No words. No thanks.
I pulled the condom off and tossed it into the bin, then pulled my zipper up. I lit a cigarette and walked out the door with my shirt still unbuttoned—ready to leave every inch of this shit-stained night behind. And that’s when I saw Kira. She was curled into the corner of the couch, glass of wine poised elegantly between her fingers, one leg crossed over the other as her silk robe slid higher with each breath she took.
The second our eyes met, time pulled tight like wire around my throat.She looked right through me. Like she could see every filthy second, every breath I wasted in that room.Who I’d chosen to be. But I wasn’t angry or ashamed, Iwasn’t even goingto pretend I could be anything better. Because I couldn’t. I was a lost cause, and it was better she knew now.
She rose with quiet precision, her movements unhurried, almost regal, and turned without a word. I watched her retreat into the hallway, the soft sweep of her robe vanishing around the corner. Let her go. It was better this way.
You can’t have her.
Even if you tried, you’d break her.
You ruin everything you touch,my father used to say.Cursed, he called me. And fuck, maybe he was right. Maybe I am. Everyone I’ve ever loved is either dead or bleeding. Everything I touch turns to rot.
If she’s sick at the sight of me, perfect. That revulsion is her shield. Pure things like Kira shouldn’t breathe the same air as what I am.
The one mercy I have left is being so fucking loathsome she’ll never come close enough to get hurt.
7
Dead Men Don’t Text
—Kira—
Ihated him. I hated him more than I hated anyone else in that godforsaken house.
The music pulsing through the floors made my skin crawl. I knew what was happening behind those doors. I knew what kind of filth my father welcomed into his estate—drunken men, overdressed whores, and enough arrogance to drown in.
I had been pacing outside that room until I forced myself to sit, rage bubbling under my skin, the light from that room slicing from under the door like a blade. I kept telling myself I was being paranoid, that he wouldn’t—couldn’t—be part of that circus. But then he stepped out. Shirt half-done, cigarette hanging from hismouth, walking out like he ran the whole damn place. And my heart just… dropped.
The noise in my head was deafening. I wanted to slap him. To scream. To claw at his face and leave marks he couldn’t erase. I wanted to fucking kill him.
But instead, I stood up and walked away before I did something stupid. Chin high. Back straight. He didn’t get to see what he’d done to me.
I must’ve been out of my fucking mind to believe there could ever be anything real between us. It hurt like hell — stung like acid, burned like betrayal. Because I’d fallen for him the second I saw him. Even when he pushed me away, even when he kept me at arm’s length, some stupid, pathetic part of me still hoped we weren’t just playing games. That there was something more.
And the worst part?
I still had to marry Stanislav.
Everything felt tainted.
Even days later, I couldn’t shake the nausea that came with picturing him in that room.But at least the constant buzz of Stas’s messages had stopped. That small mercy was all I had.
At first, after the so-called date, Stas clung like a disease—message after message, pretending he hadn’t seen the disgust in my eyes.
Thank you for such a lovely evening.
You really are a very special girl.
I’m certain our next evening together will be even more enjoyable.
Special.Girl.
I stared at my phone in disbelief the first time I read that. Then in disgust. Then with something close to nausea curling in my stomach.
I didn’t answer. I never answered.
It didn’t stop him.
