28. The Glass Empire
The Glass Empire
The mansion was quiet when I returned.
The gates swung open as the car approached, the iron bars parting like they'd been waiting for me.
The driveway stretched ahead, lined with evergreens dusted with snow, the fountain in the center of the circle frozen solid.
The house loomed before me—stone and glass and the ghosts of everyone who'd ever walked through its doors.
I walked inside. The foyer was empty, the chandeliers dark, the marble cold beneath my feet. The portraits on the walls watched me pass—Elena, and the ones who'd come before her, the women who'd been claimed by this family and never quite escaped.
I didn't go to my room.
I walked through the house, my footsteps echoing in the silence. The library where Nathan had cornered me. The dining room where I'd had my first dinner with the family. The greenhouse where Gabriel had kissed me for the last time.
I found them in the study.
Aleksander was sitting behind his desk, a glass of whiskey in his hand. Nathan was standing by the window, his back to the room, his silhouette sharp against the grey light. They didn't look surprised to see me. They'd been waiting.
"You're back," Aleksander said.
"I'm back."
Nathan turned. His eyes met mine, dark and searching. "You could have left. You could have gone anywhere."
"I know."
"Why didn't you?"
I walked into the room. The fire was lit, casting warm shadows across the walls. The books on the shelves stood like sentinels, guarding the secrets of the family that had built this empire.
"Because I'm not done yet," I said. "I'm not finished with any of you."
That night, I went to Aleksander's room first.
He was sitting on the edge of the bed, his head bowed, his hands clasped between his knees. He looked up when I entered, and I saw the surprise in his eyes—quickly masked, quickly hidden.
"Monika," he said. "What are you doing here?"
"I'm not going to choose," I said. "I'm never going to choose. But I'm not going to leave either."
He stood, walking toward me. His hands reached out, cupping my face, his thumbs tracing the line of my cheekbones.
"Then what are you going to do?"
"I'm going to stay. And I'm going to take what I want."
He kissed me. It was soft, almost tender, the kiss of a man who had been waiting for something he didn't think he deserved. I kissed him back, my hands on his chest, his heart beating beneath my palms.
He undressed me slowly, reverently, the way he'd done the first time. His hands traced the bruises on my body—the marks from the ropes, the shadows from the kidnapping—and he kissed every one of them.
"I love you," he said. "I know I don't deserve you. I know I've hurt you. But I love you."
"I know."
He made love to me gently, carefully, like I was something precious. I let him, because I needed to feel safe. Needed to feel that someone could touch me without taking something.
When it was over, I held him. His head was on my chest, his arms wrapped around me, his breathing slow and steady.
"I'm going to see Nathan," I said.
He tensed. But he didn't argue.
"I know," he said.
I found Nathan in his room.
He was sitting on the edge of the bed, a glass of something dark in his hand. The room was dark, the only light coming from the moon through the window. He looked up when I entered, and I saw the wariness in his eyes.
"You went to him first," he said.
"Yes."
"Of course you did."
"Nathan—"
"I'm not angry." He set down the glass, standing. "I'm not angry. I'm just..." He trailed off, his hands clenching at his sides. "I'm just tired."
He walked toward me, his movements slow, deliberate. He stopped in front of me, his eyes searching mine.
"You're not going to choose," he said. "Are you?"
"No."
"Then what are you going to do?"
I reached out and touched his face. His skin was warm, his jaw tight beneath my fingers.
"I'm going to stay," I said. "And I'm going to take what I want."
He kissed me. It was not gentle. It was desperate, hungry, the kiss of a man who had been waiting for something he was afraid he'd never have. I kissed him back with the same desperation, my hands tangling in his hair, his body pressing against mine.
He undressed me roughly, his hands everywhere, his mouth following. He was not gentle. He was not careful. He took what he wanted, and I let him.
"Say my name," he said. "Say it when you come."
I said his name. Over and over, until it was a prayer and a curse and everything in between.
When it was over, he held me. His arms were tight around me, his face buried in my hair.
"I'm not going to share you," he said. "But I'll wait. I'll wait as long as it takes."
I didn't answer.
I didn't sleep that night.
I lay in the dark, my body aching, my mind racing. I thought about Aleksander, about the way he'd held me, the way he'd said he loved me. I thought about Nathan, about the way he'd taken me, the way he'd said he'd wait.
I thought about Gabriel. About the life he'd offered me, the clean slate, the fresh start.
I thought about the cages. The warehouse. The things I'd seen and done and agreed to.
I thought about the girl I used to be—the farm girl who'd wanted to be a veterinarian, who'd believed in saving things, who'd thought she could heal the world with steady hands.
She was still in there somewhere. Buried. But not gone.
In the morning, I stood at the window and looked out at the city.
"You're still here."
I turned. Nathan was standing in the doorway, his hair disheveled, his eyes dark. He looked like he hadn't slept either.
"Where else would I go?"
"Anywhere."
I walked toward him. He didn't move. I reached up and kissed him—soft, quick, a promise.
He didn't respond. He just looked at me with those dark eyes, searching for something I wasn't sure I could give.
"I'm not going anywhere," I said. "Not yet."
Aleksander appeared in the doorway behind him. He was dressed, composed, the mask back in place. But I saw the softness in his eyes, the vulnerability he tried to hide.
For the first time, the three of us were in a room together without fighting.
I looked at them—father and son, predator and heir, the two men who had claimed me in different ways. I thought about Gabriel, somewhere across the country, starting a new life without me. I thought about the farm, the barn, the girl I used to be.
I was standing in the space between them. Not chosen. Not choosing. Just... there.
I was the crack in the glass.
And empires fall from the smallest fractures.