22. Chapter Twenty-Two #2
He doesn’t argue. He just stands there with his hands in his pockets, silent.
Because there’s nothing left to say. Daniel used me.
He lied. And I never saw it—never saw what was right in front of me.
I let myself be manipulated. I failed. I failed at figuring out who killed Alessia.
Failed at not crossing a line with Sergei. Like always. A failure.
Without another word, I turn on my heel and walk away.
“I’ll be in touch if I need you to do anything else,” he calls after me, but I don’t bother looking back.
When we get home from the park, Misha, noticing my zombie-like demeanor, snuggles up on the couch next to me.
I kiss his forehead and stare into his innocent eyes, the revelation hitting me anew.
My mind is stuck on a relentless loop, jolted by the fact that Daniel is Alessia’s brother, Misha’s uncle.
Each time the truth resurfaces, it feels like I’m struck all over again.
How did I miss that Misha and Daniel share the same eyes?
Perhaps it’s because the spirit behind them is so different—the innocence in Misha’s stare versus the shadowy secrets lurking in Daniel’s.
And worse, why did I trust Daniel to begin with?
He already lied to me once. Already treated me poorly.
Just because he threw me a bone by making me feel needed, important, special.
I not only blindly believed him but tightened the blindfold over my own eyes.
How pathetic am I?
And why is Daniel so gung-ho on Sergei being guilty? Does he know something that I don’t? No… I’m sure if he had some smoking gun, he’d have already shared it with me or used it to take Sergei down. So this has to be some sort of personal vendetta Daniel has against him.
Oh God, what have I gotten myself into?
Realizing I’m in no shape to watch Misha, I text Nadia to ask if she can cover for me, especially since Sergei is running late at work.
I’m not sure I can face him without telling him what happened.
A small part of me worries Misha might accidentally mention Daniel, too, but considering I’d spent weeks thinking “Ankledun” was just a cute mispronunciation of some dinosaur, I doubt Sergei will make any connection.
“I could have managed with Misha until dinner,” I apologize as Nadia removes her coat and hangs it up. “I didn’t want to pull you away from your job.”
“Not a problem at all,” Nadia replies with a reassuring smile, taking off her shoes in exchange for the slippers she keeps in the cabinet. “Sergei wished he could have come himself, but… something came up that needed his immediate attention.”
“You told Sergei I asked you to cover for me?” I lower my eyes, suddenly all too aware that she found us in bed earlier that morning.
“Da. He would have wanted to know.”
I clasp my hands in front of me, my shoulders slacking forward. “Of course. Because of Misha.”
“Not just.” Her knowing smile makes me blush.
“Nothing happened,” I feel the need to clarify.
Nadia raises an eyebrow.
I continue, “This morning, Misha got scared from the thunder and wanted both of us there, so we—”
“You don’t need to explain anything to me,” she says, waving her hand dismissively. “You’re both single adults. The timing might not be ideal, but great love stories rarely have perfect timing.”
Great love stories? Is that how she sees what’s between Sergei and me?
The brewing nausea intensifies, and I lean against the wall for support.
I doubt she would think that if she knew the truth.
If she knew that I helped Daniel, that I gave him the means to hurt Sergei, that I’m the reason he could face serious trouble if those financial documents are ever found…
That because of me, Sergei could get arrested, and then Misha will be truly alone.
Nobody will care that I only wanted to help clear his name.
Oh God, what have I done?
“Go rest. I hope you feel better soon,” Nadia says, but I barely register her words.
Consumed by my internal voice of destruction, I hurry to my bedroom before I drop to my knees and confess everything.
Once inside, I close the door and take a few steps in.
My feet sink into the plush comfort of the rug beneath them.
I recognize it immediately—it’s a replica of the one from the house at Mount Charleston.
And it definitely wasn’t here this morning…
Sergei got me a rug. The air catches in my throat. He got me the rug—the one I said I loved so much I would move there and never leave.
I sink onto it, bring my knees to my chest, and let the tears break.
Minutes pass. Maybe even hours. Time loses all meaning as I keep slipping in and out of sleep. It’s easier to disconnect from the pit I dug for myself when I’m unconscious, but every time I open my eyes, the gravity of my actions drags me back into a torrent of despair.
At some point during my self-pity party on the rug, I zone out completely, lost in a fog of exhaustion and sadness, until warm arms gently wrap around me from behind. The faint scent of the outdoors mingles with a hint of strawberries. I open my eyes and turn.
“Not who you were hoping for?” Layla’s playful voice carries a smirk.
I swat at her hands, but she clings on, her grip both insistent and comforting. “You’re a jerk,” I mumble.
“Yeah, but you love me. Are you sick physically or emotionally?” she asks, her tone softening.
“Emotionally,” I whisper.
“Need me to just listen, or should I activate solution mode?”
“I don’t know… I don’t think I have the energy to explain.” I roll onto my stomach, pressing my face into my folded forearms.
“Let me try,” Layla says, mimicking my position but keeping her gaze fixed on me.
Her warm breath tickles the side of my face as she speaks.
“Your little side hustle with Casper is spiraling out of control. You’re getting too attached to Sergei.
And you’re scared because this could turn serious.
He’s not one of those college boys. He’s a grown man,” she takes a deep breath, “but he’s also a dad. ”
“Daniel is Sergei’s brother-in-law. I guess, ex-brother-in-law.” My voice is muffled by the rug.
“Wait. What?” Layla jerks up, her unbound auburn hair swirling around her face. “Are you serious?”
I nod and press my face deeper into my arms, knowing the imprint will linger on my skin.
“Holy shit. This is even more twisted than I thought. Sergei’s murdered wife was Casper’s sister?”
“Exactly.” I lift my head, peeking at Layla through the tangled mess of my hair. “Wait a second. What are you doing here? How did you know to come?”
“Your zaddy texted me,” Layla says, her eyes twinkling with mischief, as if the complex situation I laid out doesn’t faze her in the slightest.
“He has your phone number?” An uncomfortable shiver of jealousy runs down my spine.
“Apparently. Sergei Chernov is the type who can dig up any information he needs. My number probably wasn’t hard to find.
He said you weren’t feeling well.” She casually plucks a piece of white lint from her shirt.
“Also, what is this rug made of? Baby animal feathers?” She flops back down, spreading her arms and legs like a starfish, her voice full of awe. “I’m definitely getting one of these.”
“Sergei got it for me,” I explain. “I mentioned how incredible it felt at his place up north this weekend, and now it’s here.”
Layla cracks one eye open. “Place up north, huh?” she asks with a smirk. “Anything interesting happen that you’d like to share with the class?”
“We kissed,” I admit.
“Aurora Joanne Sinclair!” Layla exclaims, giving my butt a playful smack. “You naughty girl. What’s gotten into you? Please tell me it was Sergei.” She wiggles her eyebrows.
“You’ve been rubbing off on me,” I reply, averting my gaze to the floor. “That’s what happened.”
“Anything else rubbed off on you?” She lowers her voice in the most insinuating way.
I roll onto my back, close to Layla, and recount everything that happened between Sergei and me over the weekend, as well as the events of last night and this morning.
When I finish, my phone beeps, the bright light momentarily blinding me. It’s a message from Daniel.
Bank’s video footage is a bust.
Need you to plant GPS tracker.
“Who is it?” Layla asks.
Can you meet tomorrow morning?
“Daniel,” I reply, glancing at the screen.
“What does he want?” she asks.
“More. He always wants more.”