23. Alexia
23
Alexia
D ave’s room is silent, thick with the lingering traces of his cologne, which somehow still wraps around me like an embrace. I’m alone in his bed, and the silence presses down, amplifying the quiet in a way that almost feels suffocating. Dave told me he was going to leave early. He must have decided to slip out while I was still tangled in sleep, caught in the illusion that things were simpler, less dangerous.
For a moment, I lie still, staring at the faint morning light cutting across the ceiling in thin strips, feeling the weight of my situation, heavier than the blankets cocooned around me. The sweet moments we shared last night are still imprinted on my soul. We made love like we used to do years ago, slowly, thoroughly, and lovingly. But with Dave gone, reality rushes back in like a tide I can’t fight.
My stomach twists. I shouldn’t allow myself to believe that Dave and I have gone back to being the same couple we were five years ago. Because we are not. Every look, every touch, every promise we shared yesterday felt so close to being real. Except, they hide the truth I can’t keep holding back. The truth I know will turn Dave’s warmth into cold fury.
I sit up slowly, pushing the sheets away, feeling the cool air raise goosebumps along my skin. The bed feels too empty without him beside me. I hate the way that thought makes my chest ache. I am stronger than this. Living in Igor’s hellish household, I’ve learned how to push down my feelings, keep my heart locked up tight. But Dave has always had a way of finding those pieces I can’t hide, breaking through the walls I’ve spent years building.
From the bedside, I let my gaze wander across his room, taking in its serene elegance. The vaulted white ceiling stretches overhead, softened by the sunlight spilling through the sheer curtains. The bed, with its tall, minimalist canopy frame, is draped in plush, light-hued bedding that contrasts with the rustic trunk at its foot, topped with a hint of soft fur. Armchairs in gentle blues, accented by throw pillows with subtle patterns, form a cozy nook by the window. Everything in this room exudes a quiet, sophisticated charm—a reflection of Dave’s calm confidence, his refined taste, and the surprising tenderness he keeps hidden behind that composed exterior. Even here, in this space of understated luxury, his essence is undeniable.
I get out of bed, wrap myself in the sheet, and run my fingers over the edge of his trunk. I find myself lingering on his things—a silver lighter, his phone charger coiled like a silent promise he’ll return. I stroll to the bathroom, where I catch sight of my reflection in the mirror. I don’t recognize the woman staring back. There’s guilt pooling in the hollows of her face. The secrets are eating her alive, yet she doesn’t know how to stop.
Pressing a hand to my stomach, I force myself to breathe as searing pain pierces me. Rose. Dave’s daughter. This truth is a raw wound on the verge of festering, of unraveling everything in ways I can’t control.
Flashes of the past flood my mind: Rose’s little hand wrapped around my finger when she was a newborn, her first smile, her laugh, the way her eyes light up the same way Dave’s do. How did I think I could protect her by hiding her from the one man who could love her unconditionally like I do? Dave has always wanted a family, and his loyalties have always been to his family. How could I have forgotten that?
There’s also Igor and the shadows he casts that follow me. If he finds us... I shudder at the thought. There’s no bottom to his cruelty. I’ve seen it. I’ve survived it. But Rose wouldn’t.
A knock on the door jerks me from my thoughts, and I flinch, clutching the sheet tighter around me. Whoever it is doesn’t enter, so I exhale and move back to the bedroom.
“Miss Lenko?” Nadya calls. “There’s breakfast waiting in the kitchen whenever you’re ready.”
“Thank you, Nadya. I’ll come down in a little while,” I reply.
Her footsteps retreat and I perch myself on the edge of the bed. With a strangled sigh, I flop back on the mattress, arms straight on either side.
The shadows stretch and shift on the ceiling, playing with the rays of sun. Suddenly, I’m not here anymore. My mind pulls me under, dragging me back into the darkness of Igor’s basement. The memory strikes with such force I can almost taste the damp air. My pulse quickens and I’m there—chained to that hard floor, the stone biting into my knees, my hands bound behind me, my body weighted down by the dank coldness pressing in from every side. I can’t move, can barely breathe, as the familiar shroud of the blindfold traps me in blackness.
I shiver as the old, terrible feeling of helplessness coils around me. Igor loved humiliating me like this, discarding me like I was nothing, like I was beneath his notice. I remember the sting of his words, how he’d sneer, “This is what happens to you because you think they’re too good for me.” And then he’d laugh, a cruel sound that would echo off the stone walls, freezing me from the inside out.
He’d make me listen to him fuck whoever he’d dragged down there with him. The sounds would claw at me, tearing me apart. Not because I cared for him but because I was mortified. People saw me in that degrading position. He never called me by name or referred to me as his wife when he had company. On the contrary, he would tell the others he had bought me in an auction and was breaking me before I would join his brothel.
He loved every minute of it, thrived on it. And I had to endure it, chained in the dark, my mind my only companion. I would breathe slow and steady, counting my breaths, forcing myself to stay calm because I couldn’t let him see how much it broke me. If I did, he’d win again.
One night, though, the blindfold slipped.
The memory hits hard, making me bolt upright again. I grip the edge of Dave’s bed, my nails digging into the sheets as if that could keep me tethered to this room, to now. But the memory drags me back under, drowning me in the past.
I remember the dampness of the cloth, how it clung to my face, loose around one eye. At first, I couldn’t see much, just a blur of dark and light, movements and shadows. But as the edges sharpen, I see him. Igor is standing, his back to me, shirt discarded on the floor. But what’s worse is the person in front of him, his mouth open wide, tears rolling down his soft cheeks. My heart shatters into a million pieces at the unnatural sight. The horror builds in my chest as I realize his eyes are empty. Igor must have drugged him. Still, it takes all I have to remain silent while the scene makes me want to puke.
When Igor steps back, my heart turns to ice at the thought he will notice I can see them. My stomach twists, a sick lurch that leaves me paralyzed. I force myself to snap out of it and brush my face against my forearm to slide until the blindfold shifts back, obscuring my sight once again.
In the suffocating darkness, I choke on bile. Igor knows I’m chained and helpless. If he ever finds out I’ve seen his sickness, it’ll be the end for me.
After that night, I couldn’t close my eyes without seeing the vile things that happened in that room. My world became even darker, more suffocating, and I knew—I’d have to keep that secret or die.
Or escape.
After I chose that route five days ago, Igor certainly figured out that I might know more than he’d suspected.
The memory fades, and I’m back in Dave’s room, trembling, my breaths shallow and ragged. I press a hand to my mouth, trying to keep my sobs from escaping, to lock this darkness back where it belongs. But I know the truth, the truth. Igor is a monster way more evil than most people realize. And he won’t stop until he’s bled every last bit of power from those he hates. And if he ever finds me, he’ll drag me back to that basement, and he won’t let me leave it alive.
T he low summer sun drapes the sunroom in a warm, amber glow, casting elongated shadows that move gently with the evening breeze. That feels worlds away from the darkness constantly hovering over my life. The light flickers through the arched windows, softened by the salt-tinged air that drifts in from the nearby shore.
I’m curled up in one of the wicker chairs, a book open in my hands, but my mind drifts, only half paying attention to the page. Outside, Rose’s laughter rings out, light and free, and Pete shouts something that makes her giggle louder. The sound tugs at my heart, filling it with a bittersweet ache. She’s happy. She’s safe. I should be glad.
I glance up, looking through the arched windows. Rose is running through the grass, her golden curls bouncing as she plays. Despite the fading daylight, I can see her cheeks flushed with joy. Nadya keeps a watchful eye but allows them to be kids. I only wish Rose could keep her innocence forever.
The rhythmic crash of waves in the distance merges with the soft rustle of beach grass, creating a backdrop that embodies Wychmere Harbor’s tranquil yet poignant evenings. The last hints of sunlight paint the walls with a fading glow, reminding me of fleeting peace.
I try to lose myself in the book again, but my thoughts keep drifting, unable to escape the dread that lingers like a storm on the horizon. Every time I close my eyes, I see Igor’s face, his sick smile, and the unspeakable things he’s capable of. I grip the book harder, my knuckles whitening as I fight to keep myself grounded.
The familiar sound of an engine outside, a deep, rumbling growl that can only belong to Dave, wipes out my feeble concentration. Relief and anxiety swell inside my chest. He’s back. I try to appear casual, like I’ve just been reading and not drowning in memories of the life I fled. But when he steps into the sunroom, there’s a barely contained fury simmering beneath his usually cool expression that throws me for a loop.
I look up, meeting his gaze. Something’s very wrong. His green eyes pierce me as they lock onto mine. There’s no warmth in them, no softness. Just an intensity that makes my heart stutter. I press a hand to the base of my throat but it does nothing to calm me down.
“Alexia,” he says, his voice low, almost dangerous. He crosses the room in a few long strides, the muscles in his jaw tight as a rope. “We found out what Igor’s planning.”
I swallow, as a cold wave of dread washes over me. I force myself to keep my face neutral. “What is it?”
He scans my face and it’s like he sees straight through me, right into the secrets I’ve been holding onto so tightly.
“He’s going to auction her,” Dave says through gritted teeth, each word dropping like a boulder on me. “He’s planning to sell Rose this weekend.”
The floor drops out from under me, and my breath catches in my throat. A flash of horror, revulsion, and something too raw to name cuts through me. I need to keep it together. But the look on Dave’s face tells me that I’m already too late.
“You knew, didn’t you?” he growls, and his words are like a slap. His gaze bores into me, relentless. “You weren’t just running because you thought he might hurt her someday. You ran because you knew he was going to do this.”
“I…” My voice breaks. I can’t lie anymore. The guilt, the shame—it’s all there, boiling to the surface. “I knew it,” I confess, the admission tearing through me.
His beautiful features twist with a dark mix of fury and disgust. That look cuts deep and I’m breaking apart under it, every piece of me splintering. I can almost see his mind spiraling. The horror in his eyes is not just aimed at Igor. I feel it in my bones.
“How could he do that?” he murmurs, his fists clenched. His rage, the barely controlled violence simmering beneath the surface, makes me recoil. “How could he sell his own daughter to some… sick psychopaths who would buy a child?”
My heart shatters at the pain etched into every line of his face. I know this is my moment, the point of no return. I can’t keep this secret from him anymore. He deserves to know. He needs to know. I take a shaky breath, my hands trembling as I clench them in my lap.
“Dave,” I begin, my voice tight, thick with the weight of what I’m about to say. “Rose isn’t Igor’s daughter.”
For a second, he just stares at me, as if he didn’t hear me, as if he’s waiting for me to say something else. But as the words sink in, the realization dawns in his eyes. His face shifts from confusion to shock and then to something darker, laced with fury and betrayal.
“What did you just say?” His voice is low, deadly calm, and it sends shivers down my spine.
I hold his gaze, meeting his anger head-on, because there’s no hiding for me now.
“She’s yours, Dave,” I say softly. “Rose… she’s your daughter.”
The silence that follows is suffocating, thick with pain and anger and shock. His face goes white and I hold my breath. For a heartbeat, it seems like he’s going to turn and walk out without another word.
Then, the anger returns, sharper than before. It emanates from him in waves, cutting through the air between us like a blade.
“You kept this from me,” he says, his voice cold and hollow, like he’s barely holding back his emotions.
Dave squeezes his eyes shut for a second, clenching and unclenching his fists. He abhors any kind of violence against women. I hang on to that thought as I watch a bluish vein beating in his taut jaw.
He opens his eyes again and takes a deep inhale before saying, “You kept my daughter from me. You lied to me for years, Alexia.”
“I didn’t have a choice,” I say, my voice breaking. “You don’t understand. Igor knew and he threatened to kill you if I told you. I had to protect you.”
“Protect me?” His laugh is bitter, scathing. “You call this protection? Letting me believe she wasn’t mine, hiding her from me while you were chained to that bastard?” His voice drops to a whisper, thick with angst. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”
“Dave, please,” I beg, reaching out to him, but he pulls back, his face twisted with anger. I can see the strain in every muscle.
He’s looking at me like he doesn’t even recognize me, like I’m a stranger he can’t trust.
“You’ve blindsided me. I need time to think this over,” he says, his voice shaking with barely controlled rage. “I need to process this shit.”
His pain rips through me, and tears burn the corners of my eyes. “Please don’t go,” I plead, the words slipping out before I can stop them.
He doesn’t answer, just turns on his heel and strides toward the door. I watch him, every step tearing at something deep inside me, breaking me in ways I didn’t know I could be broken. He doesn’t look back, doesn’t pause, doesn’t give me a chance to explain, to make him understand.
The roar of his Maserati echoes through the house, a cold, final sound that feels like the last blow, the final severing of whatever fragile bond we had been building again.
He’s gone, leaving me alone in the silence, shattered and empty, with nothing but my mistakes weighing me like an anchor thrown at sea.
I sink back into the chair, my hands covering my face as I finally allow the tears to fall, silent and unstoppable. Rose’s laughter floats in from the garden, innocent, unaware of the storm brewing beyond the walls of our newfound sanctuary.
I know, in my heart, that I might have just lost the only man I’ve ever loved—forever.