Page 25 of Crystal Veil

She doesn't argue, just takes my hand and squeezes it gently. Her fingers are warm against my cold skin, grounding me in the present moment. “You're freezing. When's the last time you ate anything?”

I try to remember breakfast this morning, but the hours blur together in a haze of worry. Did I have coffee? Toast? My stomach feels hollow, but not from hunger, from fear.

“He should be back by now,” I whisper, voicing the thought that's been circling my mind like a vulture. The fact that his phone goes straight to voicemail when I call tells me something is very, very wrong.

I glance toward the door, then at my phone, then back at the door. The urge to leave and drive to the construction site to see for myself what's happening grows stronger with each passing minute.

“He's going to be fine, Elena,” Amelia murmurs, reading my thoughts like she always does. “Renat's like a damn tank. Nothing can stop him when he sets his mind to something.”

“Even tanks can be taken down,” I murmur, the words slipping out before I can stop them.

She winces, and I immediately regret voicing my darkest fear. Amelia came here to comfort me, not to listen to me spiral into panic. But I can't help it. My imagination keeps conjuring horrible scenarios: Renat bleeding out alone in the dark, Bennato's men standing over him with guns, my love's eyes growing dim as his life drains away.

I press the heels of my palms against my eyes, trying to push back the tears that threaten to spill over. Crying won't bring him home. Won't make my phone ring with his voice on the other end.

“Don't do that,” Amelia commands, her voice sharper now. “Don't go down the rabbit hole of what-ifs. That way lies madness, and you know it.”

But I'm already miles deep, buried in the what-ifs and should-haves. If I'd pushed harder for him to bring more men. If I'd insisted on having Nick run the exposé on Bianca. If I hadn't let him go at all, if I'd thrown a tantrum or threatened to leave or done something, anything, to keep him home safe with me.

The guilt eats at me from the inside, like acid burning through my core. I find myself moving without conscious thought, walking through the hallways of the estate until I reach the nursery. The teddy bear Amelia gave me sits in the corner of the peaceful sanctuary we decorated for our child, its brown button eyes watching over the empty crib.

Everything in this room holds a promise of the future we're building together. Family dinners around the dining room table. Birthday parties in the garden. Teaching our child to swim in the pool, to ride bikes in the circular driveway, to be strong, kind, and fearless, just like their father.

But what if Renat never gets to see any of it?

I sit on the window seat and pull out the small leather journal I've been keeping since I found out about the pregnancy. A record of my thoughts and feelings, letters to our unborn child about the man who helped create them. Someday, I want to share these words with our son or daughter, so they can understand how much their parents loved each other, even before they existed.

I flip to a blank page, my hand trembling as I grip the pen. The words come slowly, painfully, each one feeling like a goodbye I'm not ready to give.

If something happens to your father tonight, I want you to know that he was brave. He was the most infuriating, yet protective and beautiful, man I have ever met. And he loved you before he even knew your name.

My vision blurs as tears finally spill over, dropping onto the page and smearing the ink. “I can't finish this. Can't write a eulogy for a man who might still be fighting his way back to me.”

The journal trembles in my hands before I push it away, unable to face the possibility that these words might be all our child ever knows of their father. Amelia pulls me into a gentle side hug, squeezing me.

“Renat is strong,” she reassures me. “He’ll come back to you.”

A knock rattles the front door, loud and urgent. My heart stops, then starts again at twice its normal speed. I fly down the stairs, Amelia close behind me, both of us moving with the desperate hope that Renat is coming home.

But when the maid pulls open the door, it's Roman standing on the threshold. Tonight, though, his face is haunted, blood splattered across his cheek and neck. His usual confidence has been replaced by something that looks dangerously close to panic.

“No,” I whisper, already shaking my head, stumbling backward as if physical distance can protect me from whatever he's about to say. “No, no, no.”

He doesn't speak right away, can't seem to force the words past his lips. The delay stretches like torture, each second an eternity of not knowing while knowing that whatever comes next will change everything.

“The building frame,” he finally manages, his voice rough. “There was an explosion. The whole structure came down.”

The words slam into me, each one driving the air from my lungs. The room tilts sideways, and I grab for the wall to keep from falling. An explosion. A building collapses.

“Renat and Sergey are under the…” Roman's voice cracks, unable to complete the sentence that would make this nightmare real.

“NO!” The scream tears from my throat, primal and raw, carrying all the anguish and terror I've been holding back for hours. I claw at the pain rising in my chest, as if I can tear it out before it consumes me completely. “No, no, no, no, no!”

My knees buckle, and the marble floor rushes up to meet me. Amelia catches me before I hit the ground, her arms strong around my waist as she holds me upright. But I'm not sure if she's steadying me or herself. Her face has gone white with shock, and I can feel her body trembling against mine.

The world narrows to this single moment of devastating loss. Everything else fades away. There's only the crushing force of grief pressing down on my chest, making it impossible to breathe.

Renat is gone. The father of my child, the love of my life, the man who promised to come home to me no matter what. Gone in an instant, buried under tons of concrete and twisted metal.