIT sign hanging overhead.
Water drips off the hem of my drenched dress and dots the floor, though the liquid will dry in a matter of minutes. As we push outside, the evidence vanishes into grass.
From here, it’s a short walk to the valet parking, and Kirill already has his key out and ready to go. I’ll have to get the valet key back from Mom, but that’s a problem to deal with after the cops, guests, and clean-up crew have all gone.
When we reach his car, his hand abandons my skin.
Like stepping off a curb I didn’t see, I stagger at the loss of contact. He ushers me into the Audi, barely glancing at me. I drop into the seat, the leather chilly and clammy beneath me.
He gets in and closes the door but doesn’t drive immediately.
Instead, he pulls out his phone and taps out a number. I study the hardness of his jaw and the steely glint of resolve in his eyes. No warmth or humanity there. Just pure, cold focus.
“Package acquired.”
Anxiety crawls up my spine at the word.
Package.
Not person. Not Jordan.
‘Package’ could refer to the box, or me, or both of us bundled into a category that strips away meaning.
Drops of water shiver down the back of my neck.
“Someone else is involved. Don’t know who. Gio aligned with another person.” He pauses for a beat, his entire body tensing. “Fuck.”
Once he ends the call, he tosses the phone onto the console without meeting my eyes.
“Problems?” I try to keep my tone steady, but my voice barely makes a breath in the vast, buzzing silence.
“Always.” As he turns the key, the engine rumbles to life.
We speed out of the lot, the night closing around us like a velvet bag.
City lights blur past, long lines of neon and gold streaking the windows. Beneath us, the car hums. Kirill’s leg is close enough to touch.
I think of what we just did, what we survived, how for a few crazy moments, we acted as a team. I want to reach for him, to bridge this weird chasm that didn’t exist before the gala.
But I don’t.
The air has curdled in the space between us, and I don’t understand why.
After what feels like no time at all, we stop under the blinding canopy of a luxury hotel. Not our last one, but someplace new. The kind of hotel you see in glossy ads, not real life.
Polite, eager valets swarm us, opening doors and offering umbrellas.
“What are we doing here?”
Kirill kills the engine but remains in the driver’s seat, frozen. His eyes remain on the windshield, trained on some far away point.
When he speaks, the flat, robotic voice I haven’t heard since the second safe house emerges. “The penthouse is booked for a month. Your name. I’ll get you a permanent place after that. Also in your name. No strings. You won’t have to deal with me.”
Deal with me.
Like I’m a frustrating customer. Or a bomb he needs to disarm and walk away from.
The words leave an ugly bruise along my soul.
I don’t want out. I want the chaos and heat. I want him. “Deal with you? I… Kirill, I don’t understand.”
When he finally meets my eyes, it’s with the same look he gave me that first night.
Bottomless, hungry, and full of black holes.
“You don’t belong in my world, Jordan. I break things.
And I work alone.” I’m about to insist that he’s wrong, that I’m not scared of him, not for a second, but he’s already out of the car and opening my door. “It’s better this way. Safer.”
With my limbs on autopilot, I stumble out.
As soon as I’m safely beneath the hotel awning, Kirill slips back behind the wheel and his Audi glides off into the dark.
No backward glances. Not even the bright red of his brakes.
Just…gone.
I stand alone underneath the glare of the fluorescent lights, damp from the sprinklers, while clutching the limp shreds of a ruined gown. His taillights vanish, consumed by the river of traffic.
Every second, the distance between us grows, untethering me from a world I started to believe I was part of.
Not even an hour ago, I considered us partners. We worked together to locate the safe and fight off the bad guys that came out of nowhere.
Last night, he broke me, took me apart, and meticulously glued me back together. He showed me the truth of him, let me see the man beneath the monster.
I hunch my shoulders. Or maybe…it was all a lie.
Maybe the man I thought I glimpsed was just another layer, another trick to lure me in and encourage my cooperation.
He got what he came for.
And now, to him, I’m nothing.
Handled.
Rejected because I don’t fit in. Not good enough.
A concierge glides up with a polite smile. “Miss Thorne? Your suite is ready. And this was just delivered.” He nods to the bellhop beside him.
A luggage cart holds my battered laptop and bag, along with two black cases. Polished. Anonymous. Ominous.
In a daze, I follow the bellhop and concierge through glittering halls and up to the penthouse.
The prestigious suite is all cream and gold and cavernous silence, with plush white carpets, a kitchenette with black appliances, and a jetted tub. Luxury hums in the hollow air.
I ignore the skyline, the complimentary champagne, and the bed’s king-sized promise.
The entire space feels cold and empty. Just like the beautiful beige couch, which matches the chaise lounge and the four-seater dinette set next to the windows. All too much for just me.
It would have been perfect for the two of us, though.
The bellhop placed the cases on a bench just past the foyer. Kirill’s parting gift.
Straightening my spine, I stride over and open the first one.
Inside, I discover a brand-new, top-of-the-line laptop, along with a microphone, interface, headphones, and soundproofing. Equipment I’ve only ever seen in review videos, priced far, far out of reach.
The professional podcast setup is so new, the metal glows.
Which means…
He planned this. He probably made this reservation for me days ago.
The betrayal stabs like a blade between my ribs. I grip the handle of the case so tightly, my fingers throb.
He knew he was going to leave me here. He set me up. After all we did yesterday, after everything that happened last night, he knew that he would walk away.
From the very beginning, he never gave me a choice.
I blink away tears. Even if he’s not here to witness it, I’m not giving him the satisfaction of crying.
I glance back down at the suitcase. Tucked in one box sits a single card with four words scrawled in black.
Don’t waste your assets.
Instead of a love note or an apology, he left a reminder that he listened to every word I said about failure and doubt and weaponized it.
Stop minimizing yourself. Go take the world apart.
It’s the most Kirill thing imaginable. Cold and incisive, and possibly exactly what I need in this moment.
This gift speaks of the inseparability of kindness and cruelty.
The truth hurts more than if he’d left me empty-handed.
I stare at the penthouse, at the equipment worth more than I cobbled together last year.
My wet gown clings to my skin as I sink to the floor and clutch the card to my chest. The edges bite into my palm.
I find myself alone, but also, unmistakably seen.
That’s his real parting gift. The unwelcome knowledge that someone stripped away every excuse I ever built and witnessed the raw truth of who I am underneath.
And then walked out.