Chapter 7
STEFAN
Olivia barely speaks as I guide her through the woods. Her hand stays limp in mine, neither pulling away nor squeezing back.
The silence eats at me worse than her anger ever could. At least when she’s shouting, I know what she’s thinking. This black fucking void where her feelings should be is swallowing us both whole.
At the Jeep, I open the passenger door and offer my hand to help her up.
She ignores it and instead hoists herself in without a word.
She’s moving stiffly, mechanically, and part of me wants to believe that it’s because my mother did something to her.
That would justify my anger, and anger is something I know how to deal with.
But deep in the marrow of my bones, I know that Natalia didn’t lay a finger on Olivia. Her distance, the ice over her eyes, has everything to do with me instead.
I round the hood and slide behind the wheel, jaw tight. Taras and the others are still combing the woods, but they won’t find anything. Natalia’s a ghost when she wants to be. Always has been. Today will be no different.
The engine roars to life and I pull onto the narrow access road. Gravel crunches under the tires. Olivia stares out the window, arms crossed, shoulders hunched. The silence stretches between us like barbed wire.
“What happened?” I finally ask.
“Your mother’s alive.”
“I gathered that.” My hands tighten on the wheel. “What did she do? What did she say to you?”
“She gave me tea. Massaged my feet.” Olivia’s voice is flat, emotionless. “She was kind, like I said. She seemed genuine.”
“She usually does.” I take the turn too fast and the tires squeal in protest. “Did she hurt you? Touch you? Threaten you in any way?”
“No.” Olivia whips toward me, and there’s finally some heat in her eyes. I’ll take it. “She didn’t hurt me, Stefan. She was nothing but gentle and—”
I bark out a laugh that sounds more like a snarl. “Christ, she really got to you, didn’t she?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means my mother is the fucking devil; that’s what it means.
She’s a master manipulator who’s spent her entire life using people and discarding them when they’re no longer useful.
” I grip the wheel so hard my knuckles go white.
“Whatever she told you, whatever sob story she fed you—it’s poison, Olivia. All of it.”
“You don’t even know what she said.”
“I don’t need to. I know her.”
“Do you?” She shifts in her seat to face me fully. “Because she seems to think you don’t know her at all.”
My jaw clenches so hard my teeth ache. “What did she tell you?”
“That you tried to kill her.” Olivia sounds steady enough, but I catch the tremor underneath. “Or are you going to deny that now?”
I wait. I wait. I wait. But in the end…
“No,” I say finally. “I can’t deny that.”
“Then you can’t exactly blame her for running, can you?”
I nearly drive off the road. “She kidnapped you, Olivia! For fuck’s sake!
Are you forgetting that little tidbit? How she had you arrested by fake FBI agents and held you against your will in the middle of nowhere?
I can certainly blame her. This is all just—fuck, this is unbelievable.
” I smack the steering wheel with the heel of my hand.
“She had you for what, less than two days? And she’s already convinced you I’m the villain. ”
“Maybe you are.”
That’s it. I pull over onto the shoulder hard enough that we both lurch forward against our seatbelts. When I turn to face her, Olivia’s eyes are bright with unshed tears, her chin raised in defiance.
“Is that what you think?” I ask her.
“I don’t know what to think anymore.” She rubs at her eyes and her knuckles come away glistening. “You lied about my clinic. You planned to take it from me from the start. And now, your supposedly dead mother tells me you tried to murder her, and you’re basically confirming it—”
“I had reasons.”
“Oh, I’m sure you did. Just like you had reasons for everything else.
That’s you, right? Mr. Cold-Blooded Logic.
Stefan Safonov always has his reasons, and God help anyone who gets in the way of them.
” She laughs and shakes her head, utterly disgusted.
“God, I’m so stupid. Camille warned me. Actually, everyone with eyeballs and a half-functioning sense of morality warned me.
But I convinced myself you were different. That we were different.”
“I am,” I insist. I reach for her hand but she jerks away. “What we have—”
“What we had was a business arrangement that I was delusional enough to mistake for something more.”
“That’s not true.”
“Isn’t it?” She digs in her jacket and pulls out her phone. “Tell me something, Stefan. Did you tap my phone?”
“What?”
“My phone. Is it bugged? Tapped? Whatever you want to call it.” She holds it up like evidence. “Are you tracking everything I do, everyone I talk to?”
“What are you talking about? No.”
“I’m supposed to believe you?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact, you are.”
“Why? Because you’ve been so honest with me up until now?” She shakes her head and tucks the phone away. “You lied about wanting a surrogate. You lied about your intentions with my clinic. You lied about—” Her voice cracks as she finishes, “about all of it. I don’t even know what’s real anymore.”
“What’s real is that I care about you. That’s real, Olivia. Whatever else you think about me, believe that.”
“I don’t know if I can believe anything you say anymore.”
I’d prefer if she’d just stabbed me in the chest. I stare at her, at the woman I’ve upended my entire world for, and see nothing but doubt reflected back at me.
“You told me I could trust you,” she continues, softer now. “After everything with the article, with Rebecca, with the board… You stood up for me. You defended me. And I thought...” She trails off, blinking hard. “I thought that meant something.”
“It does mean something.”
“Then prove it. Take me back to my apartment.”
“No.”
“Stefan—”
“I’m not letting you out of my sight. Not with my mother at large.” I pull back onto the road and mash the gas pedal down. “Not until this is handled.”
“So what, I’m your prisoner now?”
“You’re under my protection.”
“That’s just a pretty word for the same thing.” She slumps against the seat, arms wrapped around herself. “I can’t believe this is happening.”
“My mother isn’t working alone.” I keep my eyes on the road, but my peripheral vision tracks every twitch of her expression. “She’s got resources, connections. Probably working with Iakov and whoever’s feeding information to the FBI.”
“And you think she’ll come after me again.”
“I know she will.” My hands flex on the wheel. “You’re leverage now. A way to get to me.”
“Because of the baby.”
“Because of what you mean to me.”
She goes quiet again, but this time the silence feels different. Heavier. When I glance over, she’s staring down at her lap, fingers twisted together.
“What else did she tell you?” I ask.
“Does it matter?”
“Yes.”
“Why? So you can explain it away? Spin it into another version of the truth?” She looks at me, and the pain in her eyes makes my chest constrict. “I’m so tired of second-guessing everything all the time, Stefan.”
“Then don’t. Trust your instincts.”
“Why the hell would I do that? My instincts told me to trust you, and look where that got me.”
It’s becoming undeniable now: I’ve lost her. Maybe not completely, not yet—but I can feel her slipping farther and farther away with every mile that passes.
The manor comes into view. Iron gates part as we approach. I park and kill the engine. Olivia’s out of the Jeep before I can come around to help her, stalking toward the front entrance with her shoulders squared. I catch up in a few strides, matching her pace.
“Olivia, we need to talk about this.”
“There’s nothing more to talk about.” She pushes through the front door and makes straight for the stairs. “I’m going to my room. Or is that not allowed anymore?”
“Of course it’s allowed.”
“Good.” She pauses on the first step, one hand on the banister. “Then that’s where I’ll be. Locked in. Away from you.”
She climbs the stairs without looking back. I watch her go, my jaw working, fighting the urge to follow her. To kick down whatever door she puts between us and make her listen.
But forcing her won’t fix this. It’ll only prove her right: that I’m the villain she’s starting to believe I am.
Her door slams shut upstairs. A moment later, I hear the lock click into place.
Taras appears from the kitchen, taking in my expression with a low whistle. “That bad?”
“Worse.”
“She knows about Natalia?”
“She knows everything.” I rake a hand through my hair. “And she’s not sure which one of us to believe.”
“Can you blame her?”
“Yes. No.” I head for my office, needing something to punch or break. “I don’t know anymore.”
“Well, figure it out.” Taras follows me. “Because if Natalia’s back in play, we’ve got bigger problems than relationship drama.”
“I know that.”
“Do you? Because from where I’m standing, you’re about to lose the one thing that actually matters.” He jerks his thumb toward the stairs. “That woman up there? She’s carrying your kid. She’s also the only person who’s ever made you give a shit about something.”
“Your point?”
“My point is that Natalia knows it, too. And she’s going to exploit every crack in your foundation until the whole thing comes down.” He leans against the doorframe. “So maybe start by telling Olivia the truth. All of it. Before your mother beats you to it.”
I want to argue. To tell him he’s wrong, that I have everything under control.
But the sound of Olivia’s lock clicking into place still rings in my ears, and for the first time in fifteen years, I’m not sure I can win this war.
Not without losing everything that matters.