31. Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-One
Aurora
The rideshare pulls up to the towering black gate, its metallic bars gleaming in the night. I slide out of the back seat, immediately struck by the colder mountain air as my shoes crunch on the gravel.
The chatty older driver glances behind me. “Are you sure you don’t want me to wait for you?” he asks, his forehead wrinkled.
I shake my head, trying to smile. “It’s all right. Thank you.” I shut the car door and quickly pull a jacket from my backpack.
As I zip it up, I look at the house, my mind drifting back to my last visit.
So much has changed since then. My feelings for Sergei have deepened into something real and true.
Back then, we were playing with fire, fully aware we shouldn’t succumb to our attraction, yet completely powerless to resist the spark between us.
Now that we’ve let the flames consume us, burning away any reservations and logical thoughts, I’m left with a profound realization that our connection isn’t just physical.
It’s one of those deep, timeless bonds described in great romantic novels.
But I’m terrified that, unlike in the novels, we won’t be lucky enough to get our happily ever after.
Sergei didn’t kill his wife. Layla was right, and I never should’ve doubted him. I regret opening that drawer and seeing that phone, questioning whether the man I spent the night with—whose hands roamed my body and whose lips whispered sweet promises in my ear—could be capable of such violence.
Pulling my phone out, I notice the signal alternates between a single bar and SOS.
I tap on Daniel’s contact, thinking of calling him to share what I’ve found, but I know exactly how he’d react.
He’d dismiss any alternatives and accuse Sergei without a second thought.
I can’t do that to Sergei—not after failing him so many times, first by lying to him, then by doubting his innocence.
I have to protect him. I owe him that much.
A coyote howls in the distance, dropping my heart to my stomach.
The feeling of being watched creeps over me, as if I’m transported to a true crime documentary, except this time I’m the main character.
An imaginary sinister soundtrack begins playing in my mind, prompting my footsteps to quicken as I approach the gate.
It squeaks open after I punch in the code Sergei shared with me.
I enter the second code for the front door with a sigh of relief.
Thankfully, the house is mostly digital, sparing me the hassle of searching for a key hidden under a rock.
As I step inside, I quickly realize that finding the light switch in the dark is trickier than I anticipated.
The heavy curtains block most of the moonlight, leaving the foyer cloaked in shadows.
I wrestle the door closed against a gust of wind that fights me.
My stomach twists as it finally slams shut with a thud that sends anxious jitters through my body.
My hands shake as I pull out my phone, its flashlight illuminating the pitch-black surroundings.
Coming to stand in front of the ceiling-to-floor patio door in the living room, I can’t help but think of the opening scene from Scream.
I used to find it ridiculous how Drew Barrymore’s character wandered around in the dark, yet here I am, doing the exact same thing.
The thought of a masked killer lurking outside curls a chilling shiver down my back, making me question my decision to come here.
But I had no other choice. I needed to get away. I needed a moment to gather my thoughts. And somehow, I’ve found myself at Sergei’s home. The dormant psychologist in me raises an eyebrow at that decision.
I had to give myself the time and space to figure things out and understand how Alessia’s phone ended up in Sergei’s study. Because if he didn’t place it there, my list of suspects is very short.
Scenarios swirl in my mind like ghosts on the prowl, each one more improbable than the last. The urge to call Daniel resurfaces, but I’m not ready to deal with him, so I push it aside and place my phone on the coffee table.
I step outside into the chilly evening air and absentmindedly walk over to one of the loungers, then sit on its edge.
The night is quiet, intensifying the volume of my thoughts.
Under the pool tarp, the water lies still, making me wonder if it’s even there.
The impulsive kid in me wants to race across the surface, just to test it.
Daniel mentioned that Alessia’s phone went missing, with the working assumption that whoever killed her took it. But now, it has found its way to Sergei’s study. The person who placed it there must have access to his office, narrowing the list of suspects significantly.
As my mind wanders, restlessness sets in, prompting me to pace—my usual way of working through problems. With Sergei’s party, though, there were many more people who could have planted the phone.
But it shouldn’t matter. According to Sergei, most of the guests weren’t close acquaintances—and if my earlier assumption about the careful way Alessia’s earring was removed holds true, those people wouldn’t fit, which brings me back to a suspect list that isn’t all that long.
I tug on my ponytail, letting my hair down. The movement exacerbates the sharp pain in my elbow, reminding me of Pavel’s earlier grip.
Pavel.
He had access to Sergei’s office. He was there when I was snooping around. Maybe he had illicit intentions of his own. After all, he knows Sergei attends church on Sunday mornings, and yet he was at the apartment for no apparent reason.
“But why… why…” I mumble to myself. My gaze drifts to the distant mountains, serving as the perfect frame for this elegant house.
I freeze—a shriek bursts from my throat.
Through the veil of darkness, a man’s silhouette materializes, outlined by the windows like a sinister portrait against the backyard lights.
A shiver slithers through my belly, and the rapid pounding of my pulse echoes in my ears.
I take a step back and curse myself when I realize I left my phone inside.
“Pavel?” I call out breathlessly, my voice breaking the dark silence surrounding me.
“Wrong brother,” Anton replies, stepping into the dimly lit backyard. He’s dressed in dark clothes with a winter hat pulled low over his forehead.
“What are you doing here?” I stutter, the hairs on the back of my neck rising. I don’t need to be a crime show enthusiast to know something is very wrong.
Anton moves toward me with predatory intent, each step slow and deliberate, contrasting sharply with the frantic thumping of my heart. “A bit chilly, isn’t it?” His voice is unnervingly calm as he closes the distance between us.
I glance behind me, realizing how close I am to the edge of the pool. “Sergei should be here any moment,” I say, forcing my voice to stay steady as I turn back to face him.
“Do you know what they used to do to me in foster care when I lied?” Anton asks, his eyes filled with a wickedness that sends a jolt of fear through me.
I try to recall the Anton I know—the kind and friendly one—but that version feels like a distant memory now. “I’m not lying,” I manage to say, my throat tightening with each word.
“That’s two now.” He raises two fingers, and it’s then that I notice the black gloves he’s wearing.
Oranges!
“Aurora, why couldn’t you just let things be, with your silly investigation?” His eyes gleam with malice.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I take a small step sideways toward the lounger.
Think. Think. Think.
“That’s three,” Anton says, lifting another finger. “You and Custode, working together to find evidence on Sergei. What a fantastic coincidence. I’m curious”—he steps closer, his presence overwhelming—“did he recruit you before or after you became the kid’s nanny? I never figured that one out.”
I stay silent, my mind racing for an escape. No one knows I’m here. I need time to think. “After,” I force out.
He pauses, studying my face. “Finally. You’re telling the truth.”
“I knew Daniel before, and when he found out I was Misha’s nanny, he asked for my help,” I continue.
“How serendipitous,” he says, as if he just learned the word from some daily calendar and is eager to use it. “And unfortunate for you,” he adds, his tone dropping dangerously low.
I scan the backyard for the security cameras, hoping one might be recording this. Maybe Sergei has remote access. Maybe my presence here triggered something. “You killed Alessia,” I say, forcing confidence into my voice.
Don’t lose it. Don’t lose it.
“Yes,” Anton says it so casually. Noticing my glance at the cameras, he smirks. “I disconnected the security. We’re all alone.”
“Why did you kill her?”
“Oh, it was an accident.” His Russian accent thickens as he speaks.
“Alessia… she was fun.” His eyes flicker, and his jaw slackens just slightly.
For a moment, the sharp edge of his expression softens, hinting that a decent human might be beneath his cruelty.
“The things she could do with her mouth could make an atheist find God,” he says, mimicking a chef’s kiss motion.
“But she wanted us to leave, with the kid.” He fakes a gagging sound. “As if I’d do that.”
My fists clench, a surge of anger ripping through me. Any goodness, any compassion I thought he might possess was just a mask to hide the true evil beneath.
He rolls his eyes dismissively. “Things got heated, and oh well.” He lifts his hands to the sky, a gesture of careless resignation. “She fell.”
“You pushed her,” I say through clenched teeth. My rage threatens to take full control, safeguarding me from the paralyzing fear and panic that this might not end well for me, either.
He stops right in front of me, eyes cold and calculating. “Who would know what really happened?” His fingers touch the cross around his neck, and I can’t help but notice how the diamond at its center resembles Alessia’s ring stone.