36. Elena #4
She studies me for one more second.
Then step forward.
So do I.
The space between us disappears.
I take a breath and lift my hand, wrapping my fingers around her wrist. Her skin is warm. Alive. Her arm jerks on instinct, but then stills beneath my grip.
I close my eyes, breathe in, and focus.
Ivan.
His face comes first. Sharp. Cold. Carved into my memory in a way I’ll never be able to erase.
A shiver crawls up my spine.
“Nothing’s happening,” Oksana snaps.
I tighten my hold on her, on the image, on everything. “Conjuring the dead takes time,” I reply, forcing calm into my voice. “You’re welcome to try if you’re impatient.”
“I don’t like your tone.”
“I don’t like being rushed.”
The silence that follows is heavy between us. The pressure bears down on me to ensure I don’t fail. Because if I do, I lose the man I love.
I build the vision piece by piece.
The patio. The air. The light. Every detail is layered carefully, stitched together until it feels real enough to stand on.
It’s exhausted my mind already.
“Ready,” I whisper.
And pull.
The world shifts. Oksana stumbles the moment it settles around us, her wrist ripping free from my grasp as she turns, taking it all in.
No guards. No Wendell. No Alexei.
Just… Him.
Oksana stills. “Hello… father.”
The word curls, dark and heavy. And now… Now I have to become him.
His voice scrapes through my memory, dragging everything with it. Every moment. Every scar. Every second I spent under his control claws back to the surface.
My body remembers before my mind can stop it. The phantom pull in my chest. The echo of pain. The instinct to curl in on myself…
No. Not now.
I have to hold it together.
Force his posture, his presence, and his voice into place.
Sweat beads along my spine, then pours. The longer it goes, the harder it becomes.
Oksana believes it.
I can see it in the way she stands, in the way her shoulders square, in the way her voice sharpens as she speaks, spilling years of bitterness, of rage, of everything she never got to say to him.
But it’s too much. The edges start to flicker. The air shimmers. The image strains under the weight of it all.
“He’s pushing back,” I warn, my voice thinner now. “I can’t hold him much longer.”
Her head snaps toward me. “Tough,” she says flatly. “You will, or the deal is off.”
My teeth grind together. Everything in me strains, every ounce of focus, every thread of control, holding him there, holding her here, holding the world from breaking apart.
My thoughts blur. My head pounds. By the time she finishes…I’m slipping.
His form wavers. Distorts. Breaks.
And then… I let go.
He disappears.
The weight upon me slowly starts to lift. But not enough.
“I—” My voice cracks. “I can’t—hold it?—”
The world collapses. The vision shatters.
Reality slams back into place.
Oksana jerks her hand away from mine, wiping her wrist like she can scrub the contact off.
I stagger back a half step, breath coming fast, uneven. My head throbs, vision blurring at the edges.
A chill crawls down my spine.
It isn’t the venom in her voice or the hatred she pours into every word meant for a man who had never been a true father. It isn’t even the satisfaction she takes in telling him he’d chosen wrong—that he’d cast her aside for the weakest child, the chosen one who betrayed him and sealed his fate.
It’s her smile.
It might be small and quiet, but it bathes in satisfaction. It curves across her lips as something bright and feverish flickers in her eyes, and I’ll carry the image with me for the rest of my life. That smile isn’t born from grief. It isn’t born from justice.
It’s born from winning.
In that moment, I stop looking for the daughter who’d been abandoned years ago. She’s long gone. Whatever humanity she might have once possessed has been consumed by something far darker, something that feeds on power, vengeance, and on proving the world wrong, no matter how many lives it costs.
The woman standing before me isn’t wounded. She’s dangerous.
The truth settles heavily over me with terrifying clarity. She will never stop. Which means... neither can I. Whatever it takes. No matter the cost.
“Elena—”
Alexei’s voice cuts through, tight with something dangerously close to panic.
“I’m fine,” I manage, even though I’m not sure that’s true.
I force myself upright. I force myself to look at her. “I did what you asked,” I state. “Now let him go.”
She laughs. The sound is wrong. Too pleased and sharp. “You really should pay closer attention to your deals.”
My stomach drops. “You said you wouldn’t kill him,” I snap; the growl back in my voice.
Her smile widens. “You’re right,” she agrees. “I did.” She pauses. “But I never said he wouldn’t.”
Her finger lifts. Points. At Wendell.
The world tilts.
“No,” I breathe.
She leans closer, her voice lowering, savoring every word. “I told you,” she whispers, “you would pay.” Her eyes lock onto mine. “And you will.”
The air thickens. Closes around us.
“There is no escaping your fate.”
Something inside me snaps, violent and final.
And all I see is red.