Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
I RINA
The morning room of the Morozov estate is a masterpiece of gilded architecture.
Sunlight pours through the floor-to-ceiling windows, but it doesn't offer any warmth; it only illuminates the dust motes dancing over three women who look like they’re deciding whether to ignore me or say something to me.
I stand in the doorway, my hands shoved deep into the pockets of a borrowed silk robe that feels like a costume. My own clothes were left in Mexico.
I feel like a stray cat that’s been dragged into a palace.
Kira is the first one I notice. She’s sitting by the window, a cup of tea in her hand, looking out at the grounds with a focused intensity. She doesn't turn when I enter. She doesn't have to. The air in the room shifts the second I cross the threshold, turning brittle.
"You're awake," Kira says. Her voice isn't mean, but it's stripped of the empathy I remember from yesterday. It’s a flat, professional observation. She finally turns her head, her gaze sweeping over me with a guardedness that makes my skin prickle.
"Hard to sleep when you’re waiting for the next kidnapping," I mutter. I walk further into the room, choosing a chair as far from them as possible. "Is this where the Morozov women gather to discuss the price of silk and the best way to hide a body?"
"We’re discussing our brother," a voice interrupts.
I look toward the sofa. Calina is leaning back on the sofa, her dark blonde hair perfectly in place.
She looks just as unimpressed as she did at the dinner last night.
Next to her is Milana, who’s watching me with the same quiet caution.
We’ve moved in the same circles long enough for me to know that where Calina bites, Milana just hides.
"Mikhail hasn't been himself since the wedding that wasn't," Calina continues, her tone clinical and cold. She sets a small plate of fruit down on the table with a sharp clink . "He spent six months looking for you. Now that you are sitting in our morning room, we’re trying to decide if you’re worth the trouble you caused. "
"I didn't ask to be found," I remind her, my jaw tightening. "And I certainly didn't ask for this union. If he’s 'not himself,' perhaps he should have left me in Cancun."
"He couldn't," Milana says. She’s usually the quiet one, but she’s looking right at me now. "Mikhail doesn't just walk away from things, Irina—you know that. You made him look like a fool in front of everyone. Did you honestly think we’d just be 'nice' to you after that?"
Ouch. They really do love him, don't they?
"I did what I had to do," I say, leaning back in my chair. I try to look bored, like I’m not bothered by any of this, even though my pulse is racing. "In my house, worrying about a man's ego was a luxury I couldn't afford. I was too busy making sure I didn't end up as some bargaining chip."
Kira sets her tea down. The movement is slow, deliberate.
She looks at me properly now, and I see the memory of my past cruelty reflected in her eyes.
I remember the things I said to her when she was just a "nurse" and I was the "princess.
" I was vicious, and although I’m sorry for the way I behaved, I will never admit it.
"Your father sold you the moment you were born, Irina," Kira says, her voice low and steady. "But don't mistake Mikhail’s claim for your father’s greed. Mikhail is many things—volatile, unpredictable, even cruel—but he is loyal to what is his. And you ran."
"I saved myself from a cage!" I shout, my stubbornness finally snapping. "You of all people should understand that, Kira! You weren't born into this. You chose Artyom. I was handed to Mikhail like a piece of livestock after being discarded by Artyom."
"And yet, you’re here," Calina says, standing up. She walks toward me, her presence mimicking her brother’s predatory grace.
She stops a few feet away, her arms crossed.
"And while you’re here, you will show this family respect.
Not because of our father, and not because of Artyom.
But because Mikhail is currently the only reason you aren't being handed back to Boris to be 'corrected' permanently. "
I look at Calina. She’s watching me like she’s waiting for me to trip over my own feet.
I bite down on my lips. That’s not happening.
"I know where I stand," I say, my voice flat and annoyed. "I'm not under any illusions about why I'm here or how much your family hates mine."
"You're a Morozov now," Milana adds. There’s no warmth in her voice, just a tired sort of honesty. "In this house, that carries a weight you can't just ignore, whether you like it or not.
A silence falls over the room, heavy and uncomfortable. I watch Milana pick at a loose thread on her sleeve, her expression shifting from caution to a strange sort of sadness. I look at Calina, who is staring at the door as if she can hear the men arguing in the study downstairs.
"He shouldn't have brought her here," Milana mutters, almost to herself. "It’s too dangerous. Papa is already looking for a reason to push Mikhail aside."
"Mikhail can handle Papa," Calina snaps, but there’s a flicker of doubt in her eyes that she isn't fast enough to hide.
I sit there, mostly forgotten for a second as I watch them.
They’re not the cold-blooded monsters my father spent years describing.
They’re just a mess. I can see it in the way Calina bristles whenever someone mentions her father and the way Milana looks like she’s constantly waiting for a fight to break out.
Vladimir isn't some untouchable leader to them; he’s just someone they’re forced to work around.
I look at Kira. She’s watching the sisters with a pained expression, her hand subconsciously touching the ring on her finger. She knows the weight of the secrets they’re keeping. She’s part of the inner circle I’ve been shoved into.
It unsettles me.
If they were just monsters, I could hate them. I could lie to them without a second thought. I could use them and never look back. But seeing the way Milana’s hands shake when she talks about her father, and the way Calina bristles to protect her brother... it makes them human.
And humans are much harder to dismiss.
"Why are you all here anyway?" I ask, my voice sounding more tired than sassy. "The show is over. Mikhail caught the girl. The wedding happened. Why do you look like you’re waiting for the floor to give out?"
Kira finally stands up, smoothing her sweater. She walks toward the door, stopping only when she’s parallel to my chair. She doesn't look at me, but her words are intended for no one else.
"First of all, we live here. And second, we’re waiting for you to decide which side you’re on, Irina," Kira says quietly. "Because in this house, there is no middle ground. You’re either part of the family, or you’re the rot that destroys it.
And right now, no one—not even Mikhail—knows which one you are. "
She walks out without waiting for a response. Calina gives me one last, cold look before gesturing for Milana to follow her.
"Don't get too comfortable, Petrova," Calina says over her shoulder. "Mikhail’s patience has a very short fuse. And so does mine."
The door clicks shut behind them, leaving me alone in the sunroom. The silence returns, but it’s different now. It’s heavier.
I reach into the pocket of my robe, my fingers brushing the hard, plastic edges of the burner phone. I think about my responsibility.
I’m not one of you.
My resolve hardens even as my heart feels like it’s being squeezed.
I’m not a Morozov, and I’m not a Petrov asset.
But as I stare at the empty doorway, I realize that the cage isn't just made of stone and guards. It’s made of these people. Their loyalties. Their fractures. Their terrifying, human mess.
And for the first time, I wonder if I can really burn this house down to find the truth without catching fire myself.