Chapter 33 The Confession
POV: Maya
Red and blue lights from the sirens sliced through the darkness of the ruined room, painting the scene in grotesque shades of war.
“NYPD! HANDS WHERE WE CAN SEE THEM!”
Men in tactical vests with guns drawn flooded the hallway. The first officer at the door to Anja's room stopped, weapon trained on Roman.
“Sir! Step away from the woman! Hands up! Now!”
Viktor Sokolov let out a gurgling moan from the floor.
But Roman didn't move. He didn't so much as glance at the officer.
He was frozen, eyes fixed on the yellowed photograph in Maya's hand. Her accusation—“Was it all so you could have her back?”—hung between them, more deadly than the officer's gun.
The world had shrunk to this moment. The air felt thick, choked with plaster dust and unspoken truth.
Roman's gaze moved from Anja's face in the photo to Maya's tear-streaked face.
His armor, already cracked from the fight, crumbled under the weight of her question.
“Yes,” he choked out.
The word hit her like a slap. The confirmation. The most twisted truth. The air rushed from her lungs in a sob of pure disgust. She stumbled back, her whole body recoiling from him.
He was everything Sokolov said he was. A man obsessed with a ghost.
“No!”
Roman moved lightning-fast, grabbing her arm before she could pull away. His grip was desperate, his bloodied fingers staining the sleeve of her sweater.
“Sir! Let her go!” the officer shouted, stepping forward.
“Kosta!” Roman roared without looking back.
Kosta, who had entered behind the officers, placed a heavy hand on the officer's shoulder. “Stand down. The scene is secure. He is the victim.”
Roman ignored the commotion. He pulled Maya close, forcing her to look at him. His eyes were no longer black with fury—they were wells of desperation.
“Yes,” he repeated, his voice raw. “I saw you at the museum. And I didn't see you. I saw her.”
The confession made her want to vomit.
“But that's not why!” he shouted, shaking her slightly, as if trying to wake her. “Don't you understand? It wasn't because I saw you.”
Maya frowned, confusion cutting through her pain.
He leaned in, his forehead nearly touching hers. The world narrowed to his face, the officers shouting, the lights flashing.
“It was because Viktor saw you.”
POV: Roman
Hell. That's what this was. Reliving it all over again. The smell of floral perfume. Her face, identical to Anja's. And Sokolov, crawling on the floor.
But this time, the ghost was looking at him with hatred. And he had to make her understand.
“He was there,” he said, the words pouring out in a desperate torrent. “At the museum. That night. I saw him.”
He remembered that moment. The shock of seeing her. And then the second shock—the terror—of seeing Sokolov across the hall, watching her.
“I saw him,” Roman gasped, “watching you. And the look on his face… he recognized you. He saw the resemblance. He saw a ghost.”
He grabbed her shoulders. “Don't you understand what he is? He's a psychopath! He took Anja from me. And in that moment, I saw it in his eyes… he saw a way to do it all over again. He saw you, and he saw the perfect weapon to destroy me.”
His mind went back to that night, the panic that drove him to the Demand.
“The Demand,” he said—the name of his greatest shame. “The contract. The fucking cage.”
He looked into her eyes, begging her to see.
“You think I wanted you? You think I wanted another ghost walking my halls, reminding me of my greatest failure?” His voice broke. “I hated you for looking like her!”
An officer was trying to pull him away. “Sir, you need to step back…”
“I did it the only way I knew how!” Roman shouted, ignoring the officer, speaking only to her. “The Demand wasn't about sex! It wasn't about possession! It was about protection!”
He shook her again. “It was about putting you in my fucking tower where I could see your every move, where I could control your every breath, so that he couldn’t touch you!”
He jerked his chin toward Sokolov, who was being handcuffed on the floor.
“He was hunting you, Maya! He set up your brother’s debt! He planted the housekeeper! He was just waiting for the right moment to pull the strings and make you run straight to him!”
And then, the final confession. The truth that haunted him every night.
“I failed to protect Anja,” he whispered, the fury draining away, leaving only the broken man she’d seen in his nightmare. “I let her be reckless. I let her die.”
He looked at her, his grip on her shoulders now that of a drowning man.
“I wasn’t going to fail you.”
POV: Maya
The world stopped. The sirens faded away. The shouts of the police became a distant hum.
All she could see was his face, shattered by pain and truth.
I wasn’t going to fail you.
It wasn’t possession. It was protection.
The man she’d thought was her jailer had been, in his twisted, controlling, and utterly terrifying way, trying to be her protector.
His fury when she ran. “You reckless fool!” He hadn’t been angry. He’d been terrified. He thought she was running into the fire.
The trip to the yacht. He hadn’t been running from his business. He’d been taking her off the board. He’d been hiding her.
And she...
Oh, God.
The betrayal. Not his. Hers.
She’d believed the monster. She’d accused the protector. She’d used his pain against him. And she... she’d run. She’d run from him, straight into Viktor Sokolov’s arms.
She’d done exactly what Anja did. She’d been reckless. And it had almost cost her her life.
“Roman,” she whispered, but she didn’t know what to say.
“Mr. Lazarov,” Kosta said, his voice finally cutting through the bubble. “The paramedics are here. And the police need your statement.”
Roman didn’t let her go. He couldn’t. He just stood there, trembling, his forehead pressed against hers, his eyes closed, absorbing the fact that she was alive.
Her reality had been turned upside down.
The man she’d spent weeks hating as her jailer, the man she’d feared as Anja’s killer...
He had risked everything, including his own sanity, to keep her from suffering the same fate.