Page 56 of Boardroom Mask

I look out over the gray city. The snow matches the buildings matches the sky. Everything looks the same color as my father’s eyes.

“Whether he means to or not,” I explain, “he will. That’s just what happens to people he puts his hands on.”

The wind picks up. She shivers. I should offer Rae my jacket or tell her to go back inside, but instead, I’m thinking about Jillian. What was that about at the playground yesterday, watching other people’s children play? Is it related to all the fear and neuroses she has about sex? Is there something in her past that explains all this?Who hurt you, little fox—that’s the right question, I think, but she’s a long way from giving me an honest answer.

What’s clear is this: Someone broke Jillian before I ever climbed through her window.

And now, Lukas is going to do the same thing to Rae.

I can’t stop it, though. I can’t stop my father, that’s for fucking sure, but I also can’t stop what’s happening between Jillian and me. It’s like we’re both strapped into this crazy fucking rollercoaster. I’m high on her, stuck on her, fixated and obsessed in a way I didn’t know I could be.

That’s dangerous. For everyone involved.

“You’re drunk,” she accuses.

I shake my head. “Not nearly drunk enough for what’s coming.”

We sit there for a quiet minute. I take another pull from the bottle and feel it hit the empty pit of my stomach. The alcohol is the only thing I’ve put in my body since yesterday’s coffee, and it’s doing exactly what I need it to do, which is make everything softer and dimmer and further away.

“This has happened before?” Rae asks.

I go very still. Then I nod. Barely. I’m not even sure she can see it. “My mother,” I say.

Two words—that’s all it takes to crack me open. I haven’t said them out loud in years. I’ve thought them a thousand times, of course, but saying them to another person is different. That makes it all real in a way that thinking never does.

Rae doesn’t push. She just waits. I can feel her holding her breath beside me. “What… what happened to her?” she finally ventures.

I laugh again, just as miserable as the first time around. “She wanted to leave him.” I turn and look at Rae. She’s pale. The wind has blown her hair across her face and she hasn’t bothered to push it back. Fuck, she really does look just like my mother, both my memories of her and the few pictures I managed to hide from my father before he could destroy them. There’s a kindness in her eyes I remember so well. “Look where it got her.”

Her eyebrows furrow. “What do you mean?”

“I mean she’s dead, Rae.” I hold her gaze. I want her to see that I’m not being dramatic or exaggerating for effect. “Eighteen years in the ground. And my father’s the one who put her there.”

She pulls back from me. Not a lot, but enough. I don’t blame her. I just told her that the man who bought her at auction murdered his wife. That’s not the kind of thing you leaninto.

“Kir…” she stutters. “Are you sure?”

Am I sure?I almost choke on that.Am I sure that my father killed my mother?

Well, I watched him feed her poison and then carry her corpse out of our home.

So yeah, Rae, I’d say I’m pretty fucking sure.

I finish the bottle. Then I toss it over my shoulder without looking. It shatters somewhere behind me on the gravel, which is almost kind of a nice noise. Shit breaking—that’s the soundtrack of my whole existence. The Lazarev family theme. I’m kinda used to it by now.

I stand up and wobble. Rae reaches out to steady me, but I wave her off. My legs are numb with pins and needles and the rooftop tilts and bucks under my feet, but I don’t want her help. Hell, I don’t deserve her help. She should be running for the door right now, not trying to catch me if I fall.

She stands with me, biting her lip, looking at me with those brown eyes that are too much like my mom’s.

And all I can think is: I have to end this thing with Jillian before she ends up the same way as Rae here. Before Lukas finds out and adds her to the list of women I couldn’t protect.

“No one leaves my father, Rae,” I intone. “Not my mother. Not you.” I turn and walk toward the roof access. Just before I reach the door, I add in a quiet voice, “Not even me.”

I make it back to my office without falling down the stairs, which feels like an achievement given how much liquor is sloshing around inside me. I shut the door, drop into my chair, and pull out my phone.

My fingers know what to do. The camera feed loads in a few seconds.

Jillian is working from home today. She’s at the desk in her bedroom, hunched over a mess of papers and folders spread out in front of her. Her laptop is open to the left. A half-drunk coffee sits near her elbow. She’s got a pen tucked behind her ear and another one in her hand, and she’s writing something in a notebook, fast, not looking up.