28. Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Sergei
Aquiet three-year-old—that’s an oxymoron.
Expecting Misha to sit quietly for more than a few minutes was a huge mistake on my part.
I spent more time navigating the stairs with him, darting out for potty breaks, and refilling popcorn that kept missing his mouth than watching the movie.
Should he even have popcorn? The thought creeps in as I move the bucket aside and replace it with gummy bears.
Are those any better?
Despite the endless interruptions and spilled snacks, I can’t help but cherish every moment. Since Aurora came into our lives, I feel like I’m finally a key player in my son’s life, no longer just a spectator or a mere financial benefactor.
I consider texting her about the popcorn but worry it might be perceived as a lame excuse to talk.
I don’t want to scare her off by coming on too strong.
After we kissed at Mount Charleston and woke up together in Misha’s bed, she wanted space.
She claimed those were mistakes and that being together was wrong.
Is she feeling like this again? Does she regret what happened between us last night?
I recall the look on her face when we were leaving, the knot I felt slowly forming in my stomach.
Now that I’ve touched her, tasted her, had her underneath me and on top of me, my hands roaming her beautiful curves, soft and pliable to my every touch, I’m not sure I can go back.
I can’t stop myself from picturing more nights and days like that, wrapped up in her body.
But when Misha and I return to the apartment that evening, Aurora isn’t there.
I check my phone for any messages, but the screen remains stubbornly blank. My thumb hovers over the text app, hesitating before sending a few messages. When she doesn’t reply soon enough, I dial her number. Each ring drags for an eternity, and when her voicemail picks up, my heart sinks.
A creeping fear wraps around me as my thoughts drag me back to my last encounter with Alessia.
I remember her storming out of the car, how her face twisted with anger, the slam of the door ringing in my ears.
“I hate you.” Her words cut through me. The guilt for not following her, for not ensuring her safety, relentlessly gnaws at me like a beast nipping at my heels.
As I wait for a response from Aurora, the silence in the apartment becomes deafening. For once, I wish Misha would be unnecessarily loud, to distract me from the worst-case scenarios already forming in my head, but instead, he’s quietly making a puzzle on the living room floor.
My phone feels heavy in my trembling hands. I imagine her injured, hurt in an alley, or worse, lying motionless somewhere, bleeding out alone. Panic grips me, tightening its hold as my mind races again through every dark scenario.
After making sure Misha is set with another puzzle, I slip into the study and shut the door.
I try her phone again, but this time it goes straight to voicemail.
As I dial Anton’s number, hoping he took her to meet a friend or to the store, my gaze drops to the half-eaten blueberry muffin on my desk.
I become acutely aware of my pulse rushing in my ears.
The dial tone drones on, turning muffled as I fidget with the papers on the desk.
A pen teeters and falls, and I reach down to retrieve it.
Another ring pierces the quiet, but my focus shifts.
I notice the bottom drawer slightly ajar.
The ring grows more insistent as I pull it open, and my breath catches.
I stagger backward, my back pressing hard against the bookcase, heart hammering in my chest.
No, it can’t be… Why is this here?
My phone clatters onto the floor, Anton’s voicemail mumbling faintly as my eyes lock onto the object in the drawer.
Why is Alessia’s phone here?
With the caution of someone approaching a ticking bomb, I drop to my knees and inch closer to the drawer on all fours. My fingers tremble as I extend a knuckle toward the phone, touching it lightly to avoid leaving any prints.
How is this possible?
The screen flickers to life, momentarily blinding me with a photo of Misha and Alessia, their smiles frozen in a snapshot. The battery indicator shows it’s fully charged.
What in God’s name is happening?
My heart pounds as I scramble for my own phone, fumbling to dial the only person I can think of—the only person who never gave up on Alessia.
“Sergei?” Daniel asks, stepping cautiously into my office.
I’m frozen on the floor, unable to speak. Without a word, I lift my right index finger and point toward the drawer. Daniel moves around the desk, his eyes darting toward it.
“What—” He reaches for it, but I grab his hand.
“Don’t,” I warn him.
Daniel’s face contorts with anger. “I knew it!” He swings around, landing a punch on my jaw. I let him hit me once before shoving him back.
“It wasn’t me, you fool!” I hiss as I stand up.
“It’s her phone!” Daniel barks, trying to push me again, but I hold him back.
“No shit,” I snap. “I didn’t put it there.”
“Then who—” Daniel pauses, eyes scanning the room, pausing on the blueberry muffin on my desk. “Where is Aurora?”
A sudden chill crawls up my spine. My limbs go numb one by one. The air vanishes from my lungs, as if I’m trapped in a pressure chamber. Daniel slips from my grasp before I realize my hands have stopped working.
“Where. Is. Aurora?” His voice is a harsh command, and I struggle to draw in any oxygen.
“How…” I swallow, trying to dislodge the dry lump in my throat. “How do you know her?” My eyes remain fixed on the floor until I manage to meet his gaze.
Daniel studies me, his expression sharp and calculating. He blinks slowly before seemingly settling on a final decision. “She was working with me to prove you killed my sister.”
The room spins. His words hit like a category five hurricane, each syllable crashing over me with an overwhelming impact. For a brief moment, I consider the possibility of Daniel lying, but something in his formidable glare tells me this isn’t the case.
“I see,” I manage to say as I stagger to the table by the window, cluttered with various bottles. I pour vodka into two short glasses and hand one to him. He takes it reluctantly, and we both down the drinks in one gulp.
“Where is she?” he asks again.
“I don’t know. I think…” I stammer, my mind spinning. “She might’ve found the phone earlier today, and I haven’t seen her since.”
The realization hits hard—Aurora was working with Daniel to prove I killed Alessia. While Daniel has reasons to want to hurt me, I can’t shake the suspicion that he’s telling the truth.
Memories replay in my mind, rewinding like an old VCR tape, each moment flashing by in slow motion—her reaching out about the nanny job, her conversation with Nadia, her insistence on keeping her distance, her efforts to maintain normalcy between us while fighting our connection.
Was there even a connection? Last night felt so real—more real than anything I’ve ever experienced.
Was it all fake? Just a way to get closer to me?
My shoulders tense as I turn away from Daniel. I grip my left wrist, eyes fixed on the second hand of my watch.
“And Misha?” Daniel’s voice pulls me back to the present.
“With Nadia,” I reply. “I figured it was best for him not to be here for this.”
“And what is this?” He places his empty glass on the desk and turns to face me. “Why do you have her phone, Sergei?”
“That’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it?
” I pour myself another drink and down it before speaking again.
“I didn’t kill her, Daniel. You might not have believed me before, but surely you don’t think I’m foolish enough to call you—the one person convinced of my guilt—to show you the one piece of evidence that could incriminate me. ”
Daniel takes several moments to consider. “Fine,” he grinds out, as if it physically hurts him to admit it. “If it wasn’t you who placed it there, then who did?”
I’m under no illusion that Daniel lets go of months of suspicion about my guilt this easily, but perhaps he recognizes that I do possess some level of intelligence—despite how much he hates me.
“You’re the detective.” I extend my hand in a silent challenge. “Detect.”
Daniel grabs a tissue from the box on the bookcase and carefully picks up the phone, placing it on the desk before sitting down in the chair. He taps the phone with his knuckle, his face tightening as Alessia’s and Misha’s smiles appear on the screen.
“I can’t believe she’s gone,” he mutters, shaking his head as if trying to clear the grief. “It’s on and fully charged,” he notes as an afterthought.
“Yes, I saw that too,” I say.
“In the report, you said her phone was low on battery,” Daniel says, his voice shifting completely. The detective takes over, pushing aside the brother he was moments before.
“It was,” I confirm. “Misha was sick that day with a stomach bug. She had him in bed watching cartoons on her phone. It drained the battery. She complained about not having a charger in the car.”
“Then how do you explain this?” Daniel asks, pointing to the fully charged phone.
“I have my theory, but I’d like to see if you come to the same conclusion,” I reply.
Daniel nods. “Well, whoever placed it here had access to your office and your home. I’m guessing that list is pretty short?”
I hand him a folded piece of paper. “We had a party last night, so the list of people who could have accessed my office is longer than usual.” I should have locked my office, I realize. I shouldn’t have opened my home to strangers to begin with.
Daniel unfolds it and scans the names. “You didn’t include Aurora.”
“Apparently, I have more faith in her than she has in me,” I say. “We can both agree she has no reason to be on that list.”
“Agreed.” Daniel scratches his beard thoughtfully. “Pavel was at the gala on the night of Alessia’s murder, but he left for a while. Do you know where he went?” He keeps studying the list.
“I was worried about Alessia,” I explain. “She left angry, and considering the state of her phone and her aversion to carrying a wallet, I was concerned that if her phone died, she wouldn’t be able to get help or get home.”
“You never should’ve let her leave that car,” Daniel says through gritted teeth, his voice dripping with venom.
“I know,” I admit, exhaling slowly.
My candor catches Daniel off guard, and his eyes widen in surprise. “So, you sent Pavel to find her?”
“I did.” I meet his gaze. “It can’t be him.”
“Why not? He was gone from the party for at least an hour. That’s enough time to get to where she was killed and return. He also has access to your office.”
“Pavel…” I rub my temples, a headache building. “He might look like a killer, but he’s as soft as a teddy bear. He wouldn’t hurt a fly.”
“Are you sure about that?”
I pause, imagining his tall silhouette looming over Alessia’s body in a dark alley. “No,” I reply, the uncertainty heavy in my tone.
“Sergei…” Daniel lowers the paper in his hand, turning toward the door. “Where is Aurora?” His words sock me straight in the stomach, causing the hairs on the back of my neck to stand.
I try to shake my head, because he can’t think that Pavel would… But Daniel is already springing from his spot, rushing out of the office, through the hallway.
“Second door on the left,” I say, following right behind him.
How did I not think to check? I knocked to make sure she wasn’t there but never thought to actually go inside. I didn’t want to violate her privacy. I should have—
Daniel flings Aurora’s door wide open. It slams against the wall with a heavy thud.
At first glance, everything looks normal.
Then, the details start to come into focus.
Drawers hang half-open, clothes spilling onto the floor.
Trinkets from the top of the dresser lie scattered.
I step closer and pick up a framed photo of Aurora with her friends.
The glass is cracked. When I spot the rug I bought for her flipped over, acid crawls up my throat, and my vision turns spotty.
“We need to find her,” Daniel says.
My knees quiver beneath me, and my pulse pounds loud in my ears.
God. Not again.