Chapter 48
Peighton
Irub slow circles over my belly. I’m seven months along and feel huge. My tee-shirt stretches tight across the curve.
My phone buzzes on the little table near the window.
Unknown
Don’t block me. Endless burner phones are part of our world.
I already know it’s Rupert.
Guilt crawls up my throat. This week, he has been texting me from a new number every day. I hoped the problem could go away. It isn’t. He is patient. He is exactly the kind of man who will wait until the worst possible moment to strike.
And I haven’t told Gustav, but Rupert isn’t relenting.
I hate that part most. I always told myself I’d never become like my father. That I would not build my life on lies and half truths. Yet here I am, pregnant and hiding Rupert’s messages from the man I claim to love.
I slide the phone into my pocket, stand, and take a breath that feels too tight.
Enough. The cycle stops with me. No more secrets.
The castle is quiet as I walk toward the library, only the muffled sounds of staff moving in the distance and the low tick of the old clocks. My bare feet fall softly against the stone as I move through shafts of sunlight that fall from the high windows.
He is exactly where I expect him to be.
Gustav sits in a leather armchair beneath the tallest window, phone to his ear, forearm resting on one knee.
Light pours over him, catching on the sharp line of his jaw.
He has that stillness he gets when he is focused, a predator at rest. His shoulders fill the jacket he has not bothered to button.
The angle of his mouth is severe. His voice in Russian is low and steady, a language of command and threat I still only partially understand.
He glances up as I enter, and his gaze softens a fraction. Just a fraction, but I see it. The line between his brows eases.
He ends the call and tucks the phone into his pocket.
“Devushka,” he says. “You should be resting.”
“I rest plenty,” I answer, walking closer. “We need to talk.”
That gets his full attention. He sits back, considering me with those storm gray eyes that see far too much. “You say this like a bomb is under my chair,” he says.
Maybe there is.
“Can we sit?” I ask. “Both of us.”
He gestures to the opposite chair. “Of course.”
I sink into it, trying to ignore the way my pulse hammers. My palms feel damp. He notices everything. He will notice that too.
His gaze flicks to my belly. “Is the baby alright?”
“Yes.” That part is easy. “The baby is fine. I’m fine. This is about something else.”
His jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. He steeples his fingers, elbows on the arms of the chair. “Then say it.”
“A Councilman, Rupert, has been contacting me.” The words scrape coming out. “Since St. Andrews.”
His expression doesn’t change, but I feel the air shift.
“He ambushed me during class,” I go on. “Pulled me out through a back exit. He said the Council was worried you might be… unstable. That you might have killed a rival boss. He offered me protection if I confirmed you were unfit to lead. He said I could go back to America if I helped them remove you.”
Silence fills the library like cold air. The ticking clock sounds louder. Somewhere in the hall, a door closes.
“I did not agree,” I say quickly. “I told him you were doing well. I lied for you. I lied to him instead of you. And I did not tell you because at the time… you were unwell. I was afraid of what the stress might do to you.”
He watches me like a hawk watching for movement in the grass. His mouth is a flat line.
“But you tell me now,” he says. “Why?”
“Because hiding it feels wrong,” I answer. “Because I don’t want to be like my father. Because if the Council is after you, it is after me and our child too. And because no matter what anyone says, I choose you. Every time. Even when it’s hard. Even when you scare me. I’m on your side.”
His eyes search my face as if he is trying to peel away layers and see whether the words match what’s underneath. The stillness stretches.
“Is there anything else you have kept from me?” he asks, his voice calm.
Brutus flashes through my mind like a ghost. His easy smile. The way he helped me up off the mat. The way Keira took that photo. I never slept with him. Never touched him beyond class. Bringing him up now will not help anyone. He’s dead.
So I swallow and say, “No. That was the only thing I hid.”
My heart pounds as soon as the words leave my mouth. Technically true. Emotionally slippery. Still the type of honesty that cleanses everything.
Gustav leans back, eyes half lidded, and says, “I already know about Rupert.”
I blink. “You… do?”
“Of course. Rupert has been a pest for years,” he says. “That boy you saw on the cross when you first came here? Rupert’s younger brother. The second life I used on the Yellow Card.”
“The boy you tortured was Rupert’s brother? That’s why he hates you?”
“No, it was a warning. Scare Rupert. Make him back off and let me live my life. Didn’t work.
Rupert is the son of my father’s enemy. They have been trying to ruin our family long before you were in the picture.
After I got the Yellow Card, he became more obsessed.
Every problem I have had, he has been near. ”
“How obsessed?” I ask softly.
His mouth curves into something that’s not quite a smile.
“I visited the Council on their yacht. Rupert had his wife try to seduce me. Walked around topless. Invited me to her hotel.”
My stomach turns. “You didn’t touch his wife? On the yacht, or… hotel,” I say. It isn’t a question. It is a plea.
His gaze hardens. “I told her I am married. She did not care. I did. And that is why she failed. I am many things. Unfaithful is not one. If I wanted whores, I would not bother with a wife.”
Relief floods me so fast my eyes sting. I nod, unable to speak for a second.
He continues. “Rupert also arranged the flat tire,” he says. “Had someone remove the spare. Left us broken down at the border of the exclusion zone. He wanted us in that forest. He knew there was a rogue faction of madmen in there. He wanted us dead. Petyr died because of him.”
I picture Petyr’s grave face. His steady presence. Keira’s quiet grief.
“Gustav,” I whisper. “I am so sorry.”
“He is missed,” Gustav says, guarded. “But there is more.”
Of course there is. There always is.
“Rupert planted a man at St. Andrews,” Gustav continues. “Someone to test you. To tempt you. To make you doubt me. To make me doubt you. To push you toward the Council.”
My throat closes.
“His name was Brutus. You remember him?”
There is no point lying about that part.
“Yes,” I say. “I remember him. He was my partner in the self-defense classes. He was kind.”
His eyes flicker. “Kind,” he repeats, like the word tastes bad. “Did you sleep with him?”
The question hits like a shout even though he speaks it quietly.
“No,” I say immediately. “Never. I didn’t touch him that way. I never cheated on you.”
One muscle jumps near his left eye. A tic. A tell. The storm knocking politely at the inside of his skull.
“He was normal. That is all. It never went beyond that. I swear it.”
He studies me through a long, suffocating pause. Then he nods once, as if filing that away without telling me where.
I stand slowly. My legs feel unsteady, but I need air. I turn toward the door.
“Peighton,” he says.
I stop with my hand on the knob. “Yes?”
His voice is almost casual when he speaks again, and that makes it worse.
“Brutus and Boris are rather similar names.”
My breath catches. Ice creeps into my veins. He knows? His question. The name he forced out of me.
I turn halfway back to him. “I have been faithful,” I say quietly. “I know that may not be enough for you, but it’s the truth. I am yours. Even when I’m angry. Even when I’m afraid of you. I never ran to him or other men.”
His eyes are dark and unreadable. “Good,” he says, too easily.
I open the door and step into the corridor, my heart pounding. Behind me, the door closes with a soft click. As I walk away, a single thought beats in time with my footsteps.
I told the truth.
Yet maybe, I shouldn’t have.