Chapter 16
Artyom
I watched her leave.
From half a dance floor away, her back wavered once in the crowd. The dark-green hem of her dress lifted in the draft from the entryway, then fell again. She pushed the door open. Neon spilled through the crack, outlining her in a hard, bright edge—then the door shut.
Willow was gone.
She did not leave a single word behind.
Something in my chest felt carved out. Lily still clung to my arm, her skirt brushing my slacks in time with the music. Applause crashed around us, and I did not give a damn.
All I saw was that door closing.
She left? Where the hell is she going? Why does she not say anything to me first?
"Artyom?" Lily called, confused.
I ignored her, yanked my arm free, and shoved through the crowd.
Cool night air poured in through the open doors. The second I hit the steps, I spotted that dark-green shape moving fast toward the exit.
"Willow!"
The stone steps were slick. I did not bother with looking composed. I took the last two steps in a bound, my shoes snapping on the gravel path as I sprinted.
She paused, but she did not look back. Her skirt whipped in the wind—like stubborn wild grass standing alone in cold weather. She walked too damn fast, hair blown into a mess.
I felt it in my bones.
She was running from me.
I caught her in a few strides, grabbed her wrist, and spun her around. Her face was soaked—tears, misting rain, I could not even tell.
"Why are you running?" I frowned down at her.
She fought me twice and could not break free. She kept her head down, voice thick. "I don't feel well. I'm going home, Mr. Sokolov."
Mr. Sokolov.
That formal crap lit a fuse in me.
Last night she had been on top of me, teeth in my shoulder, and she sure as hell had not sounded like that.
She wanted to bolt. Crawl back into her little world. Erase me—erase us.
Not a chance.
That damn insecurity of hers was biting again.
"If you don't feel well, you should sit down inside. I'll have someone bring you something hot."
I hauled her back toward the hall. She was small, not strong enough to pull away, so she ended up half-dragged, half-carried to the doors. "As long as I am there, nobody will say a word to you."
She got frantic, tears ready to spill, still trying to twist free. "Don't do this. People are watching. You and I don't have anything to do with each other..."
"Nothing to do with each other?" I laughed, sharp and loud, not even bothering to lower my voice. "Then why didn't you say that when you were in my bed?"
Her face went red in an instant. She stopped fighting and let me pull her straight into the ballroom.
The moment we stepped inside, it was like the music lagged half a beat.
Every head turned.
Their eyes hit us—shock, disbelief.
The whispers swelled over the rhythm, buzzing and hungry, like flies that smelled blood.
"Who is that? Why is Mr. Sokolov holding her like that?"
"Isn't she some fat employee at Mr. Sokolov's company? Somebody said she'd been messing around with a bum in a bar a while back!"
"Miss Blake is right there. That woman has a lot of nerve, stealing from the Blake family!"
It was ugly. Nasty.
I felt Willow's wrist shaking in my hand. Her head dipped so low it nearly hit her chest, and her steps went unsteady.
I tightened my grip, then stopped. I turned to her, bent slightly, and offered my free hand—my voice carrying just far enough for everyone around us to hear.
"Ms. Pierce, would you dance with me?"
She snapped her head up. Those ice-blue eyes were wide with pure shock, tears clinging to her lashes, ready to fall.
The room went dead quiet. Everyone waited on her answer, their stares pinning her in place like spotlights.
Her lips moved. Her face drained white. She took one step back without thinking.
Her back slammed into a three-tier champagne tower beside her.
Crystal glasses and the gold frame toppled together. Amber liquid poured down her hair, her shoulders, the dark-green skirt, soaking the fabric until it clung to her. Shards scattered across the floor.
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
Some people jumped back. Some lifted their phones to record. Some laughed like it was the best thing they had seen all night.
She stood there in champagne and broken glass, drenched like a drowned cat, bubbles dripping off her hair into a small puddle at her feet.
I moved to help her, but she flinched away hard, her voice shaking so badly it nearly broke. "I-I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. I'll pay for it."
She could not look at me. She wiped at her face—booze and tears—then turned and ran.
Her skirt swept over the glass with a soft crunch. Before I could even react, she had shoved the doors open and vanished into the night.
I started after her—almost lunged—
And someone hooked my arm.
"Artyom, where are you going?"
Lily held on to me.
Where was I going? I was going after Willow. Could Lily not see she had been crying?
I tried to pull free. Lily tightened her grip, smile flawless. "Don't be impulsive. Your mother has been preparing this charity gala for three months. If you walk out now, you'll embarrass her."
"Let go."
"Do you really think she wants to hear you explain anything right now?" she said with a small smile. "The way she looked when she left said everything."
I stared at her. She finally released my arm. "And another thing—your enemies are watching. You brought a woman with no background into this. You basically painted a target on her."
She paused. "If you actually care about her, you wouldn't drag her into your line of fire."
I stopped.
It had not been long since Yuri. The leftovers of that mess were still prowling around, looking for a way to strike back.
I moved with security. Willow did not. She rode the subway to work. She picked up shifts at a bar. She did not have a single person at her side who could protect her.
If I dragged her into the spotlight, I would have put her at the muzzle of a gun.
I could not do that.
I locked my eyes on the doors. Something clogged my chest, heavy and aching.
Lily looped her arm through mine again and guided me toward the dance floor. "Come on. Let's do the opening dance. Don't keep your mom waiting. When the gala ends, I'll help you check on her, okay?"
I said nothing. I let her pull me into the center.
Applause rose again. Flattery and praise poured into my ears. The lights over the floor spun and made everything swim. Lily's dress flared with each step.
I moved like a machine, my head full of Willow standing in champagne and glass, eyes red, apologizing.
I'm sorry.
I ruined everything.
?????
By the time the party ended, it was already two in the morning.
I stood in the foyer and saw off the last guests. I turned to grab my coat, and Lily walked up with two glasses of champagne.
Her makeup was still perfect. The long champagne-colored gown made her skin look porcelain. When she smiled, there was still a hint of flush at the corners of her eyes from dancing.
"You are still thinking about her?"
I did not answer.
"I was surprised," she said easily, like we were old friends. I did not consider her one.
"Artyom, your taste is... unique. That girl, Willow, is pretty special."
I did not take the glass.
I did not know what she meant, and I did not like anyone casually dissecting Willow.
They did not know her. They judged her by her body, weighed her worth on rumors and scraps, and slapped a cheap label on her like it was nothing.
"Special?" I gave a cold laugh. "Lily, save the fake politeness. You don't know her. You don't get to judge her."
Lily's smile froze for a heartbeat.
She lifted her champagne and took a sip. "Artyom, you don't need to be so tense. We grew up together. We are friends."
"Friends?" I scoffed. "You don't deserve that word."
"When I injured my legs and almost couldn't stand again, you turned around and married someone else for two mining rights. From that moment on, we weren't friends."
It landed like a knife.
The color drained from Lily's face.
I thought she would snap, argue, throw it back at me—but her eyes reddened, and fat tears rolled down her cheeks.
She kept smiling anyway. "You got hurt then; my father locked me in my room. He wouldn't let me leave. He wouldn't let me answer calls. He told me you were finished—broken—and if I married you, I'd be throwing myself into a fire."
Her smile and her tears tangled together, seamless.
Years ago, it would've made me ache for her. Now I felt almost nothing.
She kept going. "Later he forced me to marry. That man locked me in the house. I tried to run every day, and every day I got beaten for it."
She undid the buttons at her throat.
Not much. Just two.
She pulled the neckline aside, showing a strip of skin beneath her collarbone.
On that pale skin, bruised fingerprints stood out—dark and ugly. Worse, a faint scar cut across it, lighter than the rest of her skin but still there, slanting from her shoulder down into the part her dress hid.
"He hit me more than once," she said. "But I was lucky. That is all he left."
She pulled the fabric back into place and buttoned up again. "Artyom, I didn't tell you this to make you feel guilty. I just want you to understand. I love you. Back then and now. I never gave up on you."
I glanced at the marks, then looked away.
For a second, something in me wavered. We had grown up together. I couldn't pretend I was fine with her being hurt by a piece of trash.
But it passed as fast as it came, because another face rose in my mind.
Her drunk and sprawled across me, saying she was going to take care of me. Her curled in the corner of a conference room, too scared to lift her head. Her standing in the wreckage, lost, drenched, apologizing.
Something yanked my heart.
Numb. Then pain.
I knew it, clear as day—whether Lily was telling the truth or not, whether she had suffered or not, the girl I couldn't stop thinking about wasn't her.
Maybe I really was a bastard.
I turned my head, avoiding the hope in Lily's eyes. "If you need help getting away from that family, I'll do it. But don't bring up the past again."
I grabbed my coat off the chair and strode out.
The city lights outside the car window streamed backward in a blur. I pulled out my phone, found her number, and stared at it for a long time without pressing call.
I waited.
I gave her time.
Tomorrow, I'd go to her.