Chapter 24
Nadia
I dragged myself through the whole night in a haze. That dull ache in my chest didn't fade with time—it spread like roots, threading through every limb until my whole body hurt.
At dawn, my phone buzzed on the nightstand.
I picked it up. Riley.
I took a deep breath and answered.
"Hey, Riley..." I tried to keep my voice from sounding too hollow.
"Oh my God, Nadia! You finally picked up!
" Riley's voice exploded through the speaker, all energy and concern.
"So? How was it? Did you and that mob boss have the most incredible time in the Bahamas?
Were you living the dream—beaches, sunsets, total romance?
I've been dreaming about you two sipping champagne on a yacht!
Come on, give me details. The R-rated kind, preferably! "
Hearing Riley's sunshine voice and teasing tone made my throat tighten. Without warning, the tears came again.
"Riley..." My voice broke into pieces.
The laughter on the other end stopped cold. "Wait... Nadia? Are you crying? Did Roman hurt you? Is he there? Don't be scared—tell me and I'll buy a ticket right now and fly down there to cut his balls off!"
"He's not here..." I buried my face in my knees, sobbing. "Riley, I'm back in Chicago... I'm not in the Bahamas... He changed. He's completely different..."
"What? You're back in Chicago? When did that happen? Why so sudden..." Riley sounded shocked and confused. "Hold on, don't panic. Where are you right now? Slow down. What the hell happened?"
Under Riley's urgent but gentle questioning, I poured everything out in broken pieces.
I left out the complicated gang politics and schemes.
I just told her how Roman suddenly abandoned me and flew back alone, how he turned cold as ice the moment we got back to the manor, ignoring me completely—even caring for and indulging some random woman who'd invaded my space right in front of me.
I dumped out all the humiliation, the hurt, the despair, the rage.
"...Riley, I'm such an idiot." My knuckles went white gripping the phone.
"I thought he actually cared. I thought the fireworks, the way he held me, even what he said on the plane—I thought it was all real.
But now I get it. Men can turn on you faster than flipping a page when they're done with you.
All that tenderness in the Bahamas? Just a tropical illusion... "
Silence on the other end.
Finally, Riley let out a heavy sigh, her voice dripping with frustration at my pitiful state.
"Nadia, get a grip, will you?" Riley's voice came through sharp and unforgiving. "Look at yourself right now. Crying your soul out over some guy—is this the fearless Nadia I know? When did you become this wishy-washy, pathetic mess?"
Her scolding stunned me. I sniffled. "I just... I didn't think he'd..."
"Didn't think what? That he's a scumbag?
That fairy-tale marriages don't exist in the mob?
" Riley laughed coldly. "Look, I don't give a damn what's going on in that gangster's twisted head.
All I know is you're sitting there feeling sorry for yourself like some kicked puppy, and all that's gonna do is make you miserable while that random bitch laughs at you from the sidelines! "
Her brutal honesty lit a small spark of defiance in me.
"Then what am I supposed to do? I saw them with my own eyes..."
"So go ask him!" Riley's voice rose, cutting me off. "When did you become such a coward? You know what you look like right now? Like some lovesick fool who's lost every brain cell! Sitting around moping instead of having the guts to confront him face to face?"
Riley paused, softening slightly. "Nadia, whether he really betrayed you or there's something else going on, you already flew all the way back from the Bahamas.
Are you really gonna hide in a guest room while they play house?
Go find him! Get answers! If he really screwed you over, I'll support you leaving his ass.
But if you give up without even knowing the truth?
I'll be the first one to lose respect for you! "
Riley's blunt words hit like ice water, drowning my self-pity—and like a slap across the face, snapping me awake.
She was right. Crying myself into oblivion wouldn't change anything.
Riley was right. I couldn't hide like a coward.
"I know what I need to do now..." I wiped my face, took a deep breath, and found my strength again. "Thank you, Riley."
"Okay, enough with the mushy stuff. Go fight, Mrs. Sokolova!" Riley laughed. "Remember—don't back down. If you're gonna go down, at least go down knowing the truth!"
I hung up and stood from the cold floor.
The woman in the mirror had swollen eyes, but they were steady now.
Roman Sokolov, if there's a reason for this, I'll forgive your coldness. But if you betrayed me... I'm not some pushover you can squeeze.
I straightened my clothes, pushed open the door, and headed toward the study in the main house.
I moved quickly down the spiral staircase toward the main building. I tried to stay calm, but my palms were already sweating.
Go find him. Demand answers. Get the truth.
Riley's words echoed in my head like a battle cry, pushing me forward.
Rounding the second-floor corner, I noticed a door half-open ahead.
I stopped instinctively. That room—I remembered. Sofia had warned me once that it was family territory, off-limits to everyone.
But now that door—the one that was always locked—stood wide open. Two maids were inside with rags and a vacuum, cleaning meticulously. The air smelled of expensive perfume.
The room's owner—what was her name again?
My feet stopped moving.
"Careful, don't knock over that vase."
"I know. Pakhan had it shipped from Italy. Cost a fortune."
Almost against my will, I peered through the crack.
The room was huge, exquisitely decorated. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the manor gardens, sunlight streaming in and casting patterns on the dark wood floors. Abstract paintings hung on the walls. The bookshelf was packed with French and Italian titles.
"This room's finally open again," one of the younger maids said. "Been sealed for six years, right?"
"Yeah." The older maid sighed. "This was Miss Carter's room. I heard Pakhan and Miss Carter were really close back in the day, then something happened, and they split up. Pakhan was heartbroken. He sealed this room—nobody was allowed in."
"That ring was from Miss Carter too, wasn't it?" the younger maid whispered. "I heard from the old-timers that Pakhan's worn that ring for years. Never takes it off. That's true love."
"Sure is." The older maid sighed again. "Now Miss Carter's back, and Pakhan immediately had the room redone. Look at these flowers—her favorite varieties. And these books—Pakhan had them specially ordered from Europe."
"What about ma'am?" the younger maid asked carefully.
"Who knows..." the older maid lowered her voice. "Maybe just a wife in name only. Haven't you seen how gentle Pakhan is with Miss Carter? And how cold he is with ma'am? Anyone with eyes can see the difference."
"Poor thing..."
"Shh, keep it down. Don't let anyone hear."
My hand clamped onto the doorframe, nails digging into the wood until I couldn't feel the pain.
Miss Carter...
So the woman who'd moved into the master bedroom, who'd stolen Roman's attention—she was the one who'd once broken his heart so badly he'd sealed off this entire room. Miss Carter!
And I'd been naive enough to think she was just some ordinary guest, or the "responsibility" Roman mentioned.
All the pieces came together in one brutal moment.
The contract marriage, the Bahamas romance, the promises at thirty thousand feet—just distractions when he was lonely.
Smoke and mirrors. His heart had always belonged to Carter.
Now that she was back, I was just the punchline.
My legs went weak. My stomach churned. I couldn't breathe.
I don't know how I made my feet move. I stumbled away from that open door like the walking dead.
I just wanted somewhere quiet to process this crushing despair. But fate wouldn't even give me that.
I'd barely turned down the east wing corridor when soft, suppressed laughter drifted through the air.
"Roman... can't you be a little nicer to me?"
Vera—Miss Carter—her voice dripping with sickly sweetness.
I froze. Looking up, I saw the east wing study ahead. That heavy mahogany door was ajar, leaving a narrow gap.
Like I was possessed by some self-destructive force, I walked toward it step by step.
Through that crack, the scene inside hit me full force.
Roman sat in his leather chair. He didn't push away the person leaning on his shoulder. He didn't speak. He just let Vera drape herself across him like a vine, her weight pressing into him. That permissive, accepting posture hurt more than any words could.
In the Bahamas, he'd looked at me with burning intensity and said "I'll always catch you." But now, faced with his returned white moonlight clinging to him without boundaries, he showed appalling indulgence and patience.
In that moment, my blood turned to ice.
I stumbled backward. My heel caught the edge of the heavy carpet. The friction made a soft rustling sound.
In the silent corridor, it rang out clearly.
Inside the study, Roman's eyes snapped open. Those dark brown eyes shot toward the door, sharp as blades.
Our eyes met.
Through that narrow gap, I saw something flicker across his face.
He didn't call out to me. Didn't push Vera away.
He just looked at me with cold, indifferent eyes that carried a warning. Leave. Don't humiliate yourself.
In that moment, even breathing felt excessive.
I spun around and fled back to the guest room, stumbling the whole way.
The door slammed shut, separating me from his world completely.
I slid down the door onto the cold wooden floor, knees drawn up, arms wrapped tight around myself.
The scene replayed in my head. The maids' whispered admiration and certainty. Vera's grating familiarity in that coy tone. Roman's permissive, indulgent gaze. All the pieces finally formed a truth I couldn't deny no matter how hard I tried to fool myself—
From the beginning, I was the extra one. Just a stand-in. A toy he'd grabbed to pass the time while he waited to bring back his white moonlight and win her back.
I curled up in the corner of the bed, shaking with cold. All the grief, rage, and heartbreak I'd been suppressing exploded, but I had nowhere to let it out.
"Maybe... maybe I should just leave."
The extreme thought flashed through my mind with almost masochistic pleasure. Since there was no place for me here, since everything I'd given and felt was just a joke to him, why keep torturing myself?
But my mind betrayed me, flooding with memories I couldn't control—
In that dark storage room during the blackout, his low voice soothing me over and over. At thirty thousand feet, holding me tight, making promises. On that terrace under the fireworks, the way he looked at me—that heat in his eyes that seemed too real to fake...
Those moments that felt too genuine to be lies—they twisted in my chest like a dull knife, tearing everything to shreds.
My heart felt ripped in half. One half screamed to escape this suffocating hell. The other stubbornly wanted to stay, to confront him, to hear him admit it was all fake.
My mind was chaos. What was I supposed to do?